Short Blotting Poems

Clear blue skies, or
grayness blotting out the sun,
don’t you know that every day
is the perfect day?...

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I recall the old school desks,
Ink for fountain pens a pesk,
Ink wells with lots of blots,
Blotting paper smudged the lot,
There was ink on all our hands,
Ink monitors in history's land!...

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There's only so much 
That my eyes can see
The beauty of autumn dawn
Mostly hidden
A thick misty fog
Blotting out the view


Date written and posted: 07/14/2018...

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Comfort


A

mother

is a sponge

blotting tears and

fears


Sandra M. Haight

~NA~
Premiere Contest: Lanterne Frenzy
Sponsor: Ir0nic ZiNk
Judged: 10/10/2016
...

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A
mother
is a sponge
blotting tears and
fears throughout her life
absorbing pains
and burdens
of her
kids


Sandra M. Haight

~3rd Place~
Contest: Ninette
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 10/13/2015
...

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Oddly,
blue all day. 

The sun dragged like blotting brush
across the apse of Sky; dawn apsis
to dusk apsis -
not leaving ink but life.
Not leaving marks but hues.

Blue blue blue blue blues. 
The undying beauty, the 
amaranthine found now at death of blue...
the reds. The brief bold reds. Death hue. 

Life within. 
Death without....

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Life and death across the sky
some must live and some
must die
   Broken wings and slivers
showing
   Shredded hopes the
wind is blowing
   Feathers flying, hear the
call
   Of the Night Hawk
through it all
   Terror blotting out
the stars
   Talons leaving
battle scars
   Life and death across the
sky some will live and some will die....

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Though my eyes are lifted to the vacuum of blue skies, memories of you float gentle upon the  whispering breeze, calling to memory gray skies and pain.  
For though the heavens bright, dust of smoldering ash yet stain my feet in grim remind.... us no more to be..... thus blotting hope of sun’s radiant joy from my world as I remain cast in this, the season of my loss....

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I dub a little bit of colour here
A little bit of sparkle there
Splashing out the fear
Brushing on the care
Colouring over the tears
Painting better years
Drawing blue skies clear
Blotting out the scares
Till a masterpiece appears
A painting so rare
My palette of hope is here
Bring your troubles and cares
We will paint away your drear
With the paint of prayer...

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So this is death again;
    he comes around too often
    of late by far!
Disturbing our positioning,
    meddling with the dials,
    blotting out our brightest star.
How will we find our way?
    hands fumble along a wall,
    looking for an exit or a light,
While behind him, shedding life
    like a pair of wrinkled stockings, 
    she stands tall,
Her face, her smile, her eyes,
    Ella in her radiance....

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Obscurity's trenchant
     sorrows blotting 
        tissue paper cuts,
tears aptly smeared
    in hidden fears of
        first dashed allusions,
darkly flippant metaphors
       sans passionate accolades 
          left to gingerly decay,
    grandiloquently speaking,
       'Happily Ever After' is
           hardly a verbose nuance
             throughout a quinine
                         poet's collection...

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Rain falling, pounding on the roof
Trapping me indoors 
Blotting out the sun
Parroting my mood perfectly
I play music but no song is loud enough
To distract from the thoughts in my head,
I can still hear my inner voice
Speaking the truths I try to hide from
The music can’t end the torment I’m putting myself through
Sometimes the lyrics only highlight memories I try not to revisit
What used to be a sojourn from my life, an escape, is fueling my pain...

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Proper learning imputes proper senses 
                                        proper senses set up the mind 
                                        the mind is like blotting paper
                                           blotting paper absorbs ink
                                                  ink inks on paper 
                                                 paper shows words
                                                    words impact...

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 INVOLUTION

playing peaceful music provides a
pointless painted pleasure
trapped in the why, time passes by
pointless painted pleasure

blotting vast hazy vague impressions
of painful involution
time passes by, trapped in the why
of painful of involution

preservation turning inside out
defence against invasion
trapped in the why, time passes by
defence against invasion

(FORMAT= not listed above called ZaniLa )


© Kim van Breda—7 May 2015...

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There is beauty in this world
That by nature is upheld
The trees and plants are green
So lush and not at all obscene 

 But the scars of industry
Blotting the landscape by our economies
Show we have been working so hard
In the last 5,000 years without heed or regard

For they say if we were to disappear
In two hundred years no one would know we had been here
And this world would then recover 
To be the blue and green planet like no other.

© Paul Warren Poetry...

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Today, all is landscaped by mist.
North, South, East, and West
                all are one floating sea.

The hedgerows are reefs,
a familiar tree-line
seems like a gray cliff face.
My own face
feels as if swept over
                          by a tidal spume.

Now a kitchen radio is turned on,
a truck blasts its air-horn, a child shouts,
and as if the sun were only now roused
to scatter ocean dreams
with a newly rinsed
                        and blotting wind....

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