The Hint

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

His mind had watercolor’s purple on

It, nothing overdone, but it was there.

The wash was not of yellow, far from dawn

Of orange.  His heart and soul were not aware

Of this thin tint of mauve there on his brain

Until much later.  Then this turned to tinge.

It turned to something like a taint, a stain.

A few who noticed it experienced cringe;

Well, maybe not as flinching as a pang

And maybe not a crude acrylic swipe.

No part was quite as if some scarlet sang

A siren, not a hot fluorescent stripe.

  Yet . . . it was there, perhaps too much a breeze

    It seemed, not strength. To some it smelled like sleaze.

~ Phillip Whidden

by phillipw | Jul 24, 2024 | BI, GA, LI | 0 comments