I don’t know if this meets the bar for the prompt at the Pub for Poets, but it’s where the prompt led. Today’s publican, Grace, says: “Today we will write about color from the perspective of a synesthete. Pick one color or several colors. Create your own Dictionary of Color. All sounds have color. The alphabet has color. Days of the week have color. Each day has a color and a certain shape.” Head over to the d’Verse pub to see more responses to tis prompt.
A is for apple, red cheeked ripe
ripping smile at my first truck (red), number one, opening day,
the bloom was on the rose; going places, ay?
B is the bounty of blueness, of twoness, of
my blue-eyed brother and his beloved bride
my backdoor backwoods brave sister by marriage.
C the last prompt at D’verse— see November—
the eleventh month, gray and full of color (cold color)
gray November is 11, strong columned
(At its roots November was ninth
Septem, Octo, Novem—
seven, eight, nine; nine, ten, eleven?— fall has fallen out of line.)
Let’s get back to Nine, number with no time.
9 is the black behind a mirror’s glass
A crooked smile, a question mark— with answers, if you ask.
A number both cheery and serious, a colorful character— though
Ten always said Nine was lacking something, some One—
Oh, Ten; smug yet soft, a nectarine, a yellow plum
Over the shoulder afraid to be undone
by Nine, tight-skinned aubergine
-shaded square who speaks in threes
Honestly, frankly; smoothly and slick
under clear glass, rich colors shine
brought to light by the dark magic of Nine
Offers no landmark, no handhold in roiling brine
But surges and surfs, expectantly shines mile marked songs
of the journey, blacked and blued; colored, cresting the climb.