Blue Lady 1

[velvet_morph]

Edit 1 -- Blue Lady 1

Morning sunlight peeps through the drapes.
Grass and trees sparkle with dew.
The rustic bach needs some paint.
But today I won’t rush, tomorrow I promise
I’ll give her the brush.

Roar of blue lady is flung through the air.
I walk down to see her, with feet bare.
A thunderous crack, angelic hush
Her brume on my lips, her scent in my nose
happily feeling her grain between toes.

I think it sounds a lot better than the original.

Hi folks

I'm new to this site and to poetry. I started writing a poem with themes that are dear to my heart - the ocean and fishing. In New Zealand, I used to go fishing over some hills and it was quite the walk to get to my secret spot.

I ended up writing an entire story, so broke it up into 3 poems. I will post the first one today just to be fair to others, and stick to the one-a-day policy.

As a beginner, I will appreciate any constructive feedback that comes my way. I really hope it is good enough to be in this forum.

Oh, yes. Bach = little old beach house in NZ. Dairy = convenience/corner store. 'Joa is feijoa = plentiful, yummy green fruit.

Blue Lady 1

A golden dawn peeps through a drape
While green verdure shimmers dew
The rustic bach needs some paint
But today’s without rush
On morrow I promise
I’ll give her the brush

For roar of blue lady is flung through the air
I walk down to see her, that’s twice feet bare
A thunderous crack
Angelic hush
Her brume on my lips
Her scent in my nose
Happily feeling her grain ‘tween toes

The thought of white paint is no real wish
I think I’d prefer a slithering dish
Back to the bach with sand on my feet
Not even stopping for something to eat

Sack and hooks, rod and bait
As I sneakily sneak, out of the gate
Down past the dairy I quickly walk
But Mrs. Reed spots me, and stops me to talk

Her grey banter’s the same, and the same as before
Showing me pictures of grandson Joe
I want to say sorry I have to go
But can only stand there reflecting her smile
At least time’s on my side, it’s only a while

The path is familiar, there’s plenty to see
Breakfast’s a ‘joa plucked high from a tree
A glimpse of blue lady as I cross over the bridge
That’s last time I see her ‘til top of the ridge
Her wet swiftly flows between gnarly mangroves.
Carrying seeds to the sea with white foam
She looks kind of angry, should I go home?

But her pull is much stronger than my will to turn back
As I climb over fence and head up the track
The smell of green needles and red mud beneath me
A hole in the scrub; the home of a Kiwi

I arrive at the square on top of the hill
Arched granite rows where brown ghosts mill
I give my respect
Thanks, and wide berth
To those who lay sleeping deep in the earth

Down slippery slope and careful I go
To wandering water where taro grow
Over the drain where the black eels play
Past the old barn and a stack of wet hay

Now within sight
The top of the ridge
A crave, an itch, a pinch.