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Best Famous Blueness Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Blueness poems. This is a select list of the best famous Blueness poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Blueness poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of blueness poems.

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Written by Joyce Kilmer | Create an image from this poem

A Blue Valentine

 (For Aline)

Monsignore,
Right Reverend Bishop Valentinus,
Sometime of Interamna, which is called Ferni,
Now of the delightful Court of Heaven,
I respectfully salute you,
I genuflect
And I kiss your episcopal ring.
It is not, Monsignore, The fragrant memory of your holy life, Nor that of your shining and joyous martyrdom, Which causes me now to address you.
But since this is your august festival, Monsignore, It seems appropriate to me to state According to a venerable and agreeable custom, That I love a beautiful lady.
Her eyes, Monsignore, Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflections On everything that she looks at, Such as a wall Or the moon Or my heart.
It is like the light coming through blue stained glass, Yet not quite like it, For the blueness is not transparent, Only translucent.
Her soul's light shines through, But her soul cannot be seen.
It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, infantile, wise And noble.
She wears, Monsignore, a blue garment, Made in the manner of the Japanese.
It is very blue -- I think that her eyes have made it more blue, Sweetly staining it As the pressure of her body has graciously given it form.
Loving her, Monsignore, I love all her attributes; But I believe That even if I did not love her I would love the blueness of her eyes, And her blue garment, made in the manner of the Japanese.
Monsignore, I have never before troubled you with a request.
The saints whose ears I chiefly worry with my pleas are the most exquisite and maternal Brigid, Gallant Saint Stephen, who puts fire in my blood, And your brother bishop, my patron, The generous and jovial Saint Nicholas of Bari.
But, of your courtesy, Monsignore, Do me this favour: When you this morning make your way To the Ivory Throne that bursts into bloom with roses because of her who sits upon it, When you come to pay your devoir to Our Lady, I beg you, say to her: "Madame, a poor poet, one of your singing servants yet on earth, Has asked me to say that at this moment he is especially grateful to you For wearing a blue gown.
"


Written by Sylvia Plath | Create an image from this poem

Love Letter

 Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no-- Nor leave me to set my small bald eye Skyward again, without hope, of course, Of apprehending blueness, or stars.
That wasn't it.
I slept, say: a snake Masked among black rocks as a black rock In the white hiatus of winter-- Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure In the million perfectly-chisled Cheeks alighting each moment to melt My cheeks of basalt.
They turned to tears, Angels weeping over dull natures, But didn't convince me.
Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.
And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air And the locked drops rising in dew Limpid as spirits.
Many stones lay Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded To pour myself out like a fluid Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled.
I knew you at once.
Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig: An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god Floating through the air in my soul-shift Pure as a pane of ice.
It's a gift.
Written by Robert Creeley | Create an image from this poem

Clementes Images

 1)

Sleeping birds, lead me,
soft birds, be me

inside this black room,
back of the white moon.
In the dark night sight frightens me.
2) Who is it nuzzles there with furred, round headed stare? Who, perched on the skin, body's float, is holding on? What other one stares still, plays still, on and on? 3) Stand upright, prehensile, squat, determined, small guardians of the painful outside coming in -- in stuck in vials with needles, bleeding life in, particular, heedless.
4) Matrix of world upon a turtle's broad back, carried on like that, eggs as pearls, flesh and blood and bone all borne along.
5) I'll tell you what you want, to say a word, to know the letters in yourself, a skin falls off, a big eared head appears, an eye and mouth.
6) Under watery here, under breath, under duress, understand a pain has threaded a needle with a little man -- gone fishing.
And fish appear.
7) If small were big, if then were now, if here were there, if find were found, if mind were all there was, would the animals still save us? 8) A head was put upon the shelf got took by animal's hand and stuck upon a vacant corpse who, blurred, could nonetheless not ever be the quietly standing bird it watched.
9) Not lost, not better or worse, much must of necessity depend on resources, the pipes and bags brought with us inside, all the sacks and how and to what they are or were attached.
10) Everybody's child walks the same winding road, laughs and cries, dies.
That's "everybody's child," the one who's in between the others who have come and gone.
11) Turn as one will, the sky will always be far up above the place he thinks to dream as earth.
There float the heavenly archaic persons of primordial birth, held in the scan of ancient serpent's tooth, locked in the mind as when it first began.
12) Inside I am the other of a self, who feels a presence always close at hand, one side or the other, knows another one unlocks the door and quickly enters in.
Either as or, we live a common person.
Two is still one.
It cannot live apart.
13) Oh, weep for me -- all from whom life has stolen hopes of a happiness stored in gold's ubiquitous pattern, in tinkle of commodious, enduring money, else the bee's industry in hives of golden honey.
14) He is safely put in a container, head to foot, and there, on his upper part, wears still remnants of a life he lived at will -- but, lower down, he probes at that doubled sack holds all his random virtues in a mindless fact.
15) The forms wait, swan, elephant, crab, rabbit, horse, monkey, cow, squirrel and crocodile.
From the one sits in empty consciousness, all seemingly has come and now it goes, to regather, to tell another story to its patient mother.
16) Reflection reforms, each man's a life, makes its stumbling way from mother to wife -- cast as a gesture from ignorant flesh, here writes in fumbling words to touch, say, how can I be, when she is all that was ever me? 17) Around and in -- And up and down again, and far and near -- and here and there, in the middle is a great round nothingness.
18) Not metaphoric, flesh is literal earth.
turns to dust as all the body must, becomes the ground wherein the seed's passed on.
19) Entries, each foot feels its own way, echoes passage in persons, holds the body upright, the secret of thresholds, lintels, opening body above it, looks up, looks down, moves forward.
20) Necessity, the mother of invention, father of intention, sister to brother to sister, to innumerable others, all one as the time comes, death's appointment, in the echoing head, in the breaking heart.
21) In self one's place defined, in heart the other find.
In mind discover I, in body find the sky.
Sleep in the dream as one, wake to the others there found.
22) Emptying out each complicating part, each little twist of mind inside, each clenched fist, each locked, particularizing thought, forgotten, emptying out.
23) What did it feel like to be one at a time -- to be caught in a mind in the body you'd found in yourself alone -- in each other one? 24) Broken hearts, a curious round of echoes -- and there behind them the old garden with its faded, familiar flowers, where all was seemingly laced together -- a trueness of true, a blueness of blue.
25) The truth is in a container of no size or situation.
It has nothing inside.
Worship -- Warship.
Sail away.
Written by Amy Lowell | Create an image from this poem

The Blue Scarf

 Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered 
over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes,
it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, 
caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers and drugs me! A languor, fire-shotted, runs through me, and I crush the scarf down on my face, And gulp in the warmth and the blueness, and my eyes swim in cool-tinted heavens.
Around me are columns of marble, and a diapered, sun-flickered pavement.
Rose-leaves blow and patter against it.
Below the stone steps a lute tinkles.
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor.
A big-bellied Frog hops through the sunlight and plops in the gold-bubbled water of a basin, Sunk in the black and white marble.
The west wind has lifted a scarf On the seat close beside me, the blue of it is a violent outrage of colour.
She draws it more closely about her, and it ripples beneath her slight stirring.
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire; and I burn back against her, a jewel Hard and white; a stalked, flaming flower; till I break to a handful of cinders, And open my eyes to the scarf, shining blue in the afternoon sunshine.
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
Written by D. H. Lawrence | Create an image from this poem

Bavarian Gentians

 Not every man has gentians in his house
in Soft September, at slow, Sad Michaelmas.
Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark darkening the daytime torchlike with the smoking blueness of Pluto's gloom, ribbed and torchlike, with their blaze of darkness spread blue down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze, black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue, giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off light, lead me then, lead me the way.
Reach me a gentian, give me a torch let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness.
even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September to the sightless realm where darkness was awake upon the dark and Persephone herself is but a voice or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom, among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness on the lost bride and groom.


Written by Rg Gregory | Create an image from this poem

bluefish

 the bluefish was surprised
i was there to greet it

this world it said is mine
it feeds on blueness

for the first time in my life
i felt i'd found my truth

bluefish i cried in joy
you are my deepest mirror

the bluefish gawped in pain
it saw no blue in me

i set about explaining
what we are we are not.
.
.
.
.
the bluefish looked at me in pity - then swam away since then it's stayed with me in every room i've been in
Written by D. H. Lawrence | Create an image from this poem

Trees In The Garden

 Ah in the thunder air
how still the trees are!

And the lime-tree, lovely and tall, every leaf silent
hardly looses even a last breath of perfume.
And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves white, ivory white among the rambling greens how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green grass as if, in another moment, she would disappear with all her grace of foam! And the larch that is only a column, it goes up too tall to see: and the balsam-pines that are blue with the grey-blue blueness of things from the sea, and the young copper beech, its leaves red-rosy at the ends how still they are together, they stand so still in the thunder air, all strangers to one another as the green grass glows upwards, strangers in the silent garden.
Lichtental
Written by Edgar Lee Masters | Create an image from this poem

Magrady Graham

 Tell me, was Altgeld elected Governor?
For when the returns began to come in
And Cleveland was sweeping the East,
It was too much for you, poor old heart,
Who had striven for democracy
In the long, long years of defeat.
And like a watch that is worn I felt you growing slower until you stopped.
Tell me, was Altgeld elected, And what did he do? Did they bring his head on a platter to a dancer, Or did he triumph for the people? For when I saw him And took his hand, The child-like blueness of his eyes Moved me to tears, And there was an air of eternity about him, Like the cold, clear light that rests at dawn On the hills!

Book: Reflection on the Important Things