Hello! I have been writing for as long as I can remember, and probably before that too...sometimes things just spring from one word and how it trips over the tongue...other times urban archeology can catch my short sighted eyes (too much reading in the dark!!!) or a stroll around a cemetery...
A Chair in a Blue room He waits for the window to complete him in the room; mark his presence in a shadow set in blue, the outline, an example of his anatomy, the start of his stare - a vivid block of him. He holds himself patiently, arms straight on his lap, and looks forward to where he insists the day at his side will animate his spine threaded, a Celeste to Cobalt Blue. The corners of the blue disappear, up and down, a growing perfect iris, coolly washing the window, blotting and cooing. It makes no difference, the position – the blue room is the bluest of, and his dark lines are consumed in the silence of its perfect growing space.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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