Sky

Photo©Shahbazsaeed38

Sky

too many nuances of blue
to dip in my finger and brush a dusking
no water this thickening air
no talent can reproduce such depth.

I watch the deepening
until the starry planets
add their voices to the silent song

and here
among the dark and damp grass stalks
the night begins.

Blue of fire

For the dverse prompt.

Blue of fire

Blue is the last to go,
when the waltzing pinks and whites and golds
are cold and grey with shadows,
and mist rising, dew dropping,
drained of day-life,
still as the ocean bottom.

I watch for pike where magpies waddled.

Above a wash of water-blue,
blue light,
the set sun, lingering by proxy,
pricked and pierced
by the jagged light of stars,
reefs in the deeps
where satellites float in their lonely glitter,
pretending to be meteorites or asteroids,

expensive toys lost in space,
where blue is fire.

Blue (again)

spring clouds

Ah but the blue
that will not let me look away
the clouds sailing by
weeping crocodile tears.

Alone is where you must stand
to see between the gaps
where swallows skim
darting sleek as fishes

for there is no way to follow.
Only hold out your hands
beneath the falling tears
there will be one just for you.

Blue

A second quadrille for the dverse prompt. Blue is a pretty enormous subject!

 

Pale as winter mornings

ice beneath a clear sky

plumbago blooms

a newborn’s romper

 

intense as gentian flowers

flags waving on the fourteenth of July

 

deep as Mediterranean waters

 

and indigo dark as the still tropical night

just after sunset

and your goodbye—blue

Dreaming blue

Day six of OctPoWriMo and the theme is blue. Predictably, there will be blue horses.

Marc-little_blue_horses

 

Planet earth,

the endless summer sky,

a sun-spread chicory flower,

a secret blackbird’s egg,

a southern sea seen from white clifftop,

my mother’s eyes,

the pearly haze early morning when the sun comes up,

bright jay feathers,

the colour that enrobes the calmest dreams

and gallops them across green fields.

All this blue,

and like blue water it trickles through our careless fingers,

because there is nothing we will do to keep it

from seeping into desert sand.