Tag: poetry

Tuesday’s Bliss

i come to the park on tuesdays
the pond here sings
ripples echo her song

i bring my strings to strum
to play along with her melody
joy resonates in the harmony
of sounds separated by time

on days it rains, I do not stay
at home in the dull and worn
i bathe in the drops and watch
as the song changes

her voice always carried
the mood of the ether
from joy and love
to its end in the abyss

I strum my strings by the pond
willfully ignoring, pretending bliss

11/7/25 – Andy McRae

connection

i pass by the lonely one with the sky cast in her eye.
days pass by, only elements will change, the story is the same.
cycle through dresses, in the winter, coats, never that look.
wonder lost eye, lacking the luster of the reflected sky.
i can see a smile hidden beyond stone, carved by pain.

one day, in the rain, her eyes in flames, pouring as the rain.
cold touches hearts when the chill water puddles at drains.
i can feel her pain, a sudden connection of telepathy tethers.
her to me, me to her, we panic without sound, in rain so loud.
to raise faces, to catch eyes, to strangers with their own lies.

to ourselves, we say, many things that must never reach parlay.
thus we did parlay, in a moment we felt each other in ways.
my anxiety over dead that lie, and her, the broken days.
eyes, the mixture of a rainy sky and opals rolled in rivers.
in the moment that passed, she looked away and continued.

into another day of hatred and lies, we both disguise.
words that must be said, words with power.
i never saw the sky again.
will this rain never end.
it will when.

the sun rise returns in reflection.

7/7/24

Blue Splashed with Waves of Foam

cascades spray echoes of my name
I listen for more, ways to open some door
alas, she whispers the directions in code

through the thicket that tears, tangles, then thorns

adrift, amidst bramble and stone
with a broken sway as I make my way
but to catch a toe, on a jagged snag
to tumbling out onto a glade

tiny rumbles froth forth from that brook
her hair was a blue splashed with waves of foam,
long and slender her frame, a dress made from names

for long the dead wander here in their sleep
before she can awaken the lost, the lonely, with lies
whereby a blue stream through a glade, lost in the thickets
dead men realize their demise.

R – 6/7/24