Wednesday, 16 October 2013

the color of words

I had emptied the case of books 
to clean and tidy, 
and, as my fingers brushed across the covers, 
I imagined the leafs, inside,
whooshing in cascading rippled 
shades of fluttered 
blue-sky to water-blue . . .

that flowed like indigo ink.
and I wondered, then:  
what was I thinking, 
shoving those beloved words 
into a burgundy-wine colored 
Ikea shelving unit – to rest, 
unnaturally, amongst the chotskies 
and dust bunnies, of my life . . . 

like garden rhubarb, tossed on a banquet table.

and so, I found my dream blue - and painted and painted,  
until miraculously, like Swiss Family Robinson 
shipwreck salvage come-a-shore,
my books and I drifted
to the desert island alcove, at the end of the hall - 
where, at last, I felt transported 
and invigorated to read and read and read . . .

and be carried far away on my Bahama Sea.
photo:  Hawaiian Sea - M.J. Bourke;  photo:  My Bahama Sea - W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke


  1. "What was I thinking" that turn. I love the way books let us drift...transport have captured the romance of reading well!

  2. Thanks, Jennifer. I have found that a serene, inviting spot does make the act of reading (and the act of writing, for that matter) that much more enjoyable.

  3. I like how you share your journeys and transformations with us - and I look forward to the surprise at the end. My favorite words here: "what was I thinking, shoving those beloved words."

  4. Thanks, Janet. I hadn't really thought about the sharing aspect of poetry, that much. But, yes, that is a lovely aspect of writing and reading the poetry of others.