May healthy green always grow, blue waters stay their flow, bright skies daily show, and your heart remain the source of love I know.
Got the "Blues from Boos!"
Crowd Blew! "Booed" on "Blue Suede Shoes!"
Got the "Blues from Booze!"
Blue flame : Bon fire.
Blue gem : Sapphire.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
out of the blue, a figure appears
a relic of the past, an old drummer, worn and gray
old drummer's heart still full of fire
his hands, still nimble, find their way
the park's stillness shattered by sound
as his drums and cymbals awaken
he beats and pounds, his passion pours
the music flows from his soul
park's inhabitants gather ‘round,
a curious throng entranced by his wild, rhythmic song
the rhythm weaves a spell, a hypnotic trance
the old drummer's music, a moment’s magic
his drums transports, transforms, and transcends,
a bridge spanning his years
connecting past and present, his laughter, sorrow, and tears
in this fleeting instant, his world is set right
he finishes, his drums grow still
the park is silent, but music remains
a lingering echo, old drummer's regrets and soulful refrains
the alligator had heard that the new beauty shop would dye his scales
He might even have his tail waxed and let them paint his nails
the lady in charge tried to remain calm when he came in the door
Another beautician screamed, and maybe gave a tiny swore
the alligator was patient, and loved his handsome new hue.
You are way too vain said his wife, you look a kind of blue.
Yes, he agreed, azure is what I was going for.
Then with a swish of a tail, he walked out the door.
He forgot to pay the lady told his annoyed little wife.
Here’s your pay, she told her. You have escaped with your life.
We’re driving the public crazy
But you know, it’s all for fun
We’re driving the public crazy
But you see, it’s all for fun
Let’s tell ‘em that the sun is the moon
And that the moon was actually the sun
You can park your car in the driveway
Ain’t nobody gonna leave
Park your car in the driveway
Ain’t nobody gonna try to leave
The more I think about it,
More I wanna lay my head and grieve
Well we lived in chauvinism
For goin’ on ten thousand years
Living in chauvinism
For just about ten thousand years
But they been lookin’ at us from watchtowers
They got infinite records of fears
Now I dont wanna fire my weapon
Don’t wanna start no kinda duel
Don’t wanna fire this weapon
And start some kinda duel
‘Cause I know just what’s gonna happen:
Disintegration of all rules
If you talk about my mother,
Then brother, you’re gonna pay
Talk about my mother
And brother, you gonna pay
I got this receipt for a motel
And forever, that’s where we’ll stay
great blue heron glides
from its silent perch 'pon limb....
fishing in shallows
how I enjoyed watching him
take pictures~ store memories
some loves bout lost come go almost all sorts
motives remain true pure until find not
list least cain hope fewer no good reports
still life like love moves backing forth cold hot
back outing again own each such sigh wish
loss lasts long gone fast run use eye oui next
stuff split rough two there one bright here blue dish
but still be same unself self sans pretext
wait patient fourth floor first ready confess
one day then now was dreamed real life unfold
four most seven great death comes not success
some would telling kisses end life untold
try may believe yes if not near reverse
mind conceives lives another universe
My friend is sad and so am I
For different reasons I ask Him, ‘why?’
He looks at me neither bold nor blue.
A light glows pink in merry hue.
She called me up and poured her mind
I felt the same, of a different kind.
When spirit’s measure stretched at length
I woke up to find, I’ve lost all strength.
She has been trying to dry out her tears
While I here, myself was driving my fears.
No one to share my feelings drawn
I gathered strength to fill her morn.
With laughter and light she retired to bed
I worked the night, was awake instead.
Today it was told it’s not required
I had my share of the pain I shared.
Then reasoned out ‘was it all meant
To surrender my wisdom or my strength?’.
He looked at me and waited long-------
Till I blew my breath of scorn
Was that how You cleaned my eyes?
Was it healthy for the spirit to rise?
My friend’s laughter at the end of the call
Made me realize once and for all
My hard work somewhere has paid me well
I have reasons for love to dwell.
Love for Him came naturally, through,
I looked at Him and felt so blue-----
He could have gone but He never did.
He had to show me my greatest need.
I felt her tears that I never saw
The pain in her heart that she bore
All of my lies that burnt into her soul
Her broken body as I destroyed her whole
I walked away like I didn’t care
Now her pain is mine alone to share
I feel her, I feel her, o' yeah I feel her
Should’ve stayed, should’ve explained
That to someone else I was chained
That I was just out to have some fun
It would be over once I was done
I never thought I was doing her wrong
And that to her alone I would belong
I feel her, I feel her, o' yeah I feel her
Now her tears have turned into oceans
As she’s drowning me with her emotions
Where it’s her turn to feel my pain
As my love for her I did not retain
I had let her go without a thought
Left her heart beyond distraught
I feel her, I feel her, o' yeah I feel her
I feel her, I feel her, o' yeah I feel her
I feel her . . .
The Battlefield of Survival
There is nothing that brings out our fragility
to surface like surgery, dreams one has of
success is laid bare under the well-lit light
of an operating table
First time I had one of those growths removed
was seventy-five years ago by our doctor
wearing a three-piece suit with a blue tie
My memory of him is that of a man who
had a cigarette in one hand and a scalpel
on the other hand, during the proceedings
he spoke to my mother about the weather
That was inclement, and the Labor Party
He and my mother were communists
For a long time, I had to take blood tests
which I didn't mind, his waiting room was
full of magazines and newspapers
There is nothing to read in waiting rooms
anymore, apparently, it is unhygienic
Not that it mattered, one has phones
The surgeon and his assistant spoke
pleasantly to each other about their work
at hand, I just happen to be there
After the operation, I was led into a room
to rest and dress, no, there was no kind
nurse serving tea
blue man had one mission but it was a big gun
Wanted to hydrate the planet, each and every one
Every plant, every person, every animal who existed.
We who heard the plan helped him. No one dare resisted.
We put water on everything and drank it as well
H2O from farm ponds, lakes, dams, reservoirs and every well
Blue man got famous and paid experts to hydrate the rest
I was exhausted from watering, so glad, I must confess
A poet at the supermarket
At the supermarket, yes, we have one near Faro. I met a poet.
The mall is nicely built and has two bell towers.
From time to time, they chime to remind us why we are
Here, not sit on a bench in its courtyard looking up to
The sky is seeing mind-blowing cumulus configurations.
The poet I met had a white beard, wore an old black suit,
a tie with red wine spots on, a black beret that whiffed
Of garlic, I think. You could see that it wasn’t really there.
His eyes scanning the ground, he bent down, picking up.
Half-smoked butts of cigarettes. Ok, not so rich
So what? Haven’t you heard of a poor poet before?
They are not all idle sons of the rich, and with a university.
Degrees in literature. A notebook in the side pocket and
Two pencils in his breast pocket; so he was a poet, ok.
Death wears blue
Hollowed eyes
Sleepy grin
Twisted mouth
Smiled at me
As her voice
In my dreams
Between his rattle
And her breath
Silently screams
You're killing me
Poetry paints prismatic word-pictures
A cubist painting programmed in plain air
Poetry and painting prize pure features,
For centuries, art crafted with grand care
Let us journey to juxtapose the two
Both attract the primeval painters' flair
With colours in rich red, yellow, and blue
Words sketching with wise theatrical care.
Try to catch and caress the words you see
Draw sights and sounds into your fractal soul
Organic lines jotted down joyously
As fractal forms that fill Metatron's scroll
Golden spirals smeared in an author's room
Are geometry's homage on a loom.
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