One’s heart is broken.
One’s heart is a well that neighbors call down,
searching for a lost child,
the mother held back
in the house.

It is a white frame house,
where someone paces kitchen
to living room,
a swell below the door sill
where the floors meet.

The heart looks out to the horizon, worrying
as night falls,
as the lawn that turns to field that turns to sky
turns to cobalt,
though the heart loves
that deep blue;
though the heart, when it can breathe,
loves blue.


Here’s very much of a draft poem for Herotomost’s prompt on with real toads in honor of Leo, to write a poem that comes in like a lion, leaves like a lamb.  I’m sorry I’ve been a bit behind returning comments.  This has been a very job-intense summer for me.

P.S. – photo is mine–all rights reserved, as always.

Pps have edited since first posting.

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17 Comments on “Blue”

  1. Anonymous Says:

    Do not leave blogging you are one of my faves. If you give up blogging, redardless of how busy, life will not be as full or blessed. This is wonderful and meets all criteria which is no criteria except writing the best you can at the moment. This poem is as real as it gets, it takes the basic reality and inflates it with air that everyone can identify with. You hang in, because your writing is treasured by many, and you show up when it counts. Loved this……thanks for playing!!!!!

  2. The loneliness under a blue sky – the broken heart – a song to the nightly sky.. I like the scarceness – it’s intriguing to fill in the lines, much like finding constellations in the randomness of a starry sky.

  3. Brendan Says:

    Learning one has a heart is one life; learning to live from it another, learning to love everything that fills it (for only full heart fully exists) is a slow romance with blue, I think. Blue moon, blue mood, the blues, l’amour bleu, true blue: the heart bleeds blue, and that spectra is the liminal by which most good poems — like this one — get written. Fine work. Sorry the image got lost. Don’t work too hard.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      The image does get lost–I should probably change heart in the end to “someone” as my thought really is of someone walking in that frame house–or otherwise change the point of view. Thanks. I am hoping to get a break at the end of next week or so. k.

  4. I love the journey from darkened horizons back to blue sky. It feels like the loosening of a choking knot that in the beginning holds the throat so tight that one doesn’t think it will ever let go… not until it does.

  5. hedgewitch Says:

    Karin you play sonatas and nocturnes here very well, they are blue as deep twilight, before the night brings black. I especially like the final lines :’though the heart loves/that deep blue;/though the heart, when it can breathe,/loves blue…’ echoing as they do the way our blood turns from blue to red as we process our oxygen, i.e., live and function and feel. Very human, very beautiful.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Thanks much. It was one of those poems that just appeared suddenly–one never knows whether to go with them or not, and honestly, I did not think about that blue to red part, which is a lovely thought. I think I can speak for the whole blogging poetry world when I say we miss you! k .

  6. Kerry O'Connor Says:

    What an exceptional series of comparisons. I really like the fullness of each image which all deeply convey the sense of loss which pervades the poem, despite the blue or perhaps because of it.

  7. claudia Says:

    i can imagine that… blue is a soothing color… we have to be careful to give our heart that space that it finds time to breathe…

  8. Susan Says:

    In such a loss/gap/absence, pacing, and empty wells come to mind along with swollen whispers. To see a horizon and remember liking blue, that is a step forward into life. Beautiful. Reminds me somewhat, and for odd reasons, of Kate Chopin’s “Story of an Hour.”

  9. grapeling Says:

    K, got a real sense of – if not isolation, then solitude – from that 2nd stanza, that so matches the wonderful photo – how, when white pales to blue, or blue fades to white, our eyes can process only a sense of alone-ness that relentlessly accompanies the color. ~

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