“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.
___________________________________________________________________________________

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.
___________________________________________________________________________________

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.
___________________________________________________________________________________

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.

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“Hopeful Girl” (Original Poetic series after “Shy Girl”)

“Hopeful Girl”

The hopeful girl stares down at the blank page

and ponders the fresh promise of a new year.

Sometimes, like a bird, she needs to soar out of her cage,

and stop being afraid of the unknown fear.

The hopeful girl jots down some poetry

as she ponders her resolutions of the new year.

She wants to embrace life, love, and be free,

and seeks lasting love to forever draw near.

The hopeful girl seeks fresh dreams,

passion, purpose, love, faith, and renewal.

Seeking the tarnish to rub off of her edgy seams,

her hidden desire is to shine like a beautiful, pure jewel.

“Shy Girl” and “The Waterfall”: Original Poetry

Shy Girl

The shy girl smiles.

She ponders and does muse

why when it comes to love

she always seems to lose.

 

The shy girl hopes,

but hopes seem so threadbare;

in a tapestry of love

she finds it quite unfair.

 

The shy girl wishes

that things would change.

She is shy of heart and action,

and she is forlorn for a love exchange.

____________________________________________________________

English: Waterfall near Lepena, Slovenia Slove...

English: Waterfall near Lepena, Slovenia Slovenščina: Slap, Lepena, Slovenija (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Waterfall

Churning.

Rushing.

Swirling.

Flowing.

Tumultuous

waters

flow down

the rocky

craggy

cliffs

seeking freedom.

Seeking peace.

Seeking release

from the chains that bind her.

 

She would cry

if she wasn’t

already water.

Transparent

and flowing

amidst the

beat of the sun

on her body

and the chirping

of the birds

comforting her with their tender song

in the sweet mountain air

that completely envelops her.

Perhaps

the water

are her

many tears

as they flow

free

and with abandon.

 

Tired of trying.

Tired of bondage.

Tired of who she needs to be.

Tired of the expectations.

 

She just longs to be free.

Pure.

Unrestrained by people’s expectations

of who she needs to be.

She wants to just be herself.

A waterfall flowing,

but now with a new calm strength

that is soothed by the warmth

of unconditional acceptance

from the One who watches over her

and loves her

even when she cannot always accept herself

or love herself.

 

Poet’s noteThis poem explores the internal conflict of the poet amidst expectations in the spheres of her family, work, faith, society, and even herself. 

 

***I have more of my poetry on www.poemhunter.com.  Here is a link to my poet page and poems:

http://www.poemhunter.com/julie-a-smith/

Tender Heart (Puzzle Pieces of Me)

Author’s Note: Life has been really tough lately for various reasons that only a small number know.  It is in these and other moments of life that you can think of changing your course, whether through big or small changes.  Definitely something to ponder.

Tender Heart (Puzzle Pieces Of Me)  

Tender Heart.

Bashful Heart.

Healing Heart.

Sensitive Heart.

Intelligent mind.

Compassionate mind.

Compulsive mind.

Cognizant mind.

Curious soul.

Weary soul.

Passionate soul.

“I-still-feel-like-I’m-six-years-old” soul.

Heart.

mind.

soul.

Puzzle pieces of me.

Sometimes jumbled and

messy

and

sometimes neat and

refined.

But all are still me.

Some pieces

just seem

alittle more

socially acceptable,

perhaps.

Tender Heart

Tender Heart (Photo credit: ccmerino)

A Tender Heart

A Tender Heart (Photo credit: Karen.E.Rice)

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.

Mud on my shoe (a poem about regret)

Muddy, Moldy Shoes

Muddy, Moldy Shoes (Photo credit: keristars)

I walk alone.

Sometimes the day is sunny.

Sometimes the day is cloudy.

Rainy.

Thunderstorms loom and threaten.

But, alas, there is no umbrella

to shield me

and to shield

the turbulent storm in my heart.

The dismal weather matches my fluctuating mood

of melancholy and regret.

 

The puddle looms but I don’t see it.

Am I weary rose-colored glasses?

Perhaps.

Sometimes a girl can only see a puddle

when she is already in it.

Such is life. Such is love. Such is heartache.

 

Mud clings to my shoe.

Tenacious.

Uninvited.

Bitter and lacking any mirth.

The epitome of my regret.

I try to scrub it off.

Still some mud lingers

maddeningly

mud

mud (Photo credit: Jared Kelly)

and it seems

nothing I can do will change that.

Mud intertwines with my regret.

Hindsight is always 20/20,

so they say.

I sadly agree.

 

You live and you learn.

So true.

Mistakes will be made.

It is inevitable.

Unfortunately,

growth often involves pain,

mistakes,

and heartache.

Some mistakes are cleansed by the cool touch

of healing waters

while others seem to fester like open sores

and linger on

and on

and on.

Thus, like the mud on my shoe,

these mistakes are not cleansed,

nor are they forgiven.

Regrettably.

 

Forlorn.

I walk on alone.

Hoping for a sunny day

and perhaps

a rainbow

or a moon

and a starry night.

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on can...

Image via Wikipedia