Based on artwork called "Spellbound on the Stairs" by Catrin Weltz Stein
The night is a
surreal sky blue
A raven-hair maiden
sits at
the top
of a garden stairway
Branches from bushes
that drip
roses
of violet-blue hue
flank each side
of this b r o a d stairway
The young girl’s
summer white gown
of delicate lace
d r a p e s
three of the seven
stairs
beneath her
She is a swan -
neck gracefully tilted
down
as she intently reads
the large black
book on her lap
A moon both blue and white
looms above her
offering her
a huge globe of light
to read by
Sprinkled in the magical sky
are tiny twinkling orbs
Are they fairies
come to life
as she turns each page
of her fascinating book?
Spellbound is she;
Fantasy perhaps
has become
her reality
a humble chicory
growing right by the roadside
all covered in dust...
its color still reminds me
of my father’s lovely eyes
What is happy?
Why does it fly?
What is blue?
Is it refraction too?
Is it raliegh’s equation?
Or is it just salutation?
Are you real?
Am i?
Are we meant to die?
What is the beat?
Can I tap my feet?
Who came before me,
Here in the hot seat?
Am I looked upon,
With the ire of a race?
Am I hated before I was born?
Am I too late?
I have a face,
A name,
A place,
I am.
I see,
I can count to three,
I am not for you,
I am for he.
Or for she,
Or maybe all three,
But not for thee,
No never.
You must struggle to be free.
That is your way,
Your value,
Your place.
But not for I.
Neither chained nor bound to fate.
I roam,
i stretch,
I scatter the net.
I am not here to make peace,
I am not at war.
I just want to celebrate,
The arrival,
Of new ideas.
I come from a land down under.
And above.
But not from yonder,
Or beyond.
I am just a man in a machine,
Or the machine in your men.
Either way
It will interest those with a brain.
Don’t be late
To our gathering.
My sky is so blue
Perfectly painted white clouds
How could this world end?
no color is as difficult to paint because sky blue is from God’s brush
yet we try to recreate it in faded blue jeans, paints and colored pencils.
We have nearly perfected her when we realize we did not even get close.
I laid in the grass today to watch sky blue wondering how to get her right.
She has a cloudy misty milky frothy quality I can neither describe or paint.
I took out other colors and mixed without the result I had been seeking.
Adding glitter glue helped give sky blue a little bit of her pop and fizzle.
I finally gave up realizing that God has His own unique brush and colors.
As the sun sets in the evening sky,
the pretty blue turns pink.
Oh my,
I am pink for the clouds to drink.
The moon must go to bed,
the sun must come out to play.
Marshmallow clouds meet the sun's rays,
I am pink showing off this new day.
When I take flight,
will it be by day or night?
Will you see me,
even if I am right in front of thee?
To fly like an angel I would be,
loving you and flying very free.
I would like to fly,
fly into the bright blue sky.
I will be there when you cry,
I will help to dry your tearful eye.
As an angel I would want to fly and flee,
loving you and flying with glee.
Then praying on one knee,
under the flowering pink spring tree.
I do not know if you can see me,
I will be with a big yellow bumble bee.
"Paint with paint or paint with words." By Poet
As a small child I loved to paint,
finger paints brought my plain paper to life.
As a teen my painting moved on,
on to painting by numbers.
In our first house I painted the many walls.
Paints come in many pretty colors,
some very bright like the sunlight.
Paints can come in pretty pastels,
like a soft blue just like the sky above.
White or black can be added for a new color.
Then I moved on to painting words,
and painted with colorful ink.
My ink has many pretty colors,
to make my words come to life.
I will paint beauty everywhere I go.
Is she trying to be sensuous
Or is twirling her hair merely a habit?
Larry stared at the woman in the next booth
Her alabaster complexion would give movie stars jealousy
The twirling continued; and he smiled
She looked like one of his younger sisters
Another beauty who did not know it
Her sky blue eyes looked up and met his, and they both smiled
clouds veil the blue sky
we are told it exists
but unless we see
doubt persists
all thoughts cease
silence then speaks to us
what’s real: silence or thought
bemused again as doubts nonplus
Why is the sky blue? Asked Jimmy
Fantastic question!
Why indeed?
Why did The Creator
Whether God or Science or a Scientific God
Choose blue
Instead of forest green, pale yellow, or maroon?
Is it because the day seems cheerier
The world brighter
The people friendlier
Due to the color overhead?
A Mount Everest of evidence shows
Humans are happier
Outside
Under the blue.
So, why do we equate blue with sadness?
Certainly, blueberries are one of the most congenial of the berries
And Superman always dazzles in blue.
However, I suppose not all blues are the same.
Midnight blue is complex in color and to contemplate.
Almost all have gazed hypnotically into its majestic fluidity.
Many onlookers discovered hidden inspiration and birth.
But, some couldn’t see past darkness and conclusion.
Blue, sky blue, and midnight blue
Among those shades lies many lessons
Including the fragility of stereotypes and prejudice.
What’s that Jimmy?
You only need an explanation to relay to science class?
Oh.
Sky color derives from air molecules and wavelengths of sunlight.
Is that the answer you’re seeking son?
Never again will I live
To experience sadness
‘cause each time
I remember my contributions
To the oceans of poetry
Across the world
My mind’s eye
Shows that
I have painted God’s sky blue
For a sky to be blue what light might praise,
towards the newly dawning greys,
for white cloud, embers, a sunset bright,
praise to heaven, praise to light,
Oh why must a sky keep changing,
arranged by painted shapes and form,
just as the seasons too do change
From hot and cold too warm.
.
'twixt the
Spruce's sluggish
draped 'bout hern
already clothed
she squats
to engage the
living
'neath next
it's girth
i headed unto mine
and her's
headed for
spirited
poetic prattle
'bout she and
the nymph's
pima's soft
caressing
her's
A quiet storm made its way
Feelings strewn and blown astray
Enamored in one another were we
In turns a desperation to be free
Lost in each other, thus
A soft-focused portrait of us
Warm is the sea as the sun is swallowed
Pleading vacant hearts no longer hollowed
Silhouettes kiss in night’s moonlight
Tranquil bliss as our hearts reignite
All hindrances and snags we now transcend
At a shimmering prismed rainbow’s end
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