The Color 9


They say we can only see 32 shades of grey, and yet there are over 250 of them around.

Millions of colors and yet to some we are still primaries. Secondaries. A color wheel.

My camera, the extension of my eye, sees the world different than I do. It sees more.

My eye is influenced by sound, by smell. By motion. The camera blinks when told.

Nine points of focus, each one seeking something to hang on to. Zzzzzzzt. Zzzzzzt.

Tripod, arms, truck hood and sometimes a contortionist position is done for it.

I see the colors in the image, and the camera does not. I growl. I take more shots.

Once in editing, I move the scale. Back. Forth. Right Left. More. Less. This. That.

And I see what I didn’t see. The camera, with no discernment, catches it all. All.

The apple tree I wanted was out of focus, because the camera saw the bird fly.

A bird in flight cropped becomes the image, the colors, that I never planned.

The camera sees the lines. The wrinkles. The color 9 that smells of my life. Mmm.

It builds me a treasure box of smiles. Memories of laughter. The colors of sound.

The colors of feeling love. Joy. Excitement. Tension. Joy. Wonder. Awe. All of it.

Colors become the breath between each shot and memory. Color becomes feel.

Color immerses me in sound. Texture. Taste. Memory. More than shades of this.

More than colors of that. It is an impartial eye, preserving like a historian.

It becomes a comedienne.  Laughing at the foibles of memory catching. Caught?


Abhra Pal has us thinking about immersing in color, being inside or being colored on the outside.  Poetics is about how we get colored, and become the colors. Join us for Poetics at dVerse!

Where art thou, o Spring!

Freezing Hot by Sunita Khedekar

Our spring colors are grey.

And white. And mud. There!

A flash of blue. Blue jay!


March roared in like a lion.

And stayed. Prowling. Roar!

Cold. Snow. Rain. No spring!


Colors washed, faded, to grey.

Our hearts stay warm. Inside!

Rich reds, blues. Purple. Green!


We so long for green. For color.

Sending love. Up. up. UP!

Spring, come back, we miss you!


Red tail lights under the Trickster Moon.

Coyote laughing. Winter’s last days.

Geese fly ’round in vain. No water here!


Spring, like our hearts, awaits the time.

The time to fly. To bloom. To rise!

Winter holds on tight. Too tight!


Windows stay shuttered. Blind.

I won’t watch it snow again. AGAIN!

Sleet mimics rain. So cruel a tease.


A patch of last year’s grass, dead green.

We stare at it. Does it get bigger? Yet?

Even the horses lust for it. Ache.


I’d trade this piled high white and grey.

Trade it for warm brown. Dusty hues.

Colored pencils become a bouquet.


Red hearts rising from chimneys dark.

Windows closed against the cold.

Spring, we are waiting. Come! Come!


Grace has us working with the lovely, and inspiring art of Sunita, and she did have us talking about spring and colors. Well. WELL! Our spring so far has been 50 shades of grey, and we are lusting for something more. Something green. Something muddy. Something NOT snow. NOT white. NOT grey. Drifts shrink too slowly and the warmth is more a tease than something deeper. I’m sure my poetic counterparts have brighter spring words for you, why don’t you head over and check them out?