anger is not red

it isn’t post-boxes, London buses, stop lights

strawberry jam, roses or lipstick

anger is blue

it’s the frozen chill of a January puddle

frost-bite gnawing at lips, toes, nose

it’s long, drawn-out silences

bitter words

dripping from cold, unfeeling tongues

and the slow march of hate

that rots love

blasted like winter-blown rose petals

on the branch


This is a poem that I wrote last year, just before Christmas. I was inspired by Ezra Pound’s poetry (which I think is wonderful). Particularly his haiku ‘In a station of the metro’. And I wanted to explore the visual metaphor of anger as blue, rather than red. 



2 thoughts on “Anger

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