Talkin’ ’bout the Blues

They slide under calendars
swallow hard dark hours that bounce
between solstices. Like midnight snacks.

They’re cold waves chomping
at Arctic shorelines, they nip away
at days. Eat minutes like sea snails.
Swim to the Verde and nap
with herons in clipped shadows.
They find me.

All bony-shouldered. An old dinghy
tossed and turned against rusty pillows
slapped by broken oars and nightmares.
Cozy in blue.


MJ says he dreads shorter days.
Achilles heel for this warrior of loss.
“I don’t like the darkness,” he says.
Stripped of shields and sunshine.

Winter steals grief’s bravado
gallops away with the blinders
left on the night stand.

Battle-fatigued and dusty
his tiny poppy seed dreams
rub raw the opaque awakenings.
Gashes in blue.


Susan wonders when we’ll stop
putting evil to bed with dark.
“Jupiter’s blazing above Capricorn!”
Teacher at the chalkboard of stars.

Close your eyes. She says. Find constellations.
Welcome them. Plant a seed!
Darkness breeds art, poems, and babies.


I tell Michelle I’ve crashed into the blues

They bear down like a woman
in labor, Ursa Major jumps on my chin
while solitude and loneliness bicker
behind my clenched teeth.

Black-eyed, I can’t suffer sadness
with the nonchalance of pale prehnite,
go running like Michelle does, weightless,
or dance, or draw, or imagine
what heavy gems hide in fallow.

All I can do
is slip behind the wheel
buckle down my blues
pick a star to follow
and find my way
on this night ride home.

Photo by Adelin Preda on Unsplash

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