in the pink

pale pink five-petalled flower - probably clematis

Last Sunday I went for a walk in the sunshine to find some autumnal images, which resulted in the photographs of edible and inedible berries gathered together in the autumn berries post.

But there were also lots of flowers around, most of them in shades of pink and purple.



dark pink flowers

full-blown peachy-pink rose

Although I didn’t quite know why, the selection of bright colours reminded me of a poem I wrote ages ago. I usually find it hard to forget my own poems (a major problem when it comes to re-drafting), so I was surprised not to have a better idea of what words to search on in order to find it in my files.

Finally, though, I remembered that someone had corrected my spelling of “psychodelic” – it seems that it has more to do with psyche than psychotic, so should have an “e” not an “o” in the middle – so I was able to track it down, although it was written back in 2002 and I only had a copy on an external disk drive.

The roses in the final photo are neither vermilion nor cabbage roses, so I’m still not sure what the connection was, but here’s the poem, anyway:

At the Foot of the Rainbow

Emily Herbertson wears
a royal purple coat. Hatless,
she boasts a salon-fresh blue rinse;
on her dress, vermilion cabbage roses
crowd out birds of paradise.

Her winter scarf and gloves
are sunshine yellow and her shopping bag
a psychedelic swirl of pink and gold.
Larger than life, and twice as colourful,
in summertime she floats in chiffons
and silks. Her generous bosom
holds a voice to rock the gods,
and operatic gestures mark
the rhythms of her speech.

But look down at her feet
in any season and you’ll see
neat lace-ups, polished, brushed and buffed
daily in a silent prayer
in memory of Mr H.


I’ve just been tweaking the line breaks before posting and now remember they were one of the reasons I abandoned the piece: I was too attached to the words I’d written and couldn’t get the piece to work on the page. Since the intervening period of nearly 15 years has resulted in sufficient distance that I’ve actually forgotten many of the words, maybe it’s time to revisit the subject.

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

2 thoughts on “in the pink”

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