In memory of Douglas Adams, my 42nd poem is late, and a bit odd.
‘I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.’ – D.A.
the sky is technically every colour
the molecules of air scatter the sunlight
by rights we should see rainbows
but blue hits our eyes first.
blue’s weird.
the ancient greeks couldn’t see it at all.
they didn’t perceive a clear sky as having a colour.
it was clear.
they noticed the colour of the sea when it didn’t look blue
when it looked dark like wine, or shone.
because blue was just… clear
i wonder what they made of irises and bluebells
maybe there weren’t any
because blue hadn’t been invented yet
when you look at the sky, and it’s blue
you probably see something different
to the person next to you.
who knows what my blue would look like to you?
just be happy you can see blue at all.
i feel sorry for the ancient greeks
looking at the boring nothing-coloured sky.
i wonder what colours we haven’t learned to see yet.
maybe the sky isn’t blue at all.
maybe it’s flarpetua.
Tom Juniper Poetry 