Purple smells…

Purple smells

Like the kind of musk

A courtesan would wear, or

A woman spy

On some grim mindwinter train.


Yellow feels

Like the ears of an old cat

As if my very touch

Would raise a purr, or

Like the roses

On my grandma’s lawn.


Green tastes

Like the sap of an unknown tree

Something raw and magickal

The blood of a snake



Red sounds

Like a saxophone played soft

By an old man in some

Smoky city den

Like the dying din of an audience

When the act’s set to begin.


4 thoughts on “Purple smells…

  1. I love this. My aspie friend Will is able to see every town (whether he’s been there or not) as a colour. You just say the name of a place and he’ll say, “A sort of lime green” or “A purplish pink”. I’m totally fascinated by synsethesia.
    Love the poem, too!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I remember reading about Will that in your book. I find synaesthesia fascinating too. I’m not … one of them (can’t spell it) but wish I was.

      Aspie boys and girls do have some amazing abilities. Ex used to work on a Light Railway (steam trains). A boy called John used to turn up every day (in a spotless white suit) and sit around just watching, never speaking unless spoken to, never looking at anyone. Yet he could tell you at any moment where any driver/steam train was – or ought to be – on the system.

      The poem was a kind of exercise in imagining colours in other ways. It’s amazing the images that do float to the surface when you start out with a sense+colour+’like’ phrase.

      Liked by 1 person

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