blue before blue
blue wasn’t a colour yet
it was a depth
a sound with no name
the mountain hummed
low enough
to hold the sky in place
to hang its head in shame
we learned the name later
after our ears
had already adjusted
and bodies felt loose
not all colours are born
spoke the wind
not all shades exist
it whispers
the road arrived ahead of thought
faint lines drawn by repetition,
not decision
engine hum folding inside breath
hands remembering the wheel,
before thought arrived
distance didn’t open
it deepened
blue stayed ahead of us
never closer
never leaving
never breathing
we didn’t slow
for colour
we slowed
not all blues want seeing
said the road
some are only felt
at speed
ㅤ
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Everything I publish publicly stays public.
This is about making space for slower work, and for people who want to stay close to how it’s made.
If you’ve been hovering, this is a good moment to step in.
I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.
Other prose and poems.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
The poem feels like one of those moments when you sense something before you can explain it.
It treats blue the way we treat certain moods that arrive quietly and settle in the body.
There’s something comforting in how the road, the wind, even the engine seem to understand us.
Reading it feels like being inside a long drive where thoughts loosen and drift.
The language moves slowly, like someone watching the world pass by without rushing.
It captures that strange peace of travelling with no real destination in mind.
The idea that some colours don’t want to be seen feels deeply relatable some feelings are like that too.
There’s a soft ache in the way distance deepens instead of widening.
The poem trusts the reader to feel the spaces between the lines, not just the words.
By the end, blue feels less like a colour and more like a quiet presence riding along with us.
Excellent, Mark.