SINGING THE BLUES

(upon watching a Wild America program about the color blue in nature)

 

 

                                                I

 

                        Form must yield to his better half

                        in union we adore as beauty.

                        Sky and water were all color,

                        formless when the world began,

 

                        formless, and the world began

                        with nothing under heaven’s blue sea,

                        only water’s sky-blue answer

                        to the sun’s creating laugh.

 

 

                                                II

 

                        While silent giants mildly troll,

                        like shapes of peace in dreams they slip

                                    from pole to starstruck pole

                                    beneath the sea-dark brim:

 

                                                their excellence blue.

 

 

                                                III

 

                        Invisible, the Texas viper,

                                    whose blue phase is one

                                    with close-held soil of home,

 

                        insidious, matures a riper

                        spit by lying low,

                                    knows how the West was won.

 

 

                                                IV

 

                        The bluebird of happiness isn’t blue

                        but colorless.  It takes its hue

                                    from sunny days at beck

                                    of penchant to reflect.

 

 

                                                V

 

                        Mountain lions are born, we’re told

                        with eyes blue by default.  The will

                        is gentle, kind and good until

                                    they gain the savage gold.

 

 

                                                VI

 

Most birds sing at dawn or dusk

                        in blue of day’s or night’s husk,

                                    bound like us by color

                        to the facts of nature’s order.