Colour me happy

Long hand is how Ernest Hemingway wrote,

In his Moleskine notebooks, note after note.

I have one myself, or two or three,

To channel the Hemingway that lives within me.

I see royal blue skies and clean crisp lines,

I feel a warm orange glow and a calmness of mind.

I smell sweet pink roses and the freshness of air,

The black dog is sleeping and I am far from his lair.

My red coat of power and strength is adorned,

Do not try to derail me or you will be scorned.

For you are not welcome where the grass is so green,

The black dog is sleeping and cannot be seen.

The world is so alive, a pure purple delight,

A kaleidoscope of colours, such a beautiful sight.

Days and weeks flow smoothly, you linger far away

The black dog is sleeping, and all the while I play.

Fresh cuttings from my garden, music and a dance,

Pops of colour everywhere, wellness has a chance.

But that is not the story, the ending of this wheel,

The black dog is stirring and I must make him heal.

Late nights and vivid colours bursting from my head,

The signs they are a coming, but I turn my cheek instead.

The morning hue has paled and the blue skies turn to gray,

The black dog has stirred, be that as it may.

Mr Hemingway said there would always be spring,

A time to feel joyous, and a time to sing.

The river would flow again, after it was frozen,

The black dog always dies, his death will be chosen.

Orange pride is how I feel, in taming this black beast,

He may not back down easily, but I’m not scared in the least.

My colours will return, as they always do.

The Black dog cannot stop me from seeing things anew.

By Lou Symons