you old Mistress of the palette,
of tones and shade, tinges and hues.
Colours that are enemies you
convince to cosy up and blend,
to lay down their arms and
exploit the best of themselves for
new neighbour’s benefit and both shine.
How much we can learn.
In the crowd scenes, your genius is autographed.
A rabble of colours, ready for riot and
desperate for attention, petals exploding
as if live grenades on every sightline.
A hundred distinct voices shout “Green”
in their own accents from the background.
Oscar-winning primary colours give their best
yet afterwards you can’t name them,
every blade and branch, stem, leaf and display counted.
I get lost in the looking sometimes.
See painters for the thieves and
plagiarists they are. Limit my vocabulary
to three words:
wonder, glory and awe.