by Steve Tanham
There are colours so deep, so pure
They drop beneath the colour word
Into a hue of inner meaning
—-
There are some reds
That are not red, but blood
Not spilled, not end of life
But beginnings
—-
When the red that is not blood
Speaks through the blood that is not red
And spills our life upon the opened palms
Then it is wise to listen
—-
With a listening that is so deep
That red, alone, dares speak
Its name.
—
©Stephen Tanham
Sun in Gemini 
Wow! Red has never been my favourite colour, probably because it has no serenity for me. A very powerful poem, Steve…
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Thank you, both. Not peaceful, but it does have a lot of passion – on all levels! 😎
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Beautiful Steve.
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Thank you, Di 😎
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Beautiful rose too. Is it in your garden?
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A friend’s garden, west of here in Broughton. I emphasised the red using the photo tools on the iPhone – to suit the poem.
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It’s gorgeous. I’m hoping our red one will bloom in the next couple of weeks.
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Reblogged this on silverapplequeen and commented:
Beautiful
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Thank you, Silverapplequeen 😎
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Passionate, sensuous and intense. Thank you for the contemplation, Steve.
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Thank you, Caroline.
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