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Burnt Blue, a Poem

Updated on March 14, 2017

Burning Blue

skies burnt blue-

steely gray vanishing

as day progresses...

we, the Moles, squint

and wonder at the

strength of the Sun,

which we've done without

these many months...

somehow undeserving,

or just starved,

we line up,

like children at games

to see how long

we might stare

into the face

of the only God we know;

Eternal Pessimists

are made here,

knowing Spring is a

miner's dream,

fool's gold, and nothing else-

we retreat back into

our caves to

await the real thing

and the Sun rides our

backs, pressing down

more like pain

than pleasure;

but... but... we saw it once

early in march,

clear roads, melted,

and novice buds on

the alder that has more

enthusiasm than anything else;

So, the biting winds blow-

four days now, driving us inward,

but we know...

or hope...

the Sun will win

just once....


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    • moonfroth profile image

      Clark Cook 4 years ago from Rural BC (Canada) & N of Puerto Vallarta (Mexico)

      Nikki -- the sun shines for our Lily EVERY day, but sometimes she opens this honkin' big black umbrella.......then forgets it's there. Aha! (careful reader that you are) you think you've caught the Moon in an ambiguous pronoun reference, don'cha? Damn right you have. This last bit is artfully designed to just totally screw up the rest of lillian's day...............!

    • Nikkij504gurl profile image

      Nikki Wicked 4 years ago from Louisiana

      loved the rhyme there and it just flowed. dont worry the sun will shine again for you one day.

    • lilyfly profile image

      Lillian K. Staats 4 years ago from Wasilla, Alaska

      There you are Moon! I was worried about you, and hoped the dread disease had not showed it's monster head again... yes, Canadians... I'll get you for that! Hee! Love yaz, lily,(Oh, and thank you!)

    • moonfroth profile image

      Clark Cook 4 years ago from Rural BC (Canada) & N of Puerto Vallarta (Mexico)

      Oh my good grief, my good grief........that is just lovely. As soon as i started to read it i was immediately compelled to read it aloud, and I read it three times. Aloud What a fusion of sky and landscape and the magic of language. I think it's called Poetry. At the heights. That absolute oneness with the landscape is reserved for Shaman-writers and Canadians. And you. Thank you, my friend.