IT was a disappointment, For I do not like magenta, And the garden was a fire of magenta Exploding like a bomb into the light-colored peace of a spring afternoon. Not wistaria dropping through Spanish moss, Not cherokees sprinkling the tops of trees with moon-shaped stars, Not the little pricked-out blooms of banksia roses, Could quench the flare of raw magenta. Rubens women shaking the fatness of their bodies In an opulent egotism Till the curves and colors of flesh Are nauseous to the sight, So this magenta. Hateful, Reeking with sensuality, Bestial, obscene- I remember you as something to be forgotten. But I cherish the smooth sweep of the colorless river, And the thin, clear song of the red-winged blackbirds In the marsh-grasses on the opposite bank | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHALLENGE by ALEXANDER POPE CASSANDRA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE ALCHEMIST by ST. CLAIR ADAMS WHOM EARTH HAS TAUGHT: PROSPICENCE by MARGARET PERKINS BRIGGS THE MINSTREL AT LINCLUDEN by ROBERT BURNS WHEN SHE CAM BEN, SHE BOBBED by ROBERT BURNS ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |