NAVY BLUE NIGHTS
She sees blue “bonjour” in his handsome eyes.
He’s wild for her cornflower wig, a pageboy.
A bluebird flits in their garden delight,
where plump berries grow and joy’s juice doth flow.
Her manicure’s shaded with chalybeous.
Her ears pierced with abalone blue pearls.
Egyptian blue and heavy mascara,
her nighttime’s infused with forget-me-knots.
His denim jeans frame his posterior.
Her azure eye winks as he passes by.
Slightly parted berry lips brush his lips.
He holds his breath blue as she whispers “adieu”
1/23/2017
Matter is "how"
Hangs the question
A king?
A queen?
A poor?
A knave?
A pageboy?
A fool?
A somebody?
A nobody?
A President?
A terrorist?
Hangs the question
Torments
badgers
Matter is "how"
© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
10 December 2014
1-21-2013 The Best of Afternoons
Lying awake,I could see the light of day,
Through the door ,that of a keyhole,
Out of my opening eyes I notice, the lazy clock reaches up as the candle light did,
Somewhat like the night before,
On the wall,my calenders' picture,
A monkey in a sailor's suit with a pageboy haircut,
The summer breeze sneaks a glimps of future funny poses,
What will the future bring,hopefully more that just monkey business,
As in slow motion at first,surely- I race into the openess,
Seemingly resilient from a restless night of dreaming,
Through the sound of a far-a-way intuition calling,
Me out from into the sunlight,away from these cumbersome blues.
Her, with her white-veiled smile, looking up at me.
Him, with his unlikely carnation. Shifty eyed.
The football-shirted pageboy,
flanked by two pink princesses,
sulkily kicks an invisible ball
The mum and dad wouldn’t come.
Too young, they said through tearful, pleading eyes.
I pray to god to bless this union,
Though secretly my heart despairs.
Friends cheer as they briefly kiss
Back down the aisle in the meringue inspired, empire-line dress
To the waiting limosine,
Back to the waiting council house clothes,
and the soon-to-be occupied nursery.
To the terraces of silent acceptance.
Five kids and many beatings later,
before she’s even 30, I’ll see her again in white robes.
Nicotine stained fingers betraying her killer
as surely as any pathology could
Friends sigh, and turn their faces, as she glides away
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.