Wednesday, November 30, 2011

A Silly little poem I like...

What is Black?
Black is the night
When there isn't a star
And you can't tell by looking
Where you are.
Black is a pail of paving tar.
Black is jet
And things you'd like to forget.
Black is a smokestack
Black is a cat,
A leopard, a raven,
A high silk hat.
The sound of black is
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Echoing in a empty room.
Black is kind-
It covers up
The run-down street,
The broken cup,
Black is charcoal
And patio grill,
The soot spots on
The window sill.
Black is a feeling
Hard to explain
Like suffering but
Without the pain
Black is licorice
And patent leather shoes
Black is the print
In the news.
Black is beauty
In its deepest form,
The dark cloud in a thunderstorm.
Think of what starlight
And lamplight would lack
Diamonds and fireflies
If they couldn't lean against
-Mary o'Niell
I have read this poem several times out a a treasury I read to C. and occasionally just to myself.  What is Black? always makes me smile, pause and reflect.  I just like it.  I don't agree with all of it - but some of it is stellar - the last 5 lines, for instance -  or the the four line beginning "Black is a feeling" - and I love the 2 lines immediately following about licorice and patent leather shoes -  because it feels like yesteryear.  My very favorite part of the poem is the last 4 lines.  Now, there's a not so "little ones" - truth for ya- it usually takes long past being grown to even start to get a handle on that!

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