Blue Poem

Blue grosbeak.
Blue house.
Solemn lady
sings the blues
under the bright sky.

My face wears
it’s azure downfall.
Time for my ultra-
marine sobs
to connect me
with the enigmatic ocean.

Saphire shelled beetle
struggles across
our blue-black-sands
footprints.

Blue berry.
Blue mist aloft
when a rogue
wave crashes
the breakers.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Warriors

I painted my enemies’ feet
my favorite shade of blue.
The blue harkened to the Celts and Scots of yore.
Pantone three-o-one-five-C.

This act earned me a swift kick.
Painting my enemies’ feet blue
was meant to immobilize them
so I could speak to them without fear.

I feared they would attack.
I feared they would run away.
I should have picked red.
Stop sign red.

My goal was to build a foundation of trust
so we could set down our weapons.
We had many weapons.
Every imaginable type of weapon.

We even turned tools into weapons.
I suggested we turn them back into tools.
They feared my fire was
part of a smoke and mirror scheme.

It was really passion, but they knew passion
mostly through their hatred.
I talked to them until they were blue in the face.
I mean, I took up all the oxygen in the room.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney