#blouse - Hello Poetry

Not just another dead word from a book But a magical word...straight out of childhood Gathered from a fascination with looking at maps and Atlas books And globes of the World All the different countries in all their different colors With all their fantastic sounding names All spread out in wonderful greens pinks and oranges, yellows reds and purples And then... that wonderful blue sweep of the Pacific...the Pacific ocean. Through the eyes of a young small child The wondrous...sweet Blue Pacific ocean So vast and so full of romance With its mermaids, its whales and its dolphins Coconuts and palm trees and treasured islands Its flying fish and grizzled pirates, Its blue skies forever smiling overhead The surf rolling up onto its sun kissed beaches. .....There long ago I glimpsed the lovely blue of her blouse And the wonderful patterns on it As she lifted me up and spun me around Just like being up on the swing boats, And she laughed with her laughing smiling face And her laughing smiling eyes And I laughed too, out loud and unashamed This was how it should always be And I didn't want it to end Wanted it to go on forever, It brought me a Bluey Bliss And suddenly all this world it was a magic place. She was like Life or Love itself Wanting to embrace you and kiss you And sweep you off your feet Life, it held so much promise and beauty So much wonder and mystery Yea! all was magic in those Summer months The coloured pictures in our comic books The kicking football on the lovely green lawns, The fluttering and flapping of the clothes on the clothes line Were like the sails of a Great Ship... Sweet dreams and sunbeams as we ran out to meet the tide. And still she calls to me today, wild blue ocean How I love... like that sweet feeling of blue The sight of her on a globe or Atlas still And that name like some ancient spell It sends me up into the sky Delights, makes me feel so peaceful The sweet blue Pacific ocean You can...can almost taste it. Sweet intimations of a world that came before, A world underneath...that still lies there...somewhere Whispering like some sweet lost Atlantis Forever calling you back, calling you back home. I'm afraid I can't be more specific About the wonderful, the beautiful ...The Blue Pacific.

0

Apr 25, 2020

Apr 25, 2020 at 10:55 AM UTC

bardo

The Blue Pacific

Not just another dead word from a book But a magical word...straight out of childhood Gathered from a fascination with looking at maps and Atlas books And globes of the World All the different countries in all their different colors With all their fantastic sounding names All spread out in wonderful greens pinks and oranges, yellows reds and purples And then... that wonderful blue sweep of the Pacific...the Pacific ocean. Through the eyes of a young small child The wondrous...sweet Blue Pacific ocean So vast and so full of romance With its mermaids, its whales and its dolphins Coconuts and palm trees and treasured islands Its flying fish and grizzled pirates, Its blue skies forever smiling overhead The surf rolling up onto its sun kissed beaches. .....There long ago I glimpsed the lovely blue of her blouse And the wonderful patterns on it As she lifted me up and spun me around Just like being up on the swing boats, And she laughed with her laughing smiling face And her laughing smiling eyes And I laughed too, out loud and unashamed This was how it should always be And I didn't want it to end Wanted it to go on forever, It brought me a Bluey Bliss And suddenly all this world it was a magic place. She was like Life or Love itself Wanting to embrace you and kiss you And sweep you off your feet Life, it held so much promise and beauty So much wonder and mystery Yea! all was magic in those Summer months The coloured pictures in our comic books The kicking football on the lovely green lawns, The fluttering and flapping of the clothes on the clothes line Were like the sails of a Great Ship... Sweet dreams and sunbeams as we ran out to meet the tide. And still she calls to me today, wild blue ocean How I love... like that sweet feeling of blue The sight of her on a globe or Atlas still And that name like some ancient spell It sends me up into the sky Delights, makes me feel so peaceful The sweet blue Pacific ocean You can...can almost taste it. Sweet intimations of a world that came before, A world underneath...that still lies there...somewhere Whispering like some sweet lost Atlantis Forever calling you back, calling you back home. I'm afraid I can't be more specific About the wonderful, the beautiful ...The Blue Pacific.

86

The Cat Sat On The Mat. The Mat Sat On The Cat. Hat. Cat. Mat. The Mouse Sat On The Blouse. The Blouse Sat On The House. Mouse. Blouse. House. The Dog Sat In The Bog. The Bog Sat Near Smaug. Dog. Bog. Smaug. Urticaria.

0

Jan 30, 2015

Jan 30, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC

poemfalcon69

The Cat on the Mat

The Cat Sat On The Mat. The Mat Sat On The Cat. Hat. Cat. Mat. The Mouse Sat On The Blouse. The Blouse Sat On The House. Mouse. Blouse. House. The Dog Sat In The Bog. The Bog Sat Near Smaug. Dog. Bog. Smaug. Urticaria.

10

This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world? Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day. I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.

0

Nov 25, 2014

Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC

martin-narrod

The Neon Alien Blouse

This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world? Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day. I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.

3