Long Light blue Poems
Long Light blue Poems. Below are the most popular long Light blue by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Light blue poems by poem length and keyword.
I.
Eros walked slowly through the forestland,
Near Mount Olympus, in the soft twilight.
By his side, he held his bow in his hand,
As he walked on through the advancing night.
Above the forest, the evening was clear,
As a full moon lit up the mountain’s peak,
An endless number of stars filled the skies.
Through the trees, he saw a wandering deer,
That appeared to be searching for a creek—
He quickly followed its path with his eyes.
II.
Reaching back into his quiver with care,
Eros placed an arrow within his bow.
He quietly raised the bow in the air,
Then he slowly crouched his body down low.
He watched the deer at the creek quench its thirst,
As he swiftly trailed it through the thick brush—
Suddenly, there came a beautiful sound.
The music startled both of them at first,
Then Eros and the deer left in a rush—
The arrow fell from his bow to the ground.
III.
As they both followed the sound of the lyre,
They then found themselves now coming nearer
To a woman on a rock near a fire—
Her sound and her beauty became clearer.
The deer slowed down from the pace which it ran,
And shook the loose leaves away from its fur—
Erato had brought an end to the hunt.
Her playing always charmed both beast and man—
The deer calmly listened from behind her,
And Eros stood enamored from the front.
IV.
They listened together, as she played on,
Wearing myrtle and roses in her crown.
Further into her presence, they were drawn—
Surrendering, Eros placed his bow down.
In the moonlight, Erato’s tunic flowed,
Appearing light blue within the green trees,
And her golden lyre began to glisten.
The fading embers of her campfire glowed,
And remained burning in the gentle breeze—
Eros stood and continued to listen.
V.
Overhead, the moon hid behind a cloud,
The fire was soon extinguished in the dark.
Her playing became increasingly loud,
And the fire reignited with a spark.
The playing then soon silenced in the night—
Her precious lyre upon the rock she placed,
And handed Eros a golden arrow.
He then watched the deer leave in the firelight—
Being thankful, for their presence it graced,
And for the sounds from the clearings narrow.
© 2023
In the night when the moon shakes its silver over waves of dreams,
A woman opens the gate to her heart, feeling too much, too deeply,
In the trance of words that turn into butterflies of light and shadows of omens,
As if the cycles of life and children of glass and islands of emerald could not fill the sea of her soul;
As if the mourners of mists and the whispers of wind and the vegetables of the earth could not fill the cosmic void.
She imagines she can whisper to the stars the secrets of the night,
To bathe them in the light of destiny, to write their fate with an eternal verse.
My love, I am that girl, lost in the whispers of the universe.
A man writes, knowing too much, too painfully,
Spells that transform into birds of night, fetishes that become amulets of time,
As if the erections of desire and the congresses of thoughts and the products of dreams were not enough;
As if the machines of time and the galleons of stars and the wars of shadows could not fill the eternal silence.
With the old furniture of memories, he builds a tree of wisdom,
A refuge in the cosmic chaos, where he hides the treasures of his mind.
My love, you are that man, a thief of falling stars.
In the deep night, when the moon shakes its stardust over our dreams,
We love each other in eternal silence, we love in the absence of our own shadows,
Never loving ourselves, like two strangers in a mirror,
We hate even the shoes of dreams that carry us to forgotten realms,
And the hats of memories that hide untold stories, dusted by time.
But we love each other, precious, with a love that burns silently,
Our hands are light blue, delicate like dragonfly wings,
Our gazes are full of terrible confessions, like mirrors of deep water,
Where all our desires, all our fears, all our unfulfilled dreams are reflected.
And when we marry, our vow is made under a sky full of enigmas,
The children of light leave in disgust, leaving behind a strange abundance,
A cosmic banquet, full of unconsumed dreams and unpicked stars,
Like fruits hanging heavy on the branches of time, waiting to be harvested.
The river courses, its currents speed
as it carves the land; pushes against the mud,
the long grasses bending over the dark deep
light blue-brown.
Her grandmother creaks the rungs
of her rocking chair,
her shawled shape is molded earth colors
like the river and its banks,
both passing time quietly, alone.
The rain changes the sky
outside her window; it becomes Dove-grey.
The clouds are wrapped together,
sunlight cushioned, they are bandages
with the light like blood seeping
until the empyrian is completely covered,
and clots- Venus, Mars and Jupitor, perhaps-
behind the outer layer of the celestial sphere
in a sea of wedding-white.
The full moon is veiled
within the cottony gauziness,
it shines in the violent heavens.
If seen more than a thousand times,
Each time breeds a greater sublime.
Yesterday, right around 6PM, it was.
A view, forcing memories; it really does.
Looking over toward the western sky,
That expanse was bold; not a bit shy.
Forgetting it yesterday; a quick recall today.
A look of solemnity that dreaded going away.
Seems there was something it wished to say.
Peaceful light blue sky, hued reddish orange;
Fixative, breathtaking. Remarkable artistry,
Another divinely majestic undertaking.
031221PS
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
Five-and-Dime Store
by Odin Roark
Maybe I remember ‘cause…
Everyday was a holiday
At Woolworth’s Five-and-Dime store.
Colored things were floor-to-ceiling,
Holding fast the lingering scents of popcorn,
American grilled cheese sandwiches,
Salt Water Taffy and fudge squares,
Clashing with parakeet and hamster living.
They were in the back where the little kids’ zoo was.
Maybe ‘cause…
Life-size cardboard Hopalong Cassidy
And Gene Autry cutouts hung from fishing lines,
Wrapped round roof nails.
Five and Dime treasures dangling over
Kid literature my dad called them
Five cent comic books right next to
Licorice and malt-ball canisters.
And just up the aisle,
Grandma’s favorite counter
Where she’d always buy her special envelopes--
Light blue par avion with printed airplanes.
I’d lift my chin up to the edge,
Stare at those airplanes
And dream. Wow, how I dreamed.
Maybe I was collectin’ make believe
for when…
Oh, how Mom and Dad, Grandpa and Grandma
Loved to drive the Model A into town,
Saunter up to the Five and Dime counter,
Order a turkey dinner,
Or liver and onions,
And then stare so long…
So long they’d stare into
Their empty coffee cups,
While I slurped my root beer.
I could make a root beer last forever
You know?
Mama bought a lampshade once,
The crimped accordion-kind,
Along with those lacy see-through curtains.
“Par-cale” I think she called them.
Never did understand their purpose.
What good’s a curtain you can see through?
And home,
When they were hung,
They’d lift and float straight out
When the windows were open.
Our cows and chickens would chorus up
Join me to laugh and the dancing curtains.
See-through-lift-up curtains.
Made no sense.
Maybe…
Maybe that’s how they all
Wanted to be remembered
Mama, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa.
I don’t know.
Now I sit in my new Lexus
Gaze across the street
Where the twenty-story
Glass and steel office building.
Erected where the old Five and Dime
Held so many good times.
Maybe I drove here ‘cause…
I needed to finger some nickels and dimes
In the pant pocket of my Armani suit
Gaze and remember the sweet smells and jelly bean colors.
When gettin’ happy and stayin’ happy was so easy.
Back then.
In my every day travels of traveling on
I found a mood ring on the side of the road
Instead of my pocket where things I find go
I was put in the mood to put the ring on
Immediately it went from orange to pink
Happy with my find
It's not everyday you run across a treasure like this
Outside of the five-and-dime
Every minute or two I kept checking my mood
To see just how I felt
Between bouncing back the red and the black
Getting nervous I was overly stressed
Deciding to actively seek my mood ring to green
I went light blue instead
I had no problem with that as a matter of fact
With the feeling of being relaxed
Still I'd like to go back to the mood I was in
Before I knew about it
So I took a detour a smart move for sure
And dropped the ring back where I found it
Low in the east, a paler shade of night,
against the dark a ribbon of light blue,
five-thirty, and a gentle veil of light
begins to bathe crystalline drops of dew.
This sight becomes more welcome with each day,
as earlier the dawn breaks the night's pall,
the shackles of the spring will fall away
and shoots of coloured blooms answer its call.
Long nights, short days are now well in retreat,
I bid them all farewell with no remorse,
winter vanquished, no sorrow in defeat,
seasons roll on as nature takes its course.
Spring washes off dark thoughts, and dour moods end,
not just a season, but a treasured friend.
A little too late for Christmas isn’t it?
The toys are gone but Santa is back in town
Giving out gifts and coating cities with baking soda.
The warehouses are overstocked with it
Cities and towns are overwhelmed with it
And its victims are running away from it.
The white world stares innocently at the sleeping crowd
And the snowman sitting beside the corner house
With pink pointed nose and seven black whiskers
Awaits its tired visitors. His black cap with light blue
Emblem attached to the center, sits comfortably on his head.
Maybe it's a landmark for someone to establish a location
or a marker to indicate that someone is there
And so the snowman with the black cap on
Is attracting visitors from everywhere.
©2015 Christine Phillips
There is such light...
The ivory hue
of the dove-colored rain- cloud
as it hovers;
the opaque glitter
of the sunlight as the rain-
drops are shaken
off of leaves
after the rainfall. The light
emerging
as storm-clouds
glissade into the heavens
the tint of light-blue Robin eggs.
Billows as bright
as the Springtime Sun, that slip
across the sky in April.
A snowy Egret's
spread wings in a summer
afternoon
as they lift-
they are an elegant white wedding-
her veil, train…
A sunlit
freshly washed silk dress, drying
in a soft May sun.
A moon bow
alit on a body of water,
immaculate…
the purity
of the stars that are diamonds
cast across
the celestial sphere
as the sunlight ebbs, retreats
into a dusky sky.