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.
after years of working &
raising the kids, whom both adopted,
ended up with problems that came from
undisclosed heredity,
the two had put aside a
nest egg, as so many did
in their generation,
growing up with parents who
remembered the depression &
what it was like to have nothing---
hearing everyday that
“a penny saved is a penny earned,”
putting together a life for themselves
while taking care of their own parents
as they passed on
as people do, as we all will,
they thought that when illness started to show its face
in the latter years
that retirement & more time spent
nurturing each other back to health,
would be the most appropriate way of doing things &
so it went---
mother was the first to walk into the hospital
to get cut up &
upon returning home,
father had to take care of her, full time,
so he retired early---
at this time,
the economy was said to be doing “well,”
and nothing was being said of the atrocities to come,
so father, always trying to be fiscally sound,
invested a good portion of their savings,
thinking that over time, it would multiply,
like the broker assured him &
the two would be able to stay retired,
living off what they had saved,
as had been planned---
but father was next into the light blue gown &
being told there was cancer growing inside him,
the worry shifted just as mother was getting better,
to the new horror---
& while the two worked on keeping each other
emotionally sane, while their own bodies started to
give up on them,
the meltdown came,
like a tropical storm of immeasurable proportion
sweeping in from some angle that couldn’t be detected
by any formerly successful means &
the unplanned agony began.
the money lost by others with whom a working couple
had put all their trust,
could never be regained &
their bodies now exhausted by a life of work,
recovering & enduring illness,
would have the most difficult time trying to make it again
in the 21st century work force---
so as the stress came on full
the strain joined in &
as the strain & stress pummeled them both,
all that was left was the re-mortgaging of their house,
the last thing they wanted to give up,
that very vital shelter over both of their heads,
now being hocked in the system’s pawn shop,
allowing them nothing to pass on to their children,
allowing them to never stop agonizing over each passing day
wondering just when the ball will completely drop.
He made no move at all
As the alarm clock went off.
But ten minutes later,
It was obvious he was awake.
He lifted himself out of bed
And went towards the bathroom.
He shaved himself
With a Gillette Techmatic
After having sploshed himself
With a double handful
Of icy cold water.
He washed again, dried his face,
Put on some Monsieur de Gauviche
And got dressed.
He wore a Brutus shirt,
A Tonik suit and a pair of
Shiny brown boots.
He was six foot two,
And he smoked sixty Players
Medium Navy Cut cigarettes
A day, and he lit each one
With a Ronson lighter.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest
Wardrobe in London.
He was a fair-haired man
And very good-looking.
He was thirty two years old
And a bachelor,
And lived near Richmond, Surrey.
He was immaculate,
Wore long sideboards
And a long moustache,
And his hair was shortish
And well-combed.
His shirt was light blue,
And he wore a dark blue tie.
He wore two rings on each hand.
He washed himself
After his usual breakfast
Of toast, black coffee and health pills.
He cleaned his teeth thoroughly,
Put some more cologne on,
And then went to do
His isometrics.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest
Wardrobe in London.
He was born in London in 1940.
He went to Eton and Oxford,
Had taught at Oxford for eight years
But was sacked.
He had been an Oxford Rowing Blue,
And got a degree in English, Art and History.
His father was Lord Alfred Hardin, M.P.
Titus loved teaching,
And not many people know the reason
For his dismissal at the age of thirty one.
He was nearly expelled from Eton
For smoking, drinking,
And being head of a secret society
With secret oaths, but he was
Too promising a sportsman,
And all the boys respected him
As a prefect.
He was a fair-haired man
And very good-looking.
He was thirty two years old
And a bachelor,
And lived near Richmond, Surrey.
His flat was beautifully furnished.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest wardrobe in London.
(This jackadandy's original title was "An Essay Written by a Guy Who Was Too Lazy to Finish It", and it dates from my mid-teens.)
The steam slowly raises from inside my mug, wrapping itself around my pencil, eventually
evaporating into the musty atmosphere.
As I open my sketchbook I imagine all the possibilities of a world inside my head, but today
I’ll stick to what I do best.
I place pencil to paper and within seconds her eyes blaze like wildfire, a look of pure
mystery and a feeling of seductiveness.
Her nose is sly and round with a slight creek to the left in a cute and attractive way, I pick up
my cup and take a sip before moving on.
I sketch a swiftness of lines as a base to what will later become a sea of hair, my hand slides
down to her neck, she is beautiful.
I rub my eyes, it’s late now and my candle is starting to burn out, her shoulders are broad,
not to wide but slightly long.
I run the tip of my lead around her soft breast, they sag slightly at the bottom but I don’t
care, as I draw in her hips.
You could place your hands on hips like this and hold them for a lifetime, I move my pencil
up to her waist, I prefer the fuller figure.
I realise my tea has turned stone cold as I take her soft hand into mine, we dance around
the page between the flowers and tree’s.
I look into her eye’s of blazing fire and draw in the final outline of her hair, I think it would
look good light blue with green streaks.
I draw in her thighs as my pencil runs down her long smooth legs…. No, I take my eraser
and rub out her legs as I change my mind.
Instead I think I’ll have her legs disappear into a mist, her dress of gold and black sparkling
in the cold midnight air.
I draw in the tears as she cry’s, for no more life has she ever known, we walk through night,
as I hold her hand she rests her head upon my shoulder.
We take a seat on a newly sketched bench next to a fountain over flowing with water of the
darkest blue, and she sighs.
I get from out of my chair and fill the kettle, as the water boils I contemplate her fate, I pour
my drink and sit down at my desk, I get to work.
Her arms out spread and a smile on her newly formed gentle lips, I draw a sparkle into her
tears, then as I place the finishing touches I rip out the page.
The frame is cheap but not tacky, I placed her on the wall above my desk,
Where next to a crystal fountain of water blue and dark,
She can dance forever.
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
She sees herself suddenly as a small girl
bare feet on the cold black and white tile
little toes curled
sees the white porcelain tub and
how pretty the light blue water was
so deep it almost came to her chin
as she climbed in
For hours she'd play with her dime store sailboat
loving it though it would hardly float
always taking on water
listing, never level
her wet skinny back hunched over
shoulder blades like primordial wings
every few minutes she'd have to shake the thing
Trying desperately not to break the spell
of pretend
and when
it was time to let the water out
she'd always stay to watch the water drain
weighing the emotional pain
both fascinated and horrified,
as the suction intensified,
by the force of the water
the unstoppable slaughter
waiting for the inevitable rotation
to begin
the dizzying spin
Slowly at first growing faster and faster
a miniature cyclonic water disaster
The dime store boat of course on its side
circling faster in the relentless tide
Then the drain would give a horrible belch
much satisfied with itself.
As she grew the tub got smaller
with shallower water
less and less room
for pretend to bloom.
Years later, dime store sailboat long forgotten,
life having been mostly rotten
working with the most cynical of cynics
ER nurses bitter that it's more like a clinic
runny noses and coughs that folks thought were urgent
working hard to save those who were truly emergent
Hearing from them the phrase: "circling the drain"
memories suddenly flooding the brain
almost able to feel herself as that young girl
watching the sailboat beginning to swirl
Feeling the blood drain, face going pale
she sees vividly the boat with its bright red sail
yellow hull and blue plastic deck
fine hairs rising on the back of her neck
She realizes now the fatigue of age
is from fighting the pull with defiant rage
The closer you get, the faster you spin
and soon the dark whirlpool draws you in
With a knowledge that seems to be purely primal
she now understands the downward spiral
And she knows that she will not put up a fight
she'd rather go silently in the dark of the night
And the dime store boat comes to rest on its side
so it's all come full circle at the end of the ride.
SADNESS
©Danielle White
Castle Heartstone sank into the mists of magic
The Princess of Magic, spell cast
For one day,
we shall return
When Faeries can play
When The Wise Ways,
will always last..
Our enemies will never have..
What lies in our hearts
Wonderful things
Magic, love
The colour of the seasons
What it brings..
Masts creaked,
sails held strong
A fair wind
for the Heartstone throng
The Four Kings,
having command of the ships
The Princes,
the navigators
for they encircled the world in wind
Queens, for strength
Princesses, for love and laughter
Faeries for, joy
An ocean , so blue
Its' light reflected in the Heartstone
Brilliant fire,
felt in the hearts of many too
The night, so clear
You could touch a star
The Faeries brought one to light the way
For, Faeries can, at play
Illuminate their hearts,
to all those they hold dear
Such a Tapestry of Stars
Only a Faerie could weave
For, they left the world
Such hearts , grieve
Soon, the land disappeared from view
Masts creaked
Sails held strong
A sense of something new...
The Castle was gone...
Disappeared by the Princess of Magic
Its' beauty not to be despoiled
by those they had foiled
Hidden in the mists of Magic
Castle Heartstone, lost in our memories
such thoughts detected
on an ocean , so blue
in its' light
feelings reflected
A King , cannot stop the sea
Storms blew
The ships held fast,
for such things never last
Beautiful treasures were not left behind
The Heartstone
The Tapestries
The Book of the Wise Ways
Seeds from the Whispering Trees
Water from the Stream of Sighs
The memories you can find,
for you are not alone
The Eagles of Heartstone,
came too
Upon golden wings, they flew
High up, above
The ocean , so blue
The Swords of the Knights,
were brought too
Faerie magic, sometimes not enough,
to stop an enemies bluff
The ships were filled with song
The beginning of the end..
The end of the beginning..
Hope and love,
in the hearts of this happy throng
Days filled with golden sun,
a little rain too
Upon oceans of blue
Each day
The king of air launched the Eagles
They soared high,
to find the land
that was meant...
For, magic cannot die
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.
Have you ever wondered what a Dream Vacation would be like?
I have this chance to ponder.
I could fly anywhere, but I would rather take a 'Sleeping Car Train' to my destination. I have never travelled by train, even when I made my first visit to Europe. So, this would be a first. I'd sleep from twelve am to five am as I watch from my private berth.
The sun rising, streaming warm air on the window of my berth. Some cumulus clouds so puffy, large and white in a background of light blue sky, with a view from my berth enlarging as I greet the morning time.
I am transformed by its sight while the train speeds down track and enters a darken tunnel that takes away my cumulus cloud sight of puffy white and light blue sky. However, this is not all one sees. As we roll past green grass and yellow meadows that look like blue water with yellow sprigs of flowers moving so fast under my eyes. Once in a while I catch a glimps of an animal: a cow or a pig maybe even a horse.
And all the time while the train is in motion that chug, chug along the tracks
sing with melody to the view outside my berth window. Although I am a little
far from the dining car, I swear I can smell the lushious Canadian bacon and farm eggs with cheese that go with that melody of song on the tracks. Clicky clack, clicky clack and a chug, chug from the locomotive engine of the train.
As I walk to the dining car fully clothed, I know that smell instantaneously. And I fall into the chair as I am being served. By now the sky has turned a jet blue and the cumulus clouds have somewhat distance themselves from view.
Each day that I am on the train I ponder how long before I get to my final destination? Although, I knew before I took this ride how long it would be. I have gotten so caught up in the ride, that I don't want to leave the train. Just keep riding and riding. Through this journey I will see small hills and large mountains, lakes over bridges and many small towns until I reach my final destination which is Rome, Italy to Venice. I will speak with other passengers and train personnel. It will be a ride I will never forget.
Thank you for sharing my dream vacation..
A summer house-boat party - Matey - toss those cares overboard. The scout boat found a deserted cove so the party can be privately fierce.
The lake's broken reflections of moonlight look like jewels on black satin.
There are all kinds of drinks - ALL kinds - and herbal refreshments flare like lightning bugs. It isn’t long before perfumed bodies are flexing to music in the hot, moist, summer air.
Dance, swim and repeat as needed - cool water evaporates off bathing suits immediately - replaced by prickled sweat. It’s too hot - I’m staying in the water. There’s a group of us in tubes tied, spider-web like, around the boat.
There’s a guy who’s been watching us (Bili, my BFF, is my tube-mate). He’s extremely fair, and he’s gotten a bit too much sun giving him a feverish appearance.
At one point, I meet his gaze - to see what he’d do. His irises are a light blue that, in the lights, reflect like little blue flames - unwavering and alien.
I don’t mind a bit of attention - I think that’s how the system works - attraction, pursuit, investigation, and eventually seduction. But usually from someone we know. A stranger's attention can make one feel as if they're in enemy territory.
He gave me a nod and a smile that seemed like a proposition. I whisper about this “encounter” to Bili who takes command and just rows us over to him.
He’s older than I first thought - 22 - with cream-colored hair - thick, like horse mane and eyelashes and brows so pale they’re almost invisible. His name is “Noud” and he’s from Holland - at Georgia Tech studying atmospheric something or other - and girl watching.
“What are you doing at some random Georgia lake party?”, I ask.
“Soaking up the local atmosphere, of course.” He says. Which makes sense, I suppose, because that IS his chosen field.
I do an Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, arbitrarily, which I think is pretty good (you can’t beat the classics) - Noud, does an even better one.
His, “I’m going to take [pause] you OUT” got a laugh.
His later, “You need to take [pause] that OFF” earned a “nuh-uh” finger wag.
Thanks to vaccinations, the atmosphere around here is a lot more fun.
on his deathbed
he stares up at the ceiling---
a stale, supposedly calming
light blue, basks down upon
his now disease ridden body &
with all the tubes pumping
painkillers & poisons into him,
he’s finally fallen into submission,
giving up the last remnants of
resistance to the belief that the
doctor’s have been right all along &
that this thing is a final determinant---
this thing is going to be what
does him in,
probably much sooner than he had
anticipated.
for him, there will be no more trips
home, for him, no faces of family or
friends will be seen---unless they come
to visit of their own accord,
rather, these are the pondering hours,
possibly days,
in which even the gentle clicks & beeps
of the machines beside him
send his fuzzy mind into a series of
stream of consciousness memory waves
which connect pieces of his life
that he could have swore he had forgotten
up until now.
each one is burnt on the wall inside his
skull, each one comes up like brail neath’
the fingers---translating the minute details
of the rising glaring images appearing in
his barely awake state, the whole while
reminding him of the eons which seemed
to stretch themselves out into the years
that now have been rolled up into a bundle
of fleeting, flashing, seconds.
while not all the memories are positive,
as the darkness still creeps in, the fact
remains that an overall peace takes hold
convincing him concretely that there is
no more reason at all whatsoever to
dwell on those places in his head, those
nether regions which brought anguish in
the past & dragged on throughout his
life, bringing up new pain like the enduring
side-effects of a drug---instead, now, the
calming blue above begins to morph into
a gorgeous lake, one which he went fishing
with his father up in the Adirondacks,
when the green canoe was filled with
the essentials of the day (the bait, cokes,
sandwiches & of course, Lay’s sour cream &
onion potato chips) & time seemed to stop
completely, whilst the two of them shared
an afternoon coasting along the quiet waters
of a lake which they solely occupied, taking
turns rowing & casting out in hopes of a
big return.