Long Blue gray Poems
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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
When I met the tall and amiable Vietnam War veteran,
my shyness showed,
yet, my throat dried and tightened when he softly
spoke the words, "The war never goes away."
All these humanity destroying wars never cease,
soldier's names, faces, their eyes so well-worn.
Their love letters sent home never faded in their
immortality.
The soldiers who made it home alive weren't
given a hero's welcome.
Their nightmares flashing as they wake up
sweating in their sheets in the dark,
yelling for respite from still hearing and
being in the firefight, still seeing the VC,
and witnessing the life breaths leaving
mortally wounded brothers.
Descending into the night's loneliness,
the blue-gray of the t.v. on low volume,
the sobbing of a loyal wife.
Some marriages, families split apart
with crushing sadness,
many veterans homeless on U.S. streets,
such a heartbreaking shame shadowing
over the face of America the beauty.
Surviving veteran's hair becomes snow-white,
war wounds achingly arthritic,
memories of their war buddies still sweetly
preserved in their mind's images.
Vietnam War veteran's reunions as their
bones stiffen, but still salute their brothers
and sisters in arms,
their hats with the name of the war,
the pride of their service.
Many barely out of high school,
with brothers of the same town,
the same state,
so much youth called up,
joining brothers from other regions
of the U.S.
Blessed by God in their fraternity,
their bravery.
The deep red poppies represent their
precious blood.
I remember the 1960's-70's searing
scars in my mind,
weeping for the loss, the hurt in our
hearts over the Vietnam War.
MIA's, POW's,
disappeared as aging families still pray,
still wait.
In the local Veteran's Cemetery,
I met a woman in her eighties,
she was a little confused,
couldn't recall where her Vietnam veteran
son's grave was located.
She told me her daughter-in-law couldn't
bear to visit his grave.
We found his grave,
his name glistening in the dew of
that gentle May morning,
as wrens and sparrows sang on
blossomed boughs.
A chance encounter became such a
gift to honor her son,
and his mother.
To let her know he was not forgotten,
but cherished,
Welcome Home. ~
I drove down the boulevard as I did a thousand other times
Passing by the aged blue-gray house - the bachelor's pad across the street
Hunkered down like storm clouds in a mist of yesterday's legacy
And there he stood....the soulful captive, haunting his past
Black pants with hips flung to the side and held low by his own design
His stance altered the walkway like a steel girder posted upright
His boundless laugh seized the spotlight then scattered like wind chimes
Embracing a sweeter, livelier time before he slipped away
I pulled over to the side of the road to let my illusion wander
Sitting crippled in my car - his entranced prisoner
Pulling in the stardust memories of heading down the artists highway
Driving in his cherry red rock-n-roll car his guitar in the back seat
Where his expression, his music lived in vivid hues of youth
Startling the stage with words of rebellion
Becoming the cause of all the commotion
He challenged his crusade with the heat of revolution
His list was his own, his sequence bore his own evolution
Disobedience for the sake of itself scrolled on his flirting brow
Teasing each consequence with the audacity of sunflowers in the snow
Life was struck as a downer and he a loner
Whose heart yearned for the lyrics to sanctify his "hell on earth" anthems
A hungry wolf in a pack of sheep, growling at his own shadow
Licking the wounds of his notched dissatisfaction
Unable to disguise his truth to fit into his abstract woolly landscape
Always coiled up to the max of his amplified intensity
With his super jet speed brooding melodies
His cool blue eyes, his ocean vastness, his sky all reflected things in motion
All headed down the Pacific Highway in a finned Batman 60's Buick
Colliding with the universe
And memorializing his words of hard and lonely places
Pounding and throbbing with the sounds of his guitar
I drifted back
Losing this poltergeist of the past, this shadowy myth
This specter of a defiant paradox of love and hate.....
As the melody faded I embarked back to my journey
Riding down the boulevard - He in the seat next to me
January 17, 2020
Strand no 650 any theme any form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
I had waited for you seemingly forever
So long did it take before you were to come into my life
But in so many ways you had always been there
Your hair so white more than once people
Said that you glowed
Your eyes blue gray
Soft but piercing.
In the spring we’d plant flowers and you quite the digger
Would never tire of ‘replanting’ oh the control God blessed
Me with that summer
On the porch we would swing and sing until my throat would be sore
And still Id manage one more
Lavender Blue, You Are My Sunshine, Red River Valley
I can still hear the wee small voice
In the summer under the big maple the front walk
Would flood and we’d run back and forth barefooted and splashing
Your face, pure joy, your eyes animated, your smile so wide
And those cheeks I could tweak them right now
Is there any better sound than giggles and splashes
Autumn we would take long walks and picnics down in the woods
And sit on a fallen tree. We’d find ants and worms and spiders and rescue the most
Precious of treasures. Feathers, milkweed fuzz, acorns, so much
Bounty for the taking. We’d bring them home and glue them
On paper or cardboard or make touch books
Winter oh please let’s have snow for winter. Snowmen
And snow forts, snow balls and mmmm snow cream.
I remember the look on your face at your first bite as
If you had just made magic.
We read books by the fire, books and more books
Then you would touch my lips and ask me to
Read one with my mouth, which meant to make
Up one just for you.
You have been blessed with intelligence
You have an uncanny ability to fix things
You’ve never seen before
Your sense of humor can put me away
Until I beg you to stop
You have a sense of logic beyond your years
You will sit on the floor for hours and build block towers for babies
Most importantly my son
You have been blessed for an unquenchable thirst for God’s own heart
At eighteen our time together will be changing but sitting here
I remember the words from a book we used to sing to each other
“I’ll love you forever
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be"
To Noah
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!
Lo, falls
bouncy leaves very tall
autumn waving, rapidly
rather dirty soaring waving mighty time
for fall tree blue, gray, black
gay winged, color rapidly
vivid wind waving,color rapidly
its rich waving, rapidly
its brawn waving, rapidly offset
reds hue, dynamic, dull time soaring
blue, great, light orange contraband
decidedly pale falls a runner
contraband !
yellow, gray, orange
red, brown dynamic, dull
beautiful base runner
dungarees beautiful
base runner soaring
quite grey my people
the night my friend
bouncy quite big
so active so active
bouncy a runner
dirty offset
time dirty
for for
we time
we we
run fall now winter
12/22/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
It was a cloudy day in march...
The sky was blue, gray,
Hot sun outside, within.
How statue like he stood,
In the early march wind.
He stood, he stood,
How statue like he stood.
Bare naked on the sands,
moist tears ducts,
sundryed, bound feet.
How statue like he stood.
A voyage done,
rusted anchors weeped,
strange faces big guns.
How statue like he stood.
Fading sounds, mangled,
knotted thoughts, screams within.
How statue like he stood.
Wintered in the moment
of the early march wind.
He stood, he stood.
How statue like he stood.
By
Jay JOHNSON
Hey…psst…wake up! I know it's still dark but will you come with me? Come on…
We tiptoe quietly through the sleeping house and slip our feet into flip-flops, and go out the back door.
We are in our backyard. A flat, grassy expanse that looks as fine and welcoming as the finest Persian rugs. Surrounding our little home in the mountains is nothing but trees and creeks…blessed nature.
Holding your hand because we are friends, we stand in the middle of this beauty in our pajamas and flip-flops and look up at the sky.
The hyper, flashing Morse-code of the stars are the first to dim, so tired from their all night attempt at communicating their heavenly delights.
The vast skies fade from blackest night to deep indigo hues, finally washing out to the palest blue gray of watercolors.
Just as we begin to distinguish the shapes of trees, the glow, surprising in its slow suddenness, we feel a lightness warming our hearts as well, banishing all fear and welcoming the sweet anticipation of a new day.
Then we hear a far away, “tweet,tweedle,tweet!”
This must be Mother bird, for she is always first to rise and sing!
She isn't alone for long…soon her family and friends awaken to sing to the Maker of the Summer Sunrise.
And this is their Sunrise song:
“Awake my fellows! Arise my friends!
For the Creator brings us the sun rise again!
No need to worry, no need to care,
if we'll have shelter or what the flowers wear. He hears our prayers, our songs and our cries…for after darkest night we know the sun will rise!
So don't fret,no, don't worry about what we will eat…
Just be thankful for all with this song we sing…tweet, tweet, tweedle, tweedle,tweet, tweet, tweet!”
I Wrote A Poem Today,Its Message True Words
I wrote a poem today,its message true words
banishing morbid grey,its echoes I heard
in foreign tongues,set my heart aghast,
curses darkly flung,deeds of my past.
I heard a song play,its rhythm so true
banished morbid grey,its dancing was you.
Dear believe these words, our love was once true.
You were my sweetheart,back when love was new.
I cried that sad day,love-loss a great blow
birthed saddest grey,bringing life low
in epic pain found I, darkest of hell
nothing left to gain,ours is a sad tale.
Heard a rumor say,you are pretty still
time to leave today,I write my last will.
Dear believe these words, our love was once true.
You were my sweetheart,back when love was new.
I wrote a poem today,its message true words
banishing morbid grey,its echoes I heard
in foreign tongues,set my heart aghast,
curses darkly flung,deeds of my past.
I heard a song play,its rhythm so true
banished morbid grey,its dancing was you.
Dear believe these words, our love was once true.
You were my sweetheart,back when love was new.
R.J. Lindley
June 24th, 1979
Rhyme, ( Love Lost, A Bridge Broken And Burnt To Ashes )
(updated with minor editing-10-16-2019)
Old Note, 6/24/1979-- Deleted...
New Note: ""grey""- use is (4a)... (lacking cheer or brightness in mood,)
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/grey
grey adjective
less common spelling of GRAY
1a: of the color gray
b: tending toward gray
blue-gray eyes
c: dull in color
2: having the hair gray : HOARY
3: clothed in gray
**** 4a: lacking cheer or brightness in mood, outlook, style, or flavor
1: You’re every girl’s daydream and I’m more of the suffering-artist type.
I will keep you up at night to stare at the stars with me and paint them while you sleep in the early morning.
You will keep me up at night with every girl you throw your eyes at.
You will make coffee and flirt while I sleep.
2: You are a Cancer and I am a Sagittarius.
You say the stars don’t affect us in any way while I stay up all night to paint them.
3: You are perfect and I am a mess.
You’ve got those perfect blue eyes and the neatly cut blonde hair and I’ve got the blue-gray eyes and whatever hair color I decide on that week.
4: You are Romeo and I am Rosaline.
I will survive the play without you.
5: You could break up with me and I wouldn’t even know it until I was 50 miles past you and your new girlfriend on my way to another state, physically or mentally.
6: Our hand fit perfectly together.
My head fits perfectly into the crook of your neck.
This type of perfection will never happen again.
7: I drink coffee in the evening and you don’t like coffee.
8: I can’t paint you and you can’t keep me.
You’re nothing more than a memory.
9: You will want to touch every part of me, and I don’t want to think of your twenty years from now and feel your touch on my skin.
I want my right thigh and a piece of my lower back to be free of you.
I am a work in progress, and that’s okay.
You are a finished product, and that’s okay too.
10: I love you.
They say opposites attract, but we were two matches burning brighter together, so when the flame went out, you could feel the cold on every inch of your body.