Tag Archives: poem

Stories end…

silence
gives short comfort
strain of note and drum
in familiar tunes
casts shadow over distant joy
memory embracing unknowns
now mysteries never to be discovered.
its cover worn
its pages browned
last word unwritten
and pen empty
live? love? flee? found?
the ‘morrow I’ll never know.
and I feel the fool to mourn
the story’s end
but mourn I do nonetheless.

Entering a poetry contest

Good morning lovely bloggers and blog aficionados.  I am preparing to submit work into a poetry contest and would greatly appreciate your help. 

Out of the poems you have read here on saying it anyway, what poem has struck you the deepest or has compelled you or moved you in some significant way? 

Of course, I have my own favorites, but would be most grateful for your input and suggestions. 

Most sincerely,

Blu 🙂

Journal lost

Ink soaked the edges
drunk with evidence of awakening
the explorations of soul
lay swollen with effortless abandon
upon the tiled ways
lay broken clay
disastrously called to floor
by hands shaking to free.
And what linen sheets and leather
could not hold
wood and wicker let slip cool over
its blank upturned face
the measure of morning musings
now swirled black and blue
the collection of words
released to a death unexpected
and a life I could not breathe
again; such is fate
such is change.
For though in the smell of
coffee and shattered thoughts
the words remain
in the my skin
to be found
in new lines
new horizons of thought
and I will write
again.

So, farethewell alphabets of longings
passion’s questions and the musings
of days gone.
May the sky find them worthy
and the earth drink of your
flavor
an another morning
and another cup
fill another day
changed.

Love is, what is love?

[I’ve been trying to get this written, and still if falters from the flow. But perhaps in posting it I can simply let it go. Returning in the morning to see with new eyes – I do hope you enjoy nonetheless]

love is faulty
love is dirty gritty safe
love is wild and wise
it is full and empty
at the very same time
love is lonely
love is deep
love is sinking into
the arms of yourself
when no one else will keep
you
love is weary
it is intense
and after you feel it
you wish you could feel it again
it is a feather and a barter’s stone
a castaway without a row
a mountain top covered snow
when all the world is melting
it is the warmth of the sun
blossoms first of spring
summer’s only son
and then the chill of
winter when you didn’t mean
all those hurtful spoken ugly things
love is darkness and it is peace
it is duty and somewhere
in-between
the sheets of your imagination
lingering in the places
you forgot to touch
it is the peace of mind you never had
it is the road map you left
behind when you were six
teen and tween and older
It is the pace of ages
an old man’s hands grasping life
when all of life is spent
love
and you know
every one says they’ve seen it
they point it out on subways
driveways, coffee shops and corners
on the cover of every day
they say it is in the places we
least expect
in the places we forget to fix
But then everyone says they’ve forgotten
to hold on tight enough
or maybe not tight enough
and I have to wonder
if love is real at all
I mean is it real at all
perhaps it is smoke on a clear day
light when you can’t find your way
the night sky poked through
with holes of hope
or the one that got away
Perhaps it is the shadow behind you
keeping pace with every wrong
or maybe it is just the melody
you can’t quite remember
but you hum
anyway
maybe love is wet
water in your hands
and the only way you know
it was there was
the castle built in sand
no
Love is rain falling on a summer morn
it is raging like an Autumns storm
it is everything we cannot see
and still it seems to follow me
in the eyes of children
in the speech of every day
and then again
maybe love is simply in
the words we never say
love

Dandelion dreaming

I dreamed I was a dandelion
brilliantly green
crowned in golden plume
spring wind gently pushing
in nameless merriment
often spoken by seed summer lifted
and floated among bees and errant wasp.
Soon seasons tilted hours through days
rains kissed face lifted
and soon I changed;
naked, frightened and bare
a weed, stranger amongst
buttercups and grasses.
Then as if nature waited for despair’s
long embrace
hope rose out in feathers of white
I became many
holding fast to the body of age
until wind came again
a gentle lover to wisp away
me, as many, into her arms
spread into the world of the living
little hopes with
wings unbendingly light
searching soft earth to bare myself again.
Waking, sun touched my face.
Pillow soft beneath my head
wind at the sill calling my view;
a dandelion seed caught against the
screen of my human abode.
Sliding pane against givens
I plucked it and set it to the air
softly.
It traversed on roads I could not see
And wondered I this:
was I seeing myself
or was my soul seeing me.