Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Blues Poems by Helen Ruggieri

                     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


                        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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