Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Gloaming (Poem)

Gloaming

1

Let's put down
blue sheets and plan

that blue night
for late April, before

the forsythia break
out, towheaded. Write it

out in French first —
l'heure bleue.

Blur into it slowly,
then get in the mood.

2

I'll wear Chantilly
silks, and we'll rehearse

how you'll weigh
three round red plums

pre-sliced for breakfast,
how I'll drip honey

the color of champagne
into pockets of toast points

you'll nibble while reciting
Rilke's Book of Hours.

3

Not just any kind
of cerulean will do.

The sun must be
glimmery, let light slip

our day's ending, drawing
into shadows India's

azure bleed through
spider's lace, reminding

us again of blueberries'
taste in winter.

© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas

11 comments:

Louise Gallagher said...

Oohhh,

this is succulent.

nance marie said...

blue blue blueberries...

Hannah Stephenson said...

Dreamy and blue. Happy Valentine's Day, Maureen!

Claudia said...

funny...i saw some blueberry muffins today and had this immediate aching for hot summer days... very cool write maureen...love that you weave rilke in and the three round red plums....nice...very sensual...
happy valentines!

S. Etole said...

So picturesque all dressed in blue and red and white.

Brian Miller said...

your descriptions are just fascinating maureen...you color the rainbow even without saying it...the golden brown honey, the blue berries...lots of good stuff there...

Pat Hatt said...

So very blue and not in a bad mood kind of way, nicely done!

Ami Mattison said...

What a beautiful painting! This is so wonderfully descriptive. The images paint the scene with lush colors and the language adds sound and texture. Nice!

R.H. Mustard said...

Really like the stunning sensual imagery here. as well as the subtle way this pulls the lovers together into a secret intimacy, which is, of course, the way it really works between two people.

Jerry said...

I am gonna look for Rilkes book of hours for sure. This piece is wonderful.

Beachanny said...

Your love letter is sensory - alive with tastes, awash in colors. Succinct and timeless. I miss your poems when I have to go without. So busy lately getting house repaired. Please forgive.