Daily Literature Recognition's Literary Series Feature
In this series we will be featuring multiple deviations by a single deviant that come together to form a single literary piece.
The series has seven parts. It is a set of poems that connect different colors to an unnamed other, often narrating bits of deep conversation. The ties between the colors that title each poem and the poetry itself provide an interesting perspective on the memories and connotations that color can illicit.
Yellowthere was a dandelion
growing next to your driveway-
a splash of color next to black
that drove you insane when you passed by it,
yet you couldn't pick it up
and throw it away.
you like dandelions,
how nobody appreciates their beauty
or wants them on their lawn,
[despite the wishes they make secretly]
because you're a weed yourself.
just a weed, trying to pass off as a sunflower.
you're like a lemon,
i told you one day,
all rough and sour and unappealing
until you add some sugar and toughen up.
i thought of you
while i made lemonade
[because no, i didn't throw those
lemons back at life].
Greenyou're shocked at yourself
that you could maintain such life in your garden;
you've never looked at yourself
as anything but death
but here you are,
kneeling in the soil
among the bright leaves
and tangled vines
and you are growing- caring.
i could always tell you liked that color,
the color of unbloomed flowers
and not-yet-ripe fruits,
because both of those things
are what you are.
even if you become tired of waiting,
one day you'll grow out of the green.
Blue'the sky is really blue today,' you said,
which is probably the first time
you've spoken of your world
in such a way since childhood.
blue is your favorite color.
it shouldn't be.
blue is calm and collected,
soothing and cool,
flowing like an never-ending river.
you're fire; you're chaos;
you're dying, burning out inside.
you're a million colors splattered on white canvas-
i guess you must like it
because of the sheer joy you take
in burning it,
in turning it to mist-
or perhaps you enjoy the opposite.
Purplewhen you were a child
you would scoff at the names of crayons,
saying each shade was the same-
that "robin's egg blue" was just blue
and "purple mountain's majesty" is simply purple-
still, you'd mix together colors of paint,
adding white or red or blue,
trying to get a perfect shade.
long after the paint has dried,
you haven't found the shade of purple
that you'd slaved over for hours.
you're cold blue outside
and fiery red inside-
a unique shade of purple that one cannot describe
as "violet" or "mountains' majesty".
perhaps you're the night sky
just before the sun is vanished,
or you're the bruise you gave yourself
that hasn't begun to heal.
there are a thousand shades of purple
for you to find yourself in,
so i'll start mixing the pain[t].
Greystormclouds gather overhead,
and with no shelter in sight,
you don't seem to mind.
instead you lay down on the ground,
ignoring sticks and crunchy leaves,
and you stare at the sky.
'i'd paint it,
if i had any talent,' you say,
despair and sadness and loss
hidden [not-so-]expertly beneath bitterness.
still, i understood-
the sky was gorgeous,
dark and light grey dancing,
cautious not to hit black or white
but free enough to swirl,
to coexist harmoniously.
you, being a shade of grey yourself,
probably wish you could do the same.
Orange'it's just one of those colors',
you told me one day,
as you wrinkled your nose in disgust
at the color of the sunset.
you called it obnoxious-
bright and ugly, you said,
a color that doesn't look good on you
or anyone else
[or on me, you made clear].
but really, it's just joyful,
a happy color
for happy people to enjoy-
and you just hate that, don't you?
SpiralingSpontaneity even reads some of them on Soundcloud. Check out their artist comments for more information.
If you have a suggestion for future installments of this feature series, please send a note to VertigoArt and callerofcrows. We are looking for any piece of literature that has more than two parts to it. FanFiction and Erotica is not accepted at this time.