Long Blue gray Poems
Long Blue gray Poems. Below are the most popular long Blue gray by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blue gray poems by poem length and keyword.
Listen to the wind, sighing gently –
Intimate as the moan from an oak,
Crackling, groaning, yet breathing light
From the soul of summer…
As it fades beneath autumn’s breath,
Blowing wonders into the moments,
Quiet dreams and soothing thoughts,
Healing the mind – restoring the heart,
Whispering joy through the dark –
This is the risk of knowing a season,
Like laughter and reason,
Raining down furious waters, soaking
The earth, the dreams, the plans
With liquid news from the heavenly realms,
Where peace reaches beyond the clouds,
Comforting the mountains who remember
Only the beautiful, the blue-gray shimmer, rising
Beyond the moments, where hope smiles
Laughing in colors, whimsical and brisk –
Gold and auburn, scarlet and peach,
Heartening the hills with a brilliance
Far more beautiful, quietly beautiful,
Than the wish who betrays the mystery
In silence, the anonymous dream,
The rising of a heart
From the depths of pain, misery
Defeated by the autumn singing, dancing
With grace, purity promising
To fulfill every yearning, each hope
With a praise that lifts up the One who
Shines brighter than the blazing sun,
Like the brilliance of a love that has won…
Into the blessings, on prayers
When nothing seems quite so lasting
As the wind, the sing song voice
Healing and hoping, hastening to remind
That the secret living just beneath
The wind’s gusts, in the silence
Kissing away the past and releasing
The movement, so full of grace,
Swirling leaves and vibrating, trembling
In the trees … this is the wind’s lullaby –
A serenade from autumn, when
Everywhere, on every street – in every oak,
On the wings of thunder and amid
The sweetness of showers, there is a still
Soothing, a gentling that becomes almost
A song who lingers all night long,
Then sighs on the breathe of dawn,
When all that is left to say is ‘listen’
Just listen to the call of fall… when the wind
Sings its lullaby to the misty mornings,
Like the trembling wings of a freedom who believes
This is the echo of joy on the breathless
Praises poured out from the succulent autumn,
When winds remind me to breath in –
Forever, always, eternity in a sense of Him,
Reflected on the joyous wind’s lullaby
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.
Summary calendar from mimicked leaves yellow excuses dead alive unceasing,
The fogs all of loves' fate from a wasteland of living dead blue-gray collapsed,
With crows white parrot colorful the moments from palms like sand of time elapsed,
On your neck's mane an I a he a green dove that flies buried releasing.
That left behind in heavens this inept planet wise with meadows of kind,
Leaving you those who will understand like stars drowned in luminous mud,
A two a you plural like the madman from us whole torn who painted yesterday icons,
Fine ladies on empty bottles of champagne full and comets from cosmic terrestrial sand.
Nudes faceless with hidden faces replacing any withered absent leaf present,
Of eyelids unique eye inexistent that sees blindness with a debauched muse chaste,
The mimicked real leaves fall climbing toward the sky of earth where death revives,
The yellow green excuses of eternal ephemeral autumn extinguish lighting forever.
The white fogs all of loves unfulfilled fulfilled in void full empty,
The wasteland of living dead with green oases growing in desert full of sterile life,
Crows white black parrots silent speaking in colors mute noisy multicolored,
The moments from palms escape caught in fingers open clenched of time arrested.
On the mane of your neck without mane an I stranger familiar a he unknown intimate,
A green dove red with blood that left remaining in the subterranean heavens,
The planet inept savant with meadows of kind ordinary extraordinary of sterile grass,
Leaving us stars drowned floating in the transparent mud of infinity bounded.
A two alone a you plural I like the madman healthy from us absent present,
Who painted yesterday tomorrow icons destroyed preserved fine ladies holy profane on bottles,
Empty full of champagne of tears and comets from stellar sand cosmic terrestrial,
Nudes dressed faceless with all the faces replacing the leaf withered fresh.
Of eyelids open closed unique eye inexistent real that sees unseeing seeing,
With a debauched muse chaste modest that inspires the empty full of absurd logical serene,
The summary detailed calendar from false true leaves counts our immortal days,
In the wasteland full of living dead where we all are the drowned stars shining in mud.
Anybody on this road we're on
Ain't nobody wants to be alone
Everybody's trying to make it home
To somebody
Sunflower, we're not in Kansas now
It's a new life down in Alabama
God gave us a little white house
Baby be right, maybe be wrong
We'll make it up as we go along
Been three years stuck in the viaduct
But now, Baby somehow
We got a little white house
Fix the kitchen, paint it blue-gray sky
Place your pretties in your own design
Get some rockers, maybe we can spy
Hummingbirds stop by
Plant some flowers, decorate with stones
Pink flamingoes, a couple garden gnomes
Make your jewelry, I'll write some country songs
We'll make a happy home
Baby be right, maybe be wrong
We'll make it up as we go along
Been three years stuck in the viaduct
But now, Baby somehow
We got a little white house
Sun's shining, summer's coming on
Dogs barking, fat boys mowing lawns
All the kids out, they're all puddling on
The corners
Sunflower, we're not in Kansas now
It's a new life down in Alabama
God gave us a little white house
Baby be right, maybe be wrong
We'll make it up as we go along
Been three years stuck in the viaduct
But now, Baby somehow
We got a little white house
©2019
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suspended like a cataract’s pale lens,
*the cold-hearted orb rules the night~
its blue-gray light pooling
into the hollow of his heart.
Fourteen envelopes stacked like unmarked graves.
He fingers the topmost seal, the wax brittle as hope~
the moon bleaching
their blue edges to bone.
What ghosts swim in this lunar milk?
No answers come~
only the ache of his ink
confessing:
These are *letters I’ve written, never meaning to send~
each a whispered confession,
unspoken prayers of my soul
paper cathedrals
built on the fault line of my heart.
small, papery ghosts, haunted by the weight
of unspoken things~
each a brittle testament,
a love that breathes only in the amber of my memory.
each one unfolded
read in the stillness of lunar milk.
each page I lift,
the moonlight dissects each I’m sorry
each one swirls in specks of dust
where your absence hangs.
I see your ghost in every autumn leaf.
I remember our nights on sheets of *white satin.
Silence and regret are suffocating me.
Come home…
he rewrites in paragraphs
…till dawn bleeds gray.
I sit upon the well-worn vinyl couch
and apprehensively await my turn
to see the doctor. Others, deep in thought,
glance up a moment, then resume their worlds.
I scan the room, a mixture of decor-
odd tables, lamps. But now my eyes are fixed
upon the papered wall, a strange design
of rambling shapes. Amid this chaos hangs
a painting filled with imagery of life.
I fall into this peaceful, quiet scene
as graceful birds with arched wings fly above.
Neath blue-gray skies, there winding down a hill,
a brook meanders to the lovely lake,
as nestled buildings on the velvet grass
are hugged by two dirt roads. And there, my love
with horse and wagon, riding to the house-
our home, surrounded by the blossomed trees.
Content within, I happily await-
inside this painting, work of art, of life-
secured within a well-framed boundary,
suspended on a nail upon a wall;
a sense-filled concept, so confined, compact,
divided from the abstractness beyond
its stable, gilded frame of burnished gold.
I hear my name now called, and it's my turn
to see the doctor- and my mind now leaps
outside the gilded frame- into a world
unlike the painted picture on the wall.
May 6, 2016
Premiere Contest: Imagist Any Form
Sponsor: Brian Strand
I glide along
Black river
In that hour
Before the morning dawn
To meander
The maze
And gaze
Upon
Stumbling walks
Silent
Long grass stalks
A vision
Two universe
That merge
And swell
Yet
Continue on
Disrupted
As this
Is how it is
Here
In this city
Between
Desert
And sea
I find
Myself
Out
On the East Arm
Enjoying
Kaleidoscope
Reflections
Of city
And industry lights
On a
Blue Gray sea
Tis here
That dwell
Dragon Lady
Come Hell
And high sea
Strikes fear
Into sailor
And wharfies
That happen to be
Cut you
In two
With a glance
As Talons sink in
Wounded chest
Of masculine
But stupidity
Is his
I look down
At the outgoing tide
And realize
That arrow
Had fallen
Fell away
Like a
Hand let go
Set
Free
While springtime presses in on my thoughts,
forcing me to believe that even the stillness
the clingy silence who drenches my spirit
in rhythms of non-regret, rhythms of pure peace
releasing my soul from the fading feelings,
the emotions that store up broken dreams,
broken hearts, brokenness –
like books to read, someday –
when the time is right, when I don’t feel
so lonesome when I hear the words they write,
the stories they tell – about going through hell.
While springtime pours out her dew drenched feelings,
blessings so gentle, reflecting, sentimental
praying faithfully to the One who created
the winds and the sea, the music so sweet, resting
against the silence in lingering shades of melancholy
blue black Decembers relieve my spirit, restoring me
to the heart of spring,
where I bleed with truth,
intimate stories, pouring
from the night, where stars glisten and the moon listens
revealing the way it is when death descends, like a friend.
While springtime delays my despair, the desperation
beyond compare, dread that feeds on the overcast
skies in blue gray, welcoming the mysterious haze,
releasing me from the time before my soul would find
the meaning of this life,
not in springtime or December
not in the seas or the trembling breeze
not in the seeds of thought we remember
No – it is found in the beautiful knowing
where my soul keeps going, growing
in waves of light, reflections so bright
the stars can’t glisten loud enough
the night can’t see the cloudless, love
the moments are bound up in hope
trusting the One who came to save
the One whose grace God gave
the One who is life
the One who is the sacrifice…
teaching each soul, to let go – to let go
to surrender to His love,
to believe this God above
who reaches out to us, assuring and renewing
completing out lives with a love that is alive
a love that can heal and feel and is so real
a love that comes from knowing
the One whose love is flowing
from the spirit of grace,
His never ending grace!
Oh, Sweet Love! Sweet GRACE!
1. White silver crystals
winter coat over a garden bench
Summer dreams
***
2. Outside the window
the virgin untouched purity
the snow is here
***
3. Angels in the snow
White crystals flashes
The children excited
***
4. Blue gray clouds
Yellow ring around the moon
More snow coming
04.12.2013
A-L Andresen :)
O ever changing sky, blue-gray and maudlin
your mood and unsettled ways, meld with mine.
Clouds seem but blemishes upon horizons
as weary as the soot smudged cheeks of urchins.
Bruised in hues at once fresh with pain and longing,
not yet healed by the riper rise of next day’s bloom.
O ever changing sky, the nascent forest’s buds.
Its lashes linger in the purple poignancy of dusk
and whip thy brow with thrashing maple limbs.
Eyeless vault of heaven cry for me, release my plight
erase with thy wonders this tattered visage so forlorn.
The sky of night holds many jewels of delight.
O ever changing sky, clear to crisper shades of sapphire,
ping with shooting stars and glowing diadems of light.
Let lavender blue soften my sorrows for I like Merope*
need Orion’s might to lift my heartache, to point the way.
May thy constant rebirth give hope which melds with mine
and brings a beauty brighter than your Venus** to the day.
*Merope was Orion’s star crossed lover.
**Venus is the Goddess of Love and the Morning Star