Fifth colour

 

Pinking the sky, the sun sets,

fuchsia flowering

among the raised beds of clouds,

strip-lighting this end of evening.

Honey and last melons on the dinner plates,

wind breathes gentle,

while crickets tune their saw legs.

Strawberry light falls,

raspberries on the canes still,

and the roses hanging their heads

in scented silence.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

13 thoughts on “Fifth colour”

  1. I read the word “pinking” as in pinking shears (I learned to sew as a child and did a lot of it over the years, not now, though) and the directions would tell you to pink the seams or whatever, meaning to use the shears. I like this poem and I liked it even more thinking of the sun doing some pinking, my way. Funny what associations are brought out by word choice and in my mind add to writing, even if they really weren’t meant by the author!

    1. My mother has pinking shears. She did a lot of dress making. I hated all that kind of stuff, but I loved the name. When I read Thomas Hardy, I met the expression of ‘pinking’ for the particular light in the evening and it reminded me of my mother and those scissors that I never used but used to play with when I was little. Same sort of association I suppose.

      1. I still have my (very expensive and truly wonderful to use) pinking shears – a Christmas gift from my husband many years ago. I feel pretty sure I will use them again on a sewing project. Funny the “pinking” came from Thomas Hardy and yet sent us down the same path, not what he meant, but another layer, coming from us.

  2. Yes, the last moments before the sun sets–end of summer. Such beautiful language and imaginative language–the pinking, the saw legs, and I love that final image of the roses hanging their heads in the scented silence.

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