[stylist] Poem My Vault of Unseen Colors

[Jackie Williams]

Myrna,
I regret that it has taken me this long to comment on your superb poem. It
is almost overwhelming with its personification of colors, and the
realization that these are remembered, and kept in a vault as treasures.
It makes me want to ask you a million questions. 
I am one of the fortunate ones for whom the vault has not yet closed. But
almost week by  week, those colors are dimming without recognition of the
hues, and shades. I have an aide who helped me put matching jewelry into
plastic bags on which I use a "pen-friend" which tells me the color, and
whether it is made by someone I know, and the date. I have always tried to
be perfectly coordinated with everything on me, so it is a bitter pill. 
You, obviously, at some point had full vision to remember the colors in such
a personal way related to the entire outdoors and emotions as well.
I would like to know your background in writing poetry. Did you take
classes, go to workshops, get a degree?
And how would you feel about me copying this poem and taking it to my poetry
class to share with my fellow poets in my critique group. Our first meeting
this fall is this coming Tuesday. While they have some insight into the
blind because of me, but not nearly enough to recognize how creative the
blind can be.
I hope you are consistently getting better and closer to having your
computer. 

With admiration,
Jackie



-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of myrnaspoetry
via stylist
Sent: Monday, September 29, 2014 5:06 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: [stylist] Poem My Vault of Unseen Colors

Last night at our meeting we talked about colors and I wanted to share this
poem I'd written some time ago. Hope it is enjoyed. I wish I could send it
as attachment but I do not have access to my computer yet. 
Myrna

Vault of Unseen Colors

I open the door to my vault
of unseen colors using imagination's
key and I find myself in awe
and wonderment at the many treasures
I have gathered over the years,
the mysticism and the stark reality,
the grace of blue, its penchant for peace,
and the voracious appetite of red with its
livid caricature in times of anger.
I stumble across the many shades of green, 
breathing in its promise of renewal.
I touch the playfulness of yellow and the glory of cerise, the
invitation of black and white,
and I smile at the seemingly
dull surprises of brown and gray,
and with faith renewed I sort through
the depths of every memory, the images
and echoes, the ocean's changing hues and seasonal 
paintings upon a mountain, the building
of a night sky and a waking dawn,
the shadows of rainbows
and the portraits drawn by racing clouds.

My memory vault is overflowing and yet
I cannot, nor will not, divide those special 
moments into slots of importance for each
owns a significant place within the heart and
my vault would not be the same 
without them, whether they are flawed 
or remembered
in pristine perfection. 

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