I saw it in the blue gray skies
light flashing incomparable
like twinkles in your eyes
when you smile
and laugh lines still appear
something simple
I wish
would never disappear
or dissipate in the breeze
as we both watch
over the great big sea
Twilight leans low
over the lake,
God’s quiet hand smoothing
the day’s last breath.
Water gathers the sky
like a secret it promises
not to spill~
rose fading into lavender,
lavender into blue-gray hush.
A single ripple
wanders toward shore,
carrying this soft reminder~
even endings can glow.
life painted in gray
dull and plain
like the cloudy sky
that's about to rain
'til I met you, painted it blue
together in happiness and in rue
shared soul in pain
and dance in the rain
but, everything at its peak
is bound to break
so, there you are again
leaving me in pain and gray
To My Special Valentine
Dear (fill in your name)
I can taste your ruby lips
as my tongue touches them
Your skin feels like silk
beneath the touch of my hands.
(Fill in your name)
Makes my heart flutter when
you speak in your sultry voice.
I love sending you red roses
and pink carnations.
I can picture us
(fill in your name)
As we sit by the blue-gray
waters of Lake George.
We can carve our initials
Oam and (fill in your initials)
In the bark of the tall
maple tree in my yard.
I could go on and on
about our time we
spend together.
But I have to address and stamp
many envelopes for this
special holiday.
So (fill in your name)
I love you more than
any other.
I painted my bedroom wall blue.
Then darker blue.
Then also blue-gray.
There is more out there.
They promised.
I painted on a canvas.
There might be nothing out there.
But I try to paint the sunset and sky.
I wonder if those things are still real.
I painted the deck.
I moved all those chairs out of the way.
Until the porch was empty and nothing could get in my way again.
First, I cleaned everything off.
Then a leaf landed on the space I had just cleared.
I painted everything,
Wearing overalls.
I would howl and swirl my paintbrush in water.
Even at night.
There are colors we can’t see.
We just imagine.
I painted my bedroom wall.
Again.
If all the colors disappeared and there was only one-
I think it would be bright green.
Just like the necklace she used to wear.
Plain droplets plink downward risk-free.
Rain, that bristles on panes, weighty.
Rip-roaring, soaring, not boring,
as wind assists an outpouring.
Angled and claustrophobic dance.
Can’t see the light; cars take a stance.
Sky, a blue-gray, wiper flip-flops.
Shy, the soft pelts of ho-hum drops.
The twilight brings a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves above me
where I sit on a hill overlooking a vast meadow
of purple asters and flowering orange butterfly weeds
I'll wait here to watch the sky change
from light blue gray to red and orange
as the sun slowly falls
behind a thin red-threaded horizon
where the first glimmer of a star appears
and the sound of crickets start their melody
shades and shadows dance through the meadow
as the setting sun begins to fade away
and a quarter moon rises in the northern sky
as the sky blackens stars become more visible
and the meadow has darkened
while fireflies start their nightly lamp-lighting
and the sound of frogs are heard in the distance
telling me it's time to leave
Edward is a mad house
And a monster of a lover.
The past is a grotesque animal
But you are not
Blue, gray or any other shade.
In the depth of the blossoming
Shadows, the lover of wild things
The cry against obscurity.
He is the name on my breath
After too many vodka shots
After the red sunset has died
And my heart has given itself
To beat warmer. To cool again
The up, the down, the winding
Even as I - with no lover
Decide to kill the morning.
Shine like a sky
in this world where you were put on,
filled with different shades of blue.
Sometimes, it's baby blue
like the eyes of Maria,
staring directly at you,
like wanting to devour your soul
or drown you into her fantasy.
Sometimes its midnight blue,
like your soul is trapped
between night and day.
Sometimes its blue gray
when loneliness drowns your soul
like a swimmer on an endless sea.
But at times, it's royal blue,
that tells you, you're still the king
of your own world
or Sapphire blue that makes you see,
that your world is filled with different gems
for you to treasure.
*Title inspired by the song "Different Shades of Blue*
Joe Bonamasa Poetry Contest
8th place
Tony snails and rusty nails
can be found near giant whales
As for candy stripes on blue-gray dolphins
all those I know went miniature-golfin'
He sits silent with the old man;
as intrigued watching his gnarled hands
whittle away at the pine twig,
as he is with tales about Gran,
and their life on the wild moorlands.
As he now and then takes a swig
from a large, chipped, dusty brown jug
the man’s rheumy blue-gray eyes glint
with mischief; “See that big fat pig?”
he says, taking another chug
“won him in a wager with Clint.”
“bet the fool I could make a tree,
whistle the song Yankee Doodle.”
“Well, he lost big time and sure paid.”
He stopped, put his knife on his knee,
winked at the boy and his poodle;
then gave him the flute he just made.
the term pigeon hole takes on a whole new meaning
when you come across a round hole in a fence
and a beautiful blue gray pigeon is staring at you through it
this fowl brazenly stares at me through his peep hole
not caring that he is making me feel uncomfortable
There's no one here,
just me and my dog
and the ticking of the clock,
some say hey, it's an hour late
daylight savings time pushes ahead,
but for me, it's okay, it's fine
though right now, I'm an hour behind;
the day still comes and goes
rising sun and fallen snow,
pale blue gray skies are on the fly
time forever slowing, rushing by,
all the creatures on earth know
life is steady in its flow,
morning dew on winter's chilled grass
futures waiting on the lost past;
a word, a thought, a smile, a laugh
everything is new but never lasts,
today completes our yesterdays
and now is ever slipping fast away,
hold on tight, the epic ride begins
blowing east, west, north, south on the winds,
until there's no one left to stay
n the foolish games we constantly play,
the changing times never move us forward or back
and all we're left with is a reality fact.
I was standing next to an African swamp the other day
When the wing span of a dynamo spread a shadow my way
It covered my body length, and I was lying down flat.
I said to my husband “What do you think of that?”
“It’s a shoebill stork,” he informed me with a hush.
Don’t excite him, because he will come out of the brush.
The shoebill was at least five foot tall, standing on his feet.
Which intimidated me, as I know shoe bills love to eat.
What do they consume? I asked my husband, worried.
He whispered “lungfish,” and his voice sounded hurried.
The blue gray shoebill began to stare me down right away.
I thought we were both goners on that horrible day!
From your hands, a new sun rises full pink,
then swathes golden thread in a gauffering
of sky. Round, blue-gray clouds breathe on the brink
of endless light, this cradled offering.
Your hands, strong, weathered works of ancient art,
both palms cupped, a church holding its people,
radiate, soulful beating of a heart
within, life aglow, stained-glass to steeple.
Your hands, beginning, chisel earthy curves,
reds of Sedona to Alaskan blues.
Brushed in dew, one fingertip swirls and swerves
after storms, creating dawn’s promised hues.
Birthed on a horizon of moon-edged ink,
from your hands, a new sun rises full pink.
Written 5/14/22
for: Orphan Sonnet Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
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