the blue sound of conversations
a smokey blue threat
a blue thumb
the blue that's really black
the blue day and the blue night
a blue mirror a blue tattoo
blue smoke above the city
the blue moon in my head
the blue eaten food
blue tongue
naked blue lips
the blue pill under my pillow
This is Where I am Today, but There is a Tomorrow
Recoil and gun powder
shock to life,
words a grey residue
on the pure white page.
Poetry is suicide resisted,
the cocked gun turned aside,
bullets fired in the air.
6 comments:
Poetry as 'bullets fired into the air' - right on. Thanks for the poems.
Thanks, Peter, I've checked out your blog. I'll visit once in a while and comment on your poetry if so inclined.
I really like these two. The blue poem is intriguing and "bullets fired into the air" is a great line about poetry.
Sid
Thanks for reading, Sid. Glad you enjoyed them.
Billy
The first one reminds me of a Lorca poem. The second one hits with a bang. Both very good.
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