Blue

image

I have hazel eyes.
Let’s assume
for this poem
his were blue.
That sickening
shade of too
pretty blue.
You know, the
kind that women
get lost in, or
some cliché
like that.

He had women
of every description.
They never tired
of his discourse,
or his bedside
tricks. Magic they
said, too enraptured
to notice he never
took his hat off.

He was always
bitching about the
harpies beating
on the door.
Trying to dislodge
the shingles from
his roof of
debauchery.

Did I mention his
eyes were a
misogynistic blue?

Yet, he always
wanted another
harpie, and then
another, and just one,
no, two more.

Pose struck. Happy
to be their God of full
frontal. As long as
he reigned over
a kingdom where
the women came
with pulleys and
tight wires of
rope, he could
manipulate and
pull.

Did I mention his eyes
were blue- like the
coldest shade of
winter?

Never alone on
Valentine’s Day blue.

Never heard of
commitment blue.

The kind of blue
that makes women
blue. Drop a Valium
in a shot of gin
blue. Hose to
tailpipe blue.

I look in the mirror
and see eyes,
mostly green with
flecks of dead leaves.
Nowhere near as
mesmerizing as his,
but at least they
aren’t wishy washy
blue. Empty as my
icebox blue.

I take one last
look in the glass.
I see the soil of
determination
ready to bloom
in fiery eyes.
The rose of
resolve taking
form.

I walk outside.
Broken slate
shingles cover
the barren grass.
A waterless stone
birdbath gives me
a gleaming, hopeful
look. The wind
whispers its
approval. I take
a breath, nod to
both, kick a few
shingles and walk
away.

These hazel
eyes are done
with his blue.

-Tosha Michelle

Listen to Jar Of Hearts by Tosha Michelle 2020 #np on #SoundCloud

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95 thoughts on “Blue

  1. I don’t think we knew each other way back when you wrote this…I am happy to say that we know each other now..and as soon as I get a working time machine I’m going to go back and comment on this!…you know….to say it’s awesome…like you.

    😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s great to revisit this one, Tosha. An oldie but a goodie, indeed. 🙂 And it’s funny that this time around, a different stanza altogether resonates:

      “Did I mention his
      eyes were a
      misogynistic blue?”

      Wow!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. aramsey_poet

    Brown eyes vs blue, hats off to you. To paint a picture, all too often true.

    I talk in ryhme somtimes, the best I can feign control over thoughts such as mine. I verily enjoyed it.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. irresistible, and am glad I am not such a fellow, my father was, and so I tried manfully to not be like that. Love the song, with its wonderful little guitar solo, but not a great fan of the synthesizer used in this way. Best wishes and blessings, Charles.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Bonjour JEUNE FILLE

    Quelle est belle notre amitié
    Elle est pure
    Elle est un lien
    Mon amitié ignore les indifférences
    Elle n’est qu’un charme d’un verbe aimer
    Elle éveille le sens de la bonté
    Elle supporte la charité
    Mon amitié est un charme que du verbe aimer
    Mon amitié est faite de sincérité
    Belle journée et belle fin de semaine
    Bises , Bernard

    Liked by 1 person

  5. You’re very real, Tosha. You are solid and real and you firmly exist. I don’t really know why I’m telling you this because of course you know this already, but I’m just … I don’t know … just a little in awe of you? Can I say this? You have reached a height of candour and self-expression that makes me feel a little bit like a ghost – a flimsy presence in the world. You seem to be able to express yourself without any fear of consequence. I guess that I just want to you know that … I like your style.
    Erm … that’s it.
    Nice poem by the way.
    I have very blue eyes.
    Not misogynistic blue, though.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I bet yours are a kind blue. I’m touched by your comment. Writing my feelings down is easy. It’s a bit harder verbalizing them. I fear many things, but I am learning to be a bit more daring and bolder in my life. You seem quite solid to me ! Oh my god, unless you’re the ghost of Henry the 8th or something.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Yeah – kind. True enough. It’s funny that isn’t it – the difference between writing and speaking. I feel rather hampered by my physicality sometimes. Like now – I was sitting and thinking and staring into space before typing this. You just can’t do that in the middle of a physical conversation. Pausing for thought is important to me.
        Nearly bedtime here so I’m going to wish you a restful night in advance, Tosha.
        Goodnight. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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