'bluesky' poems - Hello Poetry

Lazhar Bouazzi Aug 2016

An oblique path cutting in two a blue hill,
bathed in a cobalt ocean of morning glories.
On the blue hill there were also a red mill,
Crickets, ants, bees, and many-hued damselflies.

A haven was the fresh upside-down coquille
For long stories untold and movements still
Of difference and dragonflies of fluttering
Over a bluesky ground of mute uttering.

On a dry log pitched not too far from the mill,
Rose an artless sign in the hushed sound of the hill;
Each of whose letters was written in blueberry -
Surely placed there by a traveler in a hurry:
“No matter how often a road is traveled by,
It never tells twice the selfsame story.”

(c) LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUN, August 23, 2016

Connor Aug 2015

Thoughtflow

Connor Aug 2015

Thoughtflow

Islands formed thru
Sea-
Children run to
Parliament laughing/
Cheerful for their own
Crucifixion.
Airplane tendril exhaust chokeholds my
Bluesky-
IT'S GETTING HOT, HUH?
Pollution pill form
Pharmacy extract deathglue
Coats up our public parks.
Concave eyes are sputtering visions
Of smog clocks-a-tickin tomorrows.
Nobody ventures to the river anymore.
The TV antannae blasphemy signal prayer to
White House Christs
and "reality" transmitted poison
is too DISTRACTING!
Cacophony vibrating in the trees
Where somebody spray paints
"**** THIS ONE TOO"
Drunk on the Marina by midday
Oh, that one was funny.
Police cars butterfly the nest with siren wings..
THE COLORS OF AMERICA MIND YOU.
Arresting the Accordion player by Robinson's outdoor shop?
NOWwhowouldwannadothat!
They're just swaying the jagged noise imitations of Sinatra!
Decadence infected that instrument and its vessel a long time ago now.
Keep on playing there Francis its okay nobody is listening.
Budded beam of light serenades
Chinatown Upper Floor Apartment
Delirium/three women shouting from their balcony high off ***** from next door neighbor.
questions
For the next time
"Why do I feel so unhappy now?" addiction therapeutic
Temporarily, easing headache and that depression, lady is screaming now in her sleep.
Gargoyle security cameras haunt the street corners.
Electric generators perfume the musical thinman who plays saxophone on lower Pandora,
Two in the morning imagination
Boundless between industry and
Needle prodded Lepers wailing on the adjacent sidewalk, muttering to past childhood friends who took form of rapid voices
Praying for suicide in that HEAD OF THEIRS/I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU ASK!
Men searing their skin with
Carnival narcotics
Tableau upon the bleeding
Walls of modern Hades.
Hopeless romantics
Tread benches facing the
Amber sheathed City blocks
contemplating their emotional vacancies
& labyrinthine desires
(How to achieve the unconquerables of love??)
Can hardly walk in that there
Brilliant light of Luna
Candle for the lonely planetarium
(Childlike galaxy!)
Undeniably complex/
Mademoiselle waving her soft hand alltheway out to
Intercosmic space!
Lipstick stainless
Alpha Centauri
Don't know what DAZZLE romances are,
man o man o woman o mano e mano
Voltage surge thru veins and brain-
Institutionalize me!
I'm in love!
Power of Napoleon in here!
(Tap to my ribs implying the heart is beating poems again)
ecstasy isn't no sanity at all,
Happiness in times like ours is
Delusional half-consious *******
Fed by the state.
Listened in on a podcast once
At work, theys men prophesied
Discombobulation of our economy!
Nostradamus-Moderne waving his phallus of necropolis political
Myth finishing on everyone
From Taiwan to Manhattan
(Tho the myth may be truth yet)
Sunshine bedroom
The Shadows of knight play Darkside recording
(1968)
New American and Canadian Poetry
Rests under faraway currencies
That once rested in my pocket during
Late walk out of Furama,
Mosquitoes illuminated from
Restaurant lanterns and enormous Asiatic hotels.
Tropical sweat beaded from my head,
Hair was shorter back then..
Bike & Blue Cabcar race past,
Tide of the Indian ocean feline
Elegance as Southern Hemisphere
Heats up my ankles,
Balinese acoustic band covering Crosby Stills & Nash (Suite Ruby Blue Eyes) distantly midst oriental carpets and beaded umbrellas where Australians smoke the cigarettes which smell of cigars.
Guitar string clatter,
Fireflies (flying lightbulbs)
Catching words from accent
Frenzy wordscramble.
This place calls itself Oasis,
Yet here they are the Kuta Bums!
Palm pattern shirts unbuttoned halfway revealing russet hairy chests/ sunbunrt necks/ tanned cheeks/
Pimply backs.
One keeps returning to my table,
The answers always the same
"No thank you" till I feels like being
Impolite.
Oh! The bothering efforts these Bums put in.
It's against the law to pay them jack-
but their brains have turnt to wack-
From hallucinatory perils-
Making muck of their thoughts and dreams reality a-tattered skin
Simply easing by they don't know one February vs the next
Or the laws
Or this that and the other!
Belt buckles light&wind; up toys
Glowsticks hat tricks body ticks
Lighter flicks nausea aura
Body odor
Depression
Anxiety
Illness variety
Candy capped with dots
an' golden cyanide
Bruised nails, infected eyes glazed,
Minds dazed, gods prayed to, Buddhas praised.
Sutras practiced on the southern axis
"GOOD PRICE, JUST FOR YOU MY WHITE FRIEND"
Preach their evening discount discourse holding riven boxes
Tainted with wax chalk.
Who worries of them now?
I'm across the Pacific sea!
Thousands a Miles away
From memory.

My love is hungry
My bank means nothing
The moon shines
Impressions of Autumn
Upon the consciousness of
A spark surviving a typhoon.
Where was I?
The thought has ended.

Devin Asher Corry Jul 2012

Titleless

Devin Asher Corry Jul 2012

Titleless

Twice. onetwo.
INDEPENDENT.
Why not?
NeverbeforehaveIbeen.
Get
in
line.
Put on your wool coat.
And
Get
back
in
line.
Dye your hair to match your
neighbor's car.
A sweet
summer
bluesky.
Drive until your rubber kisses the neighbor's curb.
Jump out and
GET
BACK
IN
LINE

Lauren Sage Mar 2014

Not Hibenation

Lauren Sage Mar 2014

Not Hibenation

Shroud, encompassing
The blanket over my head I am the twin of
The sleeping spring, hers is snow my sister
The one I actually like

The unending winter, blank white
Now I see why animals hibernate, in the winter there is
No color to paint your thoughts on The sky is spliced with the ground, blazing white unending no limit to ponder
No sky to ponder the limit of (lim as x approaches 2, calculus, my bane)
You tip-toe through pure white banks, your soul is ***** in comparison you are old ugly jiggly and soft in comparison
To sharp clear fractals, individuals sparkling even in the whitesky's frank stare whiteground whitesky white
I don't add up I don't add up I don't add up I don't add up

They say this is the longest winter ever recorded for Canada
People joke we're Canada we live in igloos anyways I can confirm
This is wrong; I have distinct memories of spider-holes in damp dead grass
Furious water rushing down rock blasted for a highway
Warm sun damp air damp grass rubber boots and most of all
Bluesky greenbrownground an imperfect world to wonder in
To not feel incomparable to
Mud as jiggly and soft as fat and muscle layered on bleach bones, bone marrow chunky porous redbrownred
No white to speak of, even my pale skin is pinkish dotted with islands of moles

When I wake up the blanket is a shroud over my head to block out the light and now I understand what I must do
Hibernate and forget like the bears I miss
Let the white light filter through colorful sheets I will feed off the blue light instead
Remember, it can't last forever somethings gotta give

Express sympathy for the car crashes and wait.
Patiently.

betterdays Jul 2014

shadowplay

betterdays Jul 2014

shadowplay

shadows long,
fall on pavement wet

and inside the teetering,
jenga blocks, people reside
in caves opulent and electric.

and green is a colour,
forgotten
and bluesky,
a patchwork quilt,
seen in fractured glimpses,
on the way to and from.

flowers bright and vivid,
come delivered
and earth the thing,
we save by sitting.
in the almost, dark
for an hour a year.

shadows short,
fall on barren ground.
as city dwellers, breathe
grey air and expell
trash and detrius muck

no shadows now
just black all around
no dwellers, no sound....

perhaps we needed to sit
in the almost dark much
longer and love the ground
on which our life is found.

Mote Jul 2017

Untitled

Mote Jul 2017

Untitled

the past is awake.

not the break wave, but i am pinned against the pier
watching blood seep from new blooms.
i am torn from myself,
muscle is ripped from bone: anyway, i
am alive and i have been. i match my lipcolor
to my nailcolor - orange. call out the past.
loneliness sours everything -
orange ya glad you never loved me, bluesky?
i would have brought you along, to my done-day;
you could have been the executioner,
and i could have been the witch, doomed to drown!
you could have put me down yourself -
crushing my narrowness
into waterscape under the weight of your horizon.
doesn't that sound ****?
i would have thanked you, and you would have
turned dark with rain.
anyway, loneliness sours everything.

i am still a grateful witch.

Lazhar Bouazzi May 2019

Stories Untold

Lazhar Bouazzi May 2019

Stories Untold

An oblique path cutting in two a blue hill
Bathed in a cobalt ocean of morning glories.
On the blue hill there were also a red mill,
Crickets, ants, bees, and many-hued damselflies.

A haven was the fresh upside-down coquille
For long stories untold and movements still
Of difference and dragonflies of fluttering
Over a bluesky ground of mute uttering.

On a dry log pitched not too far from the mill,
Rose an artless sign in the sound unseen of the hill;
Each of whose letters was written in blueberry -
Surely placed there by a traveler in a hurry:
“No matter how often a road is traveled by,
It never tells twice the selfsame story.”

(c) LazharBouazzi, Tunisia

Lazhar Bouazzi Jun 2018

Untold Stories

Lazhar Bouazzi Jun 2018

Untold Stories

An oblique path cutting in two a blue hill,
bathed in a cobalt ocean of morning glories.
On the blue hill there were also a red mill,
Crickets, ants, bees, and many-hued damselflies.

A haven was the fresh upside-down coquille
For long stories untold and movements still
Of difference and dragonflies, of fluttering
Over a bluesky ground of mute uttering.

On a dry log pitched not too far from the mill,
Rose an artless sign in the hushed sound of the hill;
Each of whose letters was written in blueberry -
Surely placed there by a traveler in a hurry:
“No matter how often a road is traveled by,
It never tells twice the selfsame story.”

(c) LazharBouazzi

Yenson Nov 2019

Mr Bluesky.........

Yenson Nov 2019

Mr Bluesky.........

Hello! how's do, I haven't seen you at the park in a while

Oh hi! oh I stopped coming here

Why is that

Have you noticed the dog **** all over the lovely lawn
some seem to just come here to **** all over the place

Yeah, I noticed, but I now just walk around the perimeters of the park
I don't bother going in, better to leave the ******* to their ****

she flashed a broad grin across a pleasant attractive face

That's just like me and social media these days
I do post my bits when I have to but I don't read what the crazies,
the moaners, the professional complainers and the senseless have-a-go's with nothing better to do, have to say

Now, that's wise

We both laughed raucously, kissed and walked away still smiling

Overhead the grey autumnal sky hung laden, a bit like the laden uneased minds of the harbingers of doom

I see blue sky and inhale the fresh vibrant winds
mindfulness.....

— The End —