BLUE RIFF 
                     Blue eyes
turn the world into a Hollywood Pool 
                     a great
ball in the void of space
                     they turn
the world into a lost sky 
                     chicory
trapped along the interstate
                     delphiniums
giving in to the breeze
                      a sad place
in a haze of blue smoke
                      where
broken down jazz singers
                       sing the
blues so we may weep 
                        unhurt
                        BLUE
ANALOGIES
                        antlers
of the white tailed deer
                        have
the same symmetry as coral
                        growing
under the sea
                        human
fingernails are shaped 
                        like
fish scales and are
                        composed
of the same protein
                        a
newborn’s blue cast eyes
                        are
the same milky color
                        as
the blind eyes of the old 
                        plants
like music too
                        and
children outdo themselves
                        when
expected to 
                        subatomic
particles are
                        agitated
by human nearness
                        ancient
oak groves seethe
                        with
the spirits of old gods
                        and
fish and birds breathe 
                        the
same blue
    
                        ONCE IN A BLUE MOON
                         we
are entitled to be happy
                          it
is August and I’m gathering
                          lunaria
seed, peeling off the 
                          covering
to reveal a translucent 
                          silver
circle like a moon against 
                           a
dark sky.
                           Tonight,
the second full moon
    of the month will rise to the
southeast
                            not
as rare as one might think, 
                            maybe
every two or three years. 
                            I’m
humming the song – 
                            blue moon, you saw me standing alone
                             but
under the August sun 
                             I
shrug off the sadness
                             my
hands full of seed. 
                                            poems by Helen Ruggieri
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