“She Paints in Blue”

She paints in blue

with brushstrokes deep and symbolic

of her heart.

Sometimes the blue is

the color of the ocean

and the beauty speaks to her

in a way that words are not quite

eloquent enough.

The calm.

The peace.

It soothes her soul

and echoes throughout her being.
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Sometimes the blue is a melancholy blue

as it was today.

That shade of blue she paints

with an unsteady hand

and an intense gaze,

missing moments that she should not have missed.

Her inner Eeyore

Poked his sad ears down,

droopy and discouraged.

Twisting her ankle in the morning,

she was glad the pain eventually went away,

but it seemed one thing unfortunately led to another

and somehow Eeyore momentarily turned

into Oscar the Grouch.

Not her finest day.

Regrettably.
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The last blue that she paints with

is a vibrant electric blue.

It excites her.

It inspires her.

It is one of her favorite colors.

Whenever she sees that blue

it makes her happy.

It is the shade of blue that she likes best.

She thinks electric blue is the color of

a man’s perfect dress shirt

or her dream Mustang.

It just seems perfect effortlessly.
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She paints in blue

and a window opens to her soul.

*Poet’s notes: I used to love to paint when I was young, especially with oil paints. While I don’t really paint anymore, this poem was inspired by the beautiful color blue. I find it a shade that conveys so many things emotionally and aesthetically.

Hope: A Poem (The Beautiful Promise of Tomorrow)

Author’s note:

This poem is fictitious and inspired by the author’s imagination.  The only exceptions are that the woman’s name “Maria” was inspired by the name Maria in the musical “West Side Story” (a musical that I like which has many good lessons).  Second, the pink was inspired by pink being my favorite color, and also by my desire to somewhat personify the sunset.  Thus, I gave the sunset  some characteristics that (at times) I possess.  Finally, while I have at times felt like the little sparrow, forlorn and perhaps somewhat broken (which I do not care to elaborate on), this did not inspire the poetic sparrow, nor did any other resemblance to another person, thing, or sparrow, living or dead. (Ditto for the little old man).

 Hope: A Poem (The Beautiful Promise of Tomorrow)

The little old man

with a crooked back

and a kind yet wistful smile

gazes out at the shimmering ocean

beckoning to him in the distance.

Lost in thought

he ponders

simpler times,

days gone by,

and a girl with a pretty smile.

 

“Ah, to be young again,”

he thinks to himself.

Youth is wasted on the young,

as the old saying goes.

 

He has no regrets.

The mistakes he made

taught him well,

but yet

still his heart aches

and at times

he is lonely.

 

He misses his sweet Maria

with an intensity

that sometimes awakens him

in the night.

She was his muse

and his joy

and his love.

His beautiful wife

gone six years now

(My, how the time seems to fly).

But, she was NOT his life,

yet she played quite a starring role.

A good distinction,

the man has always thought,

is that life should be shared

and enriched

but never overtaken

or overwhelmed.

 

Startled,

the little old man’s reminiscing

is broken

by a tiny little sparrow

looking forlorn

but yet brave

with his little broken wing.

The sparrow takes a little hop

along the glistening sand

and looks up with curiosity

at the little old man.

 

“Friend, I know how you feel,”

the man whispers with a conspiratorial wink.

Truth be told, sometimes the man

has been broken in spirit

and broken in his grief.

Yet, somehow,

a tenacious, persevering will

helped the man fight on.

But now,

his frail body

was starting to feel broken,

as age took its usual toll.

(He was approaching age 90,

it is important to note).

The little old man felt an affinity

for the little sparrow with his little broken wing,

and it brought a second smile

to the man’s weathered face.

The sparrow brightened his day

and reminded him to never give up.

 

Slowly, the man’s gaze slide up the horizon.

A sunset was starting

to pierce the sky.

“Where had the day gone?”

the man wondered.

A hint of a beautiful, stunning pink timidly peaked

bashfully

across the horizon.

Skittish

yet hopeful.

The spectacular sight

of the blossoming sunset

caused a hope to spring anew

into the little old man’s heart.

Every day is a gift.

There is the UNKNOWN PROMISE of tomorrow.

Beauty can shine her brightest

even in the darkest hours.

 

Thus, whistling a cheerful tune,

(one I think anyone could recall),

the little old man shuffled off

with hopeful expectation

of a light brighter than any dawn

and the beautiful promise of tomorrow.