SONG OF THE BLUES
Blue stars in the garden,
Touched by the slender light of an icy moon
Trying to contain the storm
Throwing itself into a tantrum,
Breaking all it touched.
Spitefully turning the ruffled cornflowers
Into tiny blue rags
Pressed against earth’s vast darkness.
Howlin’ Wolf roared his blue despair
Into the emptiness he knew lay waiting
Behind the beauty of his own rich singing.
Set on making a cool and glorious
stream of melody
To challenge and defeat that darkness.
Make it jump for joy.
The Bluesman adding his song
To the precise and perfect loveliness
Of Lawrence telling of his own blue
In the frosty month of September,
Its blue light leading him only into darkness,
Where Persephone was called back for ever
And Lawrence called for love.
Yet the Bluesman never stopped singing,
Filling that emptiness with the soul of man.
Bringing light to the darkness.
And Lawrence kept his pen firmly in his fingers,
Adding his song of blue gentians
Flowering in the month of September
To the eternal battle of hope over despair.
© 2020 Gwen Grant