‘Cause this is what a blue wave looks like:
Elderly ladies enjoying their blasts,
Young creatures chattering like monkeys,
Children shouting ‘trick or treat’,
Girls playing with their blackberries,
Waves busy painting the foam in blue,
They’re artists, yes, all of them strange beasts-
So, are you going to live your dreams,
Or ask for help?
Don’t leg it, soul, if you stumble on deserted rooms,
And life’s raiding silence,
Don’t leg it if the anger’s stares look cyanotic blue,
And a slant light breathes on your shapes,
Sure, comets play hide-and-seek, so what?
We’ll talk dreams when the biting cold hijacks life,
And you’ve just hailed clear days,
Or dissolved rows in purer shapes,
Clouds, maybe waves, maybe angels-
We’ll talk dreams when you rise deeper than a radar,
And get close to words despite the stinking roots,
When the moon, the undergrowth intertwine
Threads of silence, thus shedding light on warring times-
But why are you scared if the last fires stay silent?
OK, nobody’s watching, yet demise
Sneers at green, and the many questions flooding
The sky for miles, when you can’t see it,
When you think them the strongest dam,
Who knows, souls end up hopeless-
Stop it then, my hidden god, your sky is just a mix-up
Where poetry shivers and froze,
Where you push a non-stop light
To show up as a demise-
Oh, and don’t forget they’ve done them in,
Those blue words, the many voices you sent AWOL,
While they’re stoning the dosh
I’ll smoke my soul away,
He said to his friends, three punk kids on their way
To granny’s house, three cheerful dead boys,
And a unicorn heaving among the trees,
A dead-end point of no return, nearby.
© 2020 Gabriella Garofalo
Bio: Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with
the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian), at six , and is
the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre st
“Blue branches”, and “A Blue Soul”.
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