Best Baby Blues Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Baby Blues poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of baby blues poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Baby Blues poems, articles about Baby Blues poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Baby Blues poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...



New Baby Blues Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Baby Blues poems are below this new poems list.

BABY BLUES by Enriquez, Leon
Baby Blues by Linsel, Jenny
Sugar baby blues by Brown, David
Baby Blues by Mittelbrun, Madison
Baby Blues by Rodriguez, Nicole
Baby Blues by Heksem, Jocelyn
Grand Baby Blues by McCall, Cheryl

View all new Baby Blues Poems

The Best Baby Blues Poems

Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

To Dreamland on Sunset's Lullaby

To Dreamland on Sunset's Lullaby

Gracefully the young crescent moon
ascends the sky like a cosmic tune;
replacing the drowsy pale yellow sun
sinking on a golden glowing horizon.

To dreamland on a lullaby of silvery twilight...
to dreamland floating with music of night.

Even as shadows of day seek rest,
choirs of songbirds fly home to nest.
But asleep I'll be before stars start to shine;
asleep I'll be before Venus and Mars align.

To dreamland on a lullaby of silvery twilight...
to dreamland floating with music of night.

Melodies of powder-puff pinks and baby blues,
splashed on sunset's orange-tinted hues;
gently I'll slip into a cocoon of sweet slumber,
on the wings of a celestial lullaby so tender.

To dreamland on a lullaby of silvery twilight...
to dreamland floating with music of night.

The trials of day fade gloriously to gray,
and into Sandman's restful arms I will lay.
My restless spirit is calmed from within,
serenaded by nature's soothing violin.

To dreamland on a lullaby of silvery twilight...
to dreamland floating with music of night.


03-23-2018

Contest:      Lullaby in the Sunset
Sponsor:     Vermillion Scythe
Placement:  1st (PoetrySoup Premiere Contest winner)


Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2018


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Toddler Sky

-Toddler Sky-

Down where I sleep, 
You hold me, embrace my every way
The Marks up on my skin
You caress, taking away from the ugliness

Watching the simple breath, when I breathe
Breaking the ice, soothing my inner peace
A sweet spray across the paleness in my limbs
Holding the warmth, I've been loved throughout my life.
From picking up sticks to the walking stick
My loving dear I know you will always be there
A few wheel chairs, when broken bones mend
You know my every cure*
Walk with me across the hall
Through the oldness, and the boldness of every color in the sky
Thank you for taking me as I am
A light twinkle' every time I feel the colors of the rainbow drip
Now a newborn takes his form
In you I find the strength to stretch my arms and reach for every star

When happy moments fail, 
I embraced the colors I found in you
I make out every tree, and wonder why and how?
I close my eyes to imagine the fun of chasing fireflies
Tonight I'm keeping my prayers simple, cute, and innocent
I will count sheep and search for sweet lullaby dreams
Smiling like a 3 year old this very moment, 
You think I'm having "Baby Blues."
My loving dear, thanks for having patience,
Painting my way down a toddlers sky
Every time  "P M S" hits

~SKAT~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Friendly Goodbye


Poem 1: A Boy And His Painted Piano

he used lively greens
tender blues,
touches of plain mauve 
and rainbow trout splatters
to paint music
on the gas fumes 
that inhabited the clean air
that once use to live there.

he made the ugly decaying
neighborhood i lived in
bearable on even the worse of days.

he was the soft harmless rays of a comforting sun
and responsible for the smiles that broke through
the usual dismay on the faces of seven to ten year olds
already sold on the idea their life expectancies  were
somewhere in the low twenties.

life isn't always about the new iPhone being released
he represented hope.
hope that someone could make it out of the sewers and return
to free the whole chain gang presently locked firmly to a large solid steel post.

even in the dingiest basements of the worst streets
somehow, a whiff of hope threads through the tar laden atmosphere 
and children rise above the manhole covers
that would otherwise maim their existence and keep them
buried below the impossible dream. 

luckily there is always a don quixote who sees beyond
the all too real windmill set to blow others away?

Poem 2: A Street Puddle

what story hides
in this street puddle
what do the reflections want to recite.

one broken flower lies on the wet tar.

the wall cracks from the very bottom to the top
sitting there are black boots quivering 
stalked by white boots with their bully badges yelling "comply"
blind to the co-operation to their commands. deaf to pleas of mercy
as black rubbers fall 
as the wall echoes their cries
three boots stand and you wonder where lies that fourth boot.

do the mass boots of all kind even care
black feet walk as their words float
to fill the air drawing on the sky "no justice no peace"!
time passes, deceptive winds clear the atmosphere and...
weeds grow through the concrete to climb the walls
you can see the shadows large against this impromptu screen
and nothing changes. white boots rule.

Poem 3: In The Beginning 

I have always been here.
I was here when you turned the Earth's Stomach.
When it regurgitated your acid tongue
              stripped the land of its roots and nothing grew.

When you thought you could just skate through 
but instead fell through the lake and froze the Planet
from one pole to the next.

When you cheated the Sun of its permanent spot.
Had it not been for romance who placed 
an infinite sparkler in the night sky
who orbited earth barely clad in her white night silk dress
you might of owned time.

I was here
when you flooded the land
but you hadn't counted on 
the amoeba
everything changed and you retreated 
to your original pit of fire.

maybe you could deal in souls
you knew what was coming
when the heavens opened
and released the winged guardians

so here we sit
the best i can hope for is
balance
fifty/fifty 
good and evil
I'll take my chances with those odds.

Poem 4: A Boy And His Wooden Dragon

a detailed wood carving of a dragons bust leads an ancient 
                                                     ship through an unforgiving storm.

if this replica could only breathe fire like the ones in children's tales

still 
         his face is lifelike, ferocious!

one could swear trails of smoke escape from his nostrils,
  i am convinced his eyes are real emeralds.
          
                          the waves against the metal ship, 
                              the salt that dissolves the rust, 
                                 flows over the dragons neck,
giving one the impression the creature is bleeding.

old wood has no life flow...
                            ...does it?
    no pump to circulate sap
                                  but!...
...i'm convinced this inanimate portrayal is leaking vital fluid.

the craftsman's hand has...,
perhaps...,
a long shot to say the least...,
maybe?,
given his formation...

can the craftsman's artistic soul be so intense as to breathe 
a half life into his meticulously chiseled creation?
how much power does the real artist?...

on a more practical line of thought,
                                                         will we survive?

"who cares" i think "that decision rests not in my hands."
so...
half cocked 
i foolishly climb the dragons neck.
i remove my shirt to use as a tourniquet.
i apply it to his gushing neck in an attempt to heal him.
the whole time stroking him in a calming manner 

suddenly he releases a breath 
he opens his jaw wide
and exhales fire equal to that of a volcanic eruption.

and just like that 
the storm stops.
the sky flashes his baby blues.

would we make it back to land?
is this just an ironic pause in the inevitable egregious battle yet to come?

time would tell. 
time always tells. 
never trust time with a secret.

                          time would tell
                                      after all
                      that is all we have 
                                  us humans 
                                              time 
                                               and then..


June 2015
Armand






Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Kid

His hat pulled over the baby blues
      A  squint          a stare as
he slowly headed down a street that had never known
                  violence with a pistol on either hip
drawing the attention of each passerby but never meeting their gaze
       as he trod with a purpose toward a destination that had his arrival timed for 
high noon
 while his heart beat fast as he saw the hands of the town clock
             reaching for the sky sending the message
that it might be too late when a voice stopped him in his tracks
                  saying
Tommy, where have you been. It's time for lunch.


Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Mother's Ears


I sometimes feel a unique vibration within my own ears. My baby’s crying, calling from beneath his quilted, baby-blues. His sobs rustle the warm sheath of home. Before my mind reacts, my body is up, hastily tip-toeing into the nightlight’s calming glow of a cow jumping over the moon. Outside a soggy, spring night splatters under streetlights like urban art. A steady rhythm of flowing rain beats down on puddled pavements. My baby’s cries reverberate as they reach that instinctual part of me, somewhere deep within my diaphragm and through my heart. A mother’s astute ears know the subtle variations of her own children’s breath in sleep…I hurry to the shadows of my baby’s crib to find him curled up, eyes still closed; little whimpers and groans escape from his open lips…a bad dream, I realize. I gently rub his back, shushing away all that disturbs his peace, and I wonder about a child’s impressionable mind… what intrusions of an innocent day could bring a bellowed anguish to the sweet dreams of a carefree boy not yet two? I listen to him tumble in and out of his fear until his breath is a tranquil hum… only then, do I hear the music of an early morning’s falling rain.


Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Eye is Such a Braggart

The eye is such a braggart with its emerald this and hazel that.
Does no one dream about an ear or a nose?
(personally ... I find the shin and pinkie toe quite fascinating)
But it is a place the Poet seldom goes,
still hot on cornea fever ... stanza after stanza after

stanza.

It's like I'm part of a Dickens' novel: A Tale of Two Spheres      (oh dear)
Velvet pupils coming at you ... (attention spans beware ... we're discussing EYES)

... but what about the palms and the cowlick?
(do you have the gumption to make it poetic?)

Or is it back to the drawing board - sleepless nights
excavating further facets of the dead-lights.

I know its "infinite depths" make you sigh with Shakespearean fervor,
but really, enough is enough,
when there's so much more of me to love.

Have you so quickly forgotten the beauty of a rose?
(plug your nose and see how it goes)
I want so bad to see that lovely weirdness
chilling out beneath your temples.

I pray it's not too much to ask for a little ink spilled
to the one who showed you piano,
the sound of rain, your mother's voice.

(that curious curvature holding up your glasses
deserves a rhyme or two
... not another verse
about my baby blues!)

Just once I wanna hear someone say,
Your nose makes my heart run ...
Your chewed off fingernail brings to mind the crescent moon ... !

For your next Magnum Opus could you spare some room
for the underdog anatomy.

Did you know I have a crooked ear that's more endearing
than a heart carved into a tree?

Didn't think so!      (iris hog)


Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Dying Love

Listen to poem:
Those deep caramelized eyes

hidden behind continuous cries

Days, weeks, months

sitting at his side

holding his hand

the one who held your heart

the one who made you his bride


Lost, deeply entranced in memories

Nights laying by the fire

Captivated by desire

Those walks barefoot in the sand

Oh those days were grand

The soft slow kisses

The day you became his Mrs.

Making dreams come true

All the I love you's


I remember

Forty years ago when we met

sharing an umbrella

so I wouldn't get wet

You made me laugh

and giggle

.... at your jokes

I brushed your hand

and hair with little strokes


 remember

When we got to my flat

 didn't want to go in

You grabbed my hand

and pulled me in

That kiss was so sweet

One we would forever repeat


Where has the time gone

It seems like only yesterday

when we had our first date

You were not like anyone I had ever met

Such a gentleman, you were great

All those late night talks

cuddled on the couch

That little twinkle in your eye

You'll always be my guy


I miss those times

We'd sit on the porch

drinking our tea

I'd look at you

you'd look at me

We'd stare up at the night sky

Wishing upon falling stars

Picking one out

making it ours


I still hear our song

I still wear your favorite scent

I still long for your touch

 where has all the time went


I know our time won't be long

I must remain strong

those tired baby blues wearily open

gently squeezing my hand

tears roll down 

 you gaze lovingly at me


Another place, another time

again it will be we

..................


fade to black




Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

You changed my life

It’s amazing the feeling in side I hold
How can you enter my world so bold
The first kiss I gave you
My life is much less cold

You look at me with such trust
Because I love you, you know I must
The instant smile on my face
My heart is anything but robust

The cuteness of your little curl
You put my whole life in a whirl
Your baby blues are so bright
You are Daddy’s darling little Girl


Copyright © Gareth James | Year Posted 2010


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Just breathe

                "Just Breathe"

     Life is hard, life is tough, life is full of other stuff.  It throws you curve balls 
and never a straight strike.  You just know things aren't going to turn out right.  

Just close your eyes, inhale, and just breathe.  No it is not a wise tale, it will 
never fail.  This is just another way we exhale.

The day you see that one that takes your breath away.  The one you know you 
can't live without, the one you have no doubt.  Without a second glance its true 
romance. Just breathe and know they are the one for me. The one you want to 
join your family tree.

That beautiful day the one that will make a mark in your life and you will ask her 
to be your wife.  As you are on that one knee hoping she will agree.  Looking her 
straight into her baby blues, she agrees to marry you.  

It's judgment day, the day you have waited for in every way.  As you wait your 
turn to enter, you are reviewing the things you have not done for the better.  A 
hand rest on your shoulder.  In a deep voice he leans over and whispers in your 
ear.  For I am the lord you don't have to fear for you will live here with me, 
so Just breathe!!!

By
   Rowdy
            Yates


Copyright © Rowdy Yates | Year Posted 2014


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Wish for a New Day


What happened to my boisterous boy,
      beloved keeper 
                       of wild bluebell skies?                             

You grew to be an audacious man,
An honest extension of perpetual wilderness 
                                                  shaded blue 
                                                       by a spirited you,
but discontent spurred foolish 
thoughts of tranquility,  
an internal peace surviving
only in        the pause      between
slow breaths of solitude.

So, you untied limbs from sky,
separated from your flock 
(watching their      graceful 
formation rise above     rueful rainclouds),
you plunged below sunken dreams  
                lower than last streams of dusky sun.

At what age do young men learn to run? 

Variegated wings clipped, you slipped    
into a cool, green valley of seclusion 
and felt relief in its hollow 
     meditation of muffled morning,
          nested soft in efflorescence – 
                  with fragrant lasses dressed sickly sweet in   
                         breezy taffeta dresses, light ruffles, blooming pastel bows.    

Sans courage or care,     you live on and on     in your Shangri-La of despair.
   
And you (now impassive yet spewing charms) bow to rugged kings adorned 
                                            in purple crowns, 
                                                   towering all around 
                                                         your cocoon.                 
False security feeds your fade, 
               as an ink-bottle horizon 
 pours across starry-eyed canvas sky.

“You are too far from home, gone too soon!” bellows a vigilant moon. 

When gravity fails, 
                     you chain yourself 
to comforts of blackest night.
Weary hands rub out starlight 
                     crayoned in sparkling silver.   

One day, you will tire, loneliness brewed from too many sheltered views,    
and on that new day, I will see a vision        of a wish come true -
a homecoming     in baby blues,            your wings    colored    bright, 
beautiful birds in harmonious flight    
against a seamless sunset.                                     
                     You, like a jet spanning time,
                                 I’ll see in reflective tides,
                                        healed wings soaring on high.
                                                        A new dawn revealed.

Written 3/16/17 for New Day Contest                          
                                 
   


Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2017


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Mother Drawn

I saw Mary in Peru
as pastel chalks skimmed over
a gray concrete sidewalk, felting the surface,
baby blues and pinks vibrated with naiveté. 

The artist knelt 
each stroke given in homage
to the Mother of all.
 
I see Mary.
	The Quechua see
Pachamama, earth-time mother,
the oval shape of her beatific head
tilts as if she’s watching—
when as the dragoness she rises, 
she shakes
	the ground. 

A son of Lima dressed the dreary gray day
with earth stone. Chalk forms Her breasts.
He prays. 	We are all children 
at the feet of the Mother;
	the celestial sun and moon were 
birthed
	from her loins.

I saw Mary as he drew with diligence.
I saw my mother and myself,
let all who birth	 be
praised.


First Published in About Place Journal Vol III Issue II



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Butterfly rap- for contest

(*Note- I suggest you read this with a boom box going in your head. Can you dig it?)

Yo,
Now gather round, my brothers ,settle down while I regale ya
with some tales about my lady from the kingdom Animalia,
and it's gonna take a while ,so listen up, coz there's a lotta
things I think you need to know about the Phylum Arthropoda.
Now, mah baby's got some colour and she's lookin' really cute
with her wings so finely tailored that you'd never find a suit
with such material so delicate and colours that just gleam
if you checked out what they sell in Rubenstein's in New Orleans.
Well, her six legs work together in a symphony of class
as from head down through her thorax she can really shake some ass,
though their fronts are smooth and silky, on her calves they're real spikey
food receptors on her feet so she ain't never wearing Nikes.
All the same she gives good lurvin', such a passionate embrace
though I wasn't too impressed first time I ever saw her face.
With her two big baby blues (and they're real mothers) compound eyes
I can never tell if she is checking out some other guys
and  I'm careful when we kiss, as she has got one big proboscis
gotta make sure that ahm well away when every time she flosses.
Never saw her family photos and it's somethin' ah should miss
'coz her pupae was damn ugly and so was her Chrysalis.
Though we're going steady now I couldn't marry if I wanna
'coz she says in six month's time that she is going to be be a gonner.
And she only drinks from puddles, for the salts that appetize her
so I sit and watch and crack mahself a bottle of Budweiser.
Well I thank yo all for hearing me and listening to mah song
and I know to some my love affair may seem just slightly wrong
but I caught her eye and she moved in with just her heart to guide her
and I  fell for her and we began to- hold on...DAMN! A SPIDER!!!

4th December 2015
For contest 'Butterflies- men only, sponsored by Skat A and Poet Destroyer A


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Putting on the Ritz

I pulled up to the Stork Club in a bright Red Coupe Deville. I must admit I felt a bit of pride as I tossed the bell hop the keys. I said "Keep it close Kid!". As he sat behind the steering wheel, I admired the way that the chrome reflected the street lights. I walked towards the entrance and the bouncer motioned me to the front of the line. I smiled and pressed a twenty into his palm, he didn't crack a smile but he did open the front door for me. 

At the entry a pretty young thing took my hat and coat, her smile made up for the doorman's lack of exuberance. She handed me a ticket and I slipped a twenty down her ample cleavage, she didn't seem to mind. In fact she said "My name is Hana and I finish at One." I said "That's good to know doll face."  

There was a large mirror and as I adjusted my tie, I thought "this Havana white suit suits me just fine. I liked the texture of the fabric and somehow the whiteness made my baby blues pop! I walked up to the bar like I owned the place, I ordered "A Scotch on the Rocks." The bartender winked and said "Right away sir." A cigarette girl came by and I ordered some Camel's. She opened them for me and I peeled another twenty of my roll and said "Keep the change."  By this time people where starting to take notice. A gorgeous dame sitting at the bar asked me "Are you going to buy me a drink?" I played it cool and said "Maybe"  she looked surprised, I guess that wasn't the reaction she was expecting. She looked intrigued which was exactly what I was hoping for. I tapped my pack of camels on my forefinger and two cigarettes came out. I offered her one and she put it up to her luscious lips. I removed a gold plated lighter from my pocket and starred deeply into her eyes as I lit her cigarette. She starred right back and I thought "This couldn't be going any better."

All of a sudden there was a big commotion at the front door. I looked up and the Bell Hop was pointing in my direction. There were two uniformed officers with him and they were heading in my direction. I could have ran but instead I reached for the dame and gave her a huge kiss on those luscious lips. I then turned and put another twenty on the bar and said "Give the lady a drink." A moment later my face was pressed on the same bar and handcuffs were tightly fastened to my wrists.  I guess in the end I gave all these fancy folks somethin to jaw about. In the morning they will be reading all about me. A great story to tell the grand kids.

For Cecelia's Dramatic Dialouge Contest.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

MY SON - MY LOVELY CHILD

I held you in my arms for the very first time, Elated my son was perfect, he was simply sublime. New life that I had pushed into the world, Precious baby, oh how my emotions whirled. With light blonde hair and eyes of blue I fell in love the very second I saw you Home from hospital, oh how our lives changed Took its toll on us - our sleep pattern rearranged! It is quite challenging getting used to being a new mum I wouldn’t have changed a moment with my precious son Everyday you flourished I was amazed how quickly you grew Crawling, walking ,talking there was always something new I was very lucky and didn’t get the baby blues You were so adorable, didn’t have the terrible twos You adored reading books and sitting next to me Friends would come to visit and you’d play happily You slept with your teddy he was called ‘Blue’ We had a duplicate teddy...but you never knew! How quickly the years passed, oh how time flies It’s over twenty years since I sang you lullabies From toddler to teenager you were our pride and joy I am truly blessed to have such an amazing boy At school you thrived and passed your qualifications Then worked in computers, traveling to far off locations Now you are away from home studying for your degree When you graduate the proudest mum in the world will be me! You fill our lives with laughter and joy, I love you so much my wonderful boy. Contest: My Lovely Child Sponsor: LuLoo 02~09~16


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

My Blue Heaven

Lazy days in fields of bluebonnets;
lost in romantic, Shakespearian sonnets.
Sipping blueberry wine neath a sky blue dome,
on this amazing blue planet I get to call home.
Voyages across the deep blue sea;
pale blue moon lights the way for me.
Blue whales spew mist upon my sails.
Feast on blue crab and lobster tails.

Chillin' on the porch in faded blue jeans;
bluegrass strums across banjo strings.
Frisky blue heeler dancing at my feet;
bluebirds sing along; tweet tweet tweet.
Old Blue Eyes crooning on the radio.
The Blue Lounge was the place to go.
Oddis Redding with those rhythm and blues;
Elvis jirates in Blue Suede Shoes.

All these blues are truly grand,
but baby, when you take my hand;
your touch, delicate as bluebell flowers,
Yet strong as bluestones of castle towers.
When I feel the blues start creeping in,
I gaze your baby blues again.
To my soul and spirit, you are leaven.
You, my love, are my blue heaven.


Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2016


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I Prefer Crazed Blue Eyes

I prefer crazed blue eyes
How  they
Magnetize
The ache 
I have
To make your insanity 
My own

I prefer crazed blue eyes
Won’t
Apologize
How I take 
Your flesh
And make your absurdity
My home

I prefer crazed blue eyes
Don’t you
Realize?
Nutcase
Lover 
Wackity wack wackify 
My soul

Let me look into your 
Anarchic mind
Transfixed by those 
Wild baby blues

Let’s share the final
Gasps of time
While we wear
Each other's shoes

Let me hold your body
In such strange ways
Even monkeys
Would be ashamed

Let’s meld our chaos
Lunatic babe
One body joined
Perverse, deranged

I prefer crazed blue eyes
Delirious blues
In the way they 
Stare at me
All Sturm und Drang
Staring
Knowing
Exactly
Who I Am



Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2012


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

FORGIVE ME -EMOTIVE WRITE FOR CONTEST

Bitter tears cascade down my face, hearing that you had taken your own life. Another teenage tragedy, I’m in dire straits - never again will we hear your playful laugh. The baby blues crept up on you so gradually leaving a tiny baby without a mother. We read about these terrible tragedies …. Someone’s father, mother, sister or brother. Your baby will have not be left alone, grandparents have willingly taken her. Now she is living in a brand new home; their lives are starting a new chapter Forgive me were the last words you said Death was the price you paid Contest- Forgiveness Sponsor - Craig Cornish My first attempt at a 'Modern' Sonnet 05~10~15


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Beauty In The Eyes Of The Beholder






Lovely baby blues
Your eyes on our wedding day
Years melt and are gone
Age changes outward beauty
Memory keeps the moment







"A Memory Of Beauty" Contest   
Sponsored by: ^Rick Parise August 2010 












Copyright © Virginia Mitchell | Year Posted 2010


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Saul Grills Marilyn at a Seedy New Orleans Jazz Dive

Saul’s twinkling eyes took it all in – the platinum hair framing a first-class face, the silvery sheath dress wrapped around a figure that was out of sight, but in plain view. She was definitely the classiest thing in the joint -- Bannister’s by name, a jazz club just off Camp Street in New Orleans – and she was leaning against the side of a very lucky piano, crooning a sultry tune as Saul watched her from his table at the other end of the room, nursing some straight-up rye and taking puffs off a Lucky Strike – which wasn’t half as smokin’ as Marilyn. The ceiling fans didn’t put much of a dent in the muggy air, but that didn’t stop a cold chill from making its way down Saul’s backbone as Marilyn belted out the last few bars of her suggestive little ditty.

When she was done the patrons roused themselves from their stupor long enough to beat their hands together like they meant it, and Saul did the same, then motioned a cigarette girl over and whispered in her ear, dropping a fiver onto her tray. The girl swayed her way over to Marilyn, who was having a tête-à-tête with her piano player. After a few seconds he split, disappearing through a curtained doorway, and Marilyn perched herself on a stool at the far end of the bar. The cig girl muttered the message, jerking a thumb in Saul’s direction, and Marilyn started to shake her head as she turned toward him, but the moment her baby blues locked on his, the “no” turned into a “yes” and she crooked a beckoning finger. He picked up his drink and made his way through the clouds and the crowd till she filled his field of vision.

“Hello, handsome,” she said as she gestured at the stool next to hers. He parked his keister on it. “I understand you’re a private peeper, come all the way from New York City just to talk to little old me.”

“I’d have come farther,” he said, “just to get a good look at you.”

“Aren’t you the charm boy,” she said, producing a Kool from her silver handbag. He lit it. She puffed. So did he.

“Actually,” he said, “I’m in town on another case, but when I found out you were here I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“Good thing I’m not a bird. So what do you want to talk about? Dicky Delgado?”

“I didn’t know you had a mind-reading act too.”

“Mister, if I could read minds I’d be slapping your face right about now.”

He grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I know this. Delgado’s in a jam and Barry Bason is defending him and everybody knows you’re Bason’s pet gumshoe. I’m just trying to decide which I like better -- the tall, dark, handsome one or the lighter version. You and Bason are a couple of dolls. Although your pictures in the paper don’t do you justice.”

“Thanks. Neither does yours. And you’re right about Delgado. I’m investigating all his enemies, trying to figure out which one of them framed him.”

She crossed her legs. The oh-so-tight dress parted, nearly up to her waist, revealing the shapeliest shins this side of Betty Grable.

“You think it’s a frame job?” she said.

“Could be.”

“And you figure I might’ve had something to do with it?”

“Did you?”

“Oh come on. Sure, I resented that heel for giving me the boot, but I landed on my feet. In fact, I’m grateful to Dicky for setting me on a new career path. I’m moving up in the world.”

Saul glanced around the small, seedy nightclub. “This path leads up? Looks more like a dead end.”

“Hey, don’t let the decor fool you, handsome. This is one of the top jazz joints in the country and the boss pays a lot better than that skinflint Cuban. And a girl could get noticed here if she plays her cards right.”

“I’ll say.”

“I mean by record producers, smarty. All the big shots stop in here looking for new talent. We’ve already gotten a couple of nibbles.”

“We?”

“My husband and I. Bobby was the guy tickling the ivories during my number.”

“Quite a cozy arrangement. Was it that way with Delgado too?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I wonder if you and Delgado sang a few after-hours duets. And when the lyrics got too hot for Dicky to handle he changed his tune to the wedding ring blues. That casts the brush-off in a whole new light, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what he told you?”

“No, but Bason figures it’s an angle worth pursuing.”

“Which proves that brains and beauty don’t often go together, especially in men.” She blew smoke in his face. “Bason is all wet. And you can tell him so.” She got up off the stool. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go change my tune.”

“Hold on, I’ve got a few more questions.”

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. Bobby Trope, blonde piano player and annoyed husband, stood behind him, along with a burly bouncer with anchors tattooed on his biceps.

“This quiz show just got cancelled,” Bobby said. “Time to sign off, shamus.”

“Hi, Mr. Trope,” Saul said. “I hear you barely made it back in time for Marilyn’s show last night. Your flight out of New York got delayed due to engine trouble.”

“Who says I was in New York?”

“The girl at the TWA counter at the airport who sold you your round-trip ticket. Why did you go there? To tend to some unfinished business?”

“Unfinished or finished, my business is none of yours.”

“You got something to hide?”

“Nope. I just don’t like nosey questions from private dicks. But I got a question for you. Are you gonna blow this joint under your own power or do you need a little breeze in your sail?”

Saul glanced at the bouncer, then stood up and turned to Marilyn. “Nice meeting you, Miss Leeds.”

“It’s Mrs. Trope to you,” she said. “Now blow.”
(This is an excerpt from my mystery pastiche novella, "The 'I Love Lilly' Murders"


Copyright © Stanley Carter | Year Posted 2016


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Sugar baby blues

You're sweeter than chocolate, 
she used to say to me
I need my fix now honey,  
you're just like sugar to me 

What I get from your kiss, 
baby, it makes my heart sing
I love the soft, warm glow 
and the rush that it brings 

What I feel from your touch, 
y'know it makes my heart skip
I need that touch now baby, 
so take me on that trip

You can't fix my life, honey, 
but you can make me
feel better right now, 
come give your sugar to me


Copyright © David Brown | Year Posted 2015


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Mother's Delight

A little boy was born to his mother’s delight
The most precious face ever placed in her sight

 Instantly smitten when she saw his baby blues
 His contagious laughter and a smile she couldn’t refuse.

As time went on her baby boy was growing into a man
It was like yesterday she was holding his tiny little hand

Everybody who knew him thought he was the bee’s knees
Popular and well loved his mama so proud and well pleased

As he grew he crafted his skill to a true art form of manipulation
Like a chameleon he would change to benefit in any situation 

Lying became as natural to him as the first words he ever spoke
Not sure if he could speak the truth for he would surely choke

His mom holds on to the hope and prayers she says to her father
While her son disrespects her over and over not wanting to bother

He is so wrapped up in himself not noticing his true friends have left
He has thrown away his pride, dignity and respect, all because he chose meth.

A little boy was born to his mother’s delight……….


Copyright © Erin Soares-Anselmi | Year Posted 2014


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Come Home Soon

Come Home Soon
I sleep alone, I cry alone, so without you
this house is not a home. Where are
you I wonder. It's been one lonely
year without you beside my side.

Please come home, yes I need you 
even in the afterlife to be beside
me.

'Specially when I'm missing you and
feeling Blue without feeling your 
arms wrapped tight around me as 
I'm pressed right next to your heart.

Almost made me feel like I could
will your heart to keep on ticking 'cause I
know you could feel my Love to your heart.

You know our Love was pure when at times no
words needed to be said, just a look from
those baby blues or a special touch.

I wonder when I'm looking to the stars, if
you're looking at the same time as we did so
much of our lives. Look to the stars
Baby'cause I'll be there beside you.


Copyright © Cheryl McCall | Year Posted 2009


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Those Crystal Blue Eyes

I walked too many miles
and ran so few feet
that my heart skips beats
when the women pass me by

Here I am,
alone in a world of loners
and beast and man alike
sleeping on park benches
smoking cigarette buds
and breathing in,
filling my lungs with
Carbon Dioxide... not so much oxygen

At last no hope!
I hear dear coming for me,
with those crystal blue eyes of his
and he grins his boney smile
and I shiver and accept my faith;
till those baby blues come flashing
like neon blue lighting crashing in the dark skies.

As the last minutes rolled down
for me to go up to the gallows pole
I saw the most beautiful pair of diamonds
that sparkled and shinned and made me smile.
My heart truly skipped a beat,
when she came walking that narrow corner
with a dress of silk and hair golden locks,
"Goldie locks" my childish mind flashed too!

She came up to me
and I took her from the darkness
and the creatures that prayed on her
from the dirty rooftops of abandon cities
and I kissed her,
she revived me
and a new life flashed before me.

Those crystal blue eyes of hers'
saved my life,
gave me hope,
and showed me love,
for the first time in my life
I was in love with such beauty
in this world of dark magic and hate.
Love flowed through my veins
and chilled me,
like chewing peppermint gum
and I held her in my arms and we took a trip
and cruised the open seas alone
in the sailboat of love.
There we were,
those crystal blue eyes,
gazing upon
the one, the only,
The Blue Poet.

12/5/13


Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

When listening

 
when listening to music I hear it played in colour

two arythmic arcing shapes
sway to moaning baby blues - then
burst from syncopated sleek-hipped dreams,
veiled they in smoke grey gaze
where figures drift an' dive,
mischief minds bedecked by
clock face golden dandelions with 
far too little time for sweet euphoria..

when listening to music I feel it played in colour

cerulean sweet the sky
sprinkled by breeze divine all
diving dun-bronzed blown birds,
keen-eyed of ambered fawn 'neath
flick-froth slip of wild white steeds
riding the drift of damp eternity,
where Davy guards the swaying weeds
of green intaglio 'gainst coral rich..

when listening to music I dream it played in colour

echoes roar in deep encrusted wombs
caves - carved by sea-love insanity,
thund'rous time an' crenelated moon
flushed furious by blood-red storms..
wrecked rust the rocks without
where gannets scream incessantly
wailing widows' kin all chapel-held mid
time-stained rich rainbowed glass..

when listening to music I hear it played in colour

waves hold the puckled skin of love
balladic undulations' lure
aquamarine in endless flow
swept onwards out by artist's brush
'pon canvas damp in endless mass..
throb colours rich displayed in song
an' air so soft that dawn with silver night unites
to share their hearts in evensong..

when listening to music I see colour dance my world 


Copyright © emma green | Year Posted 2016


Details | Baby Blues Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Gold Digger

She's the type of girl,
Whose name everybody knows.
Because of all the guys she's been with.
That's just the way it goes.

Long lashed baby blues,
Her hair, a honey gold.
Her body, every mans desire,
But her empty heart is cold.

She promises forever,
Then leaves you without shame.
After she's gotten what she wanted,
You are nothing but a game.

How much can she take you for,
How much will you buy,
She tells you that she loves you.
What a perfect lie


Copyright © Erica Gould | Year Posted 2010