'Brown'

For today's prompt, I want you to pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.

‘Different experiences of brown’

I think of you
when I think of brown in its different forms.
No, not really!
But that’s okay.
Let me fabricate this story anyway.

When I see
pensive brown eyes suddenly sparkle and dance,
forgetful of silenced dreams,
coloured glass bangles on a sun-burnt arm
of an old woman wink and flash,
a kindly elder firmly clasp the thin brown hand
of a child nursing a scratch,
an old man, his skin the colour of baked earth,
sport a fawn T-shirt and walk a jaunty step,
I think of you.

When I see
the muddy brown churnings of a river in spate,
the dull brown of the earth thirsting for rain
the taupe gray of trees stripped of leaves
the dusty brown of the hills in a sun daze,
the dirty brown palm fronds and coconut shells
dashed to the shore by the contemptuous sea,
I think of you.

When
the heady aroma of roasted coffee beans
fills the room and fills me with coffee desire,
the tender sweetness of toasty chestnuts
reminds me of winters in a different land,
someone begs for a hint of cinnamon
in a cup of inviting hot chocolate,
a child licks the golden brown honey
off of a warm brown buttery toast,
a friend craves for caramelized walnuts
and pears cooked in sweetened red wine,
I think of you.

When
terra-cotta horses, elephants and birds proudly stand
beside bronze and brass statuettes of deities
on a mahogany display cabinet,
and uniquely cajole your attention,
I think of you.

I think of you
when I think of brown in its different forms.
No, not really!
But that’s okay.
Let me fabricate this story anyway.

"Mottled Brown"

"Mottled Brown"

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don't have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem. One of the more famous poems of contemporary literature does this wonderfully in William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow."

“Mottled Brown”

Ages ago, hungry fingers
search lustily for a story book
in a forgotten cupboard.

They find,
No, easier to say -

I find
a mottled brown hardcover copy
of Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge.
My fingertips still carry the memory
of the binding’s grainy texture.
On the first page, my father’s signature,
Like a bird in bold flight.
My heart still bears the impress
of Larry’s healing touch,
his endearing freshness….

I turn
the yellowing pages
(their sickly pallor is okay by me)
that beg for a gentle touch
lest at the edges they crumble

I lose
the book
my lovable companion
with an unappealing look.

I wait
and wait
to re-find the book
I sense
its pages might crack now
at an indiscreet touch

If by some glad chance
I find it,
with its aging spine
and sad pages,
I’ll hold it to my heart
and then …
within it I’ll place
an embroidered bookmark
with cherries red and luscious
surging with sap
full and audacious.

Why this, you may ask
To intuit the answer,
feel it, is your task.

“The sharp edge of a razor
is difficult to pass over…”
Look into your heart.
All is inscribed there
my winsome rover.