A poem from ‘Sunspots’ by Simon Barraclough

 Violet violent as an ‘ultra’ or inviolate as a saint? The reverbs from a viola playing purple passages. A Parma Violet on your tongue, like the contents of your grandma’s handbag, reminding you that childhood is neither sweet nor sour and never tastes quite right; the elusive umami of mommy and daddy. A triolet seems apposite but th’imperial cloak will not be hemmed by … Continue reading A poem from ‘Sunspots’ by Simon Barraclough