Synesthesia: ( Sonnet)
I want to hear the singing of pure light
That soothes the lamentations of angels.
I want to see wild dreams of butterflies
That spread out across summer's greenest realms.
I want to taste fresh colours of April
And feel the fragility of rainbows,
When I'm reposed and my mind is still.
O I want to embrace the inner glow
Of visions and then guide the slow arrows
Of Time! I want to imbibe the fragrance
Of flowered Grace, so Being's seeds can grow.
And I want to know how vital gods dance
To create their miracles from chaos.
With that said, poetry's my joy and cross.
-
Author:
Dominic Windram (
Offline) - Published: January 15th, 2026 01:31
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
A fine write D. A strange phenomenon, e.g. SEEING colours when HEARING music. Erm, same happened to me, but I got crossed wires me brain-box blew a fuse! lol. My daft tale there. They said 'What's that smoke coming out the top your head?' lol.
I saw comedy show where one LISTENED to one's food before TASTING it!
This poem conveys the feelings blended in senses. it is as exquisite as being love struck and vivid as an acid trip and as joyful as a child at Christmas. It overflows with a blend of sensations. With good flow it pours off the page. Well done Dominic and a fave
Thanks for both of your perceptive comments...much appreciated as always! I have to teach William Blake's London for GCSE English Lit. I was inspired by his use of synesthesia in that profoundly moving poem. Here it is; courtesy of the Poetry Foundation:
London By William Blake
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
Great picture to begin with.
Poetry in motion in more ways than one.
Thanks Paul...much appreciated! I am fairly new to this site, so I don't know many members, but I will look at some of your work and comment. It is always good to receive feedback from new people...so thanks once again.
No problem, pleasure, welcome.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.