[stylist] poem about the sky

[Barbara Hammel]

Thanks, guys.
Barbara




Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Lynda Lambert
Sent: Friday, March 29, 2013 8:41 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] poem about the sky

Me, too! LOVE it.
Lynda Lambert
104 River Road
Ellwood City, PA 16117

724 758 4979

My Blog:  http://www.walkingbyinnervision.blogspot.com
My Website:  http://lyndalambert.com






----- Original Message ----- 
From: <KajunCutie926 at aol.com>
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Friday, March 29, 2013 6:38 PM
Subject: Re: [stylist] poem about the sky


> Love it, love it, love it, Barbara.. going into the folder now..)
> Myrna
>
>
> In a message dated 3/29/2013 3:05:25 P.M. Central Daylight Time,
> poetlori8 at msn.com writes:
>
> And it  will do you no good if I don’t attach the poem. LOL! (Fingers went
> crazy and  sent the email instead of going to the menu to choose to attach
> it.)
> Barbara
>
>
> THE SKY
>
> By Barbara  Hammel
>
>
>
> BLUE-VIOLET is a winter sky
>
> Above the fields of  white.
>
> Ink-black or deep velvet-blue
>
> Is its color during the  night.
>
>
>
>
> At sunrise it flashes rose and yellow,
>
> At  sunset it glows shades of red.
>
> When the smell of wetness fills the  air
>
> The sky is gray as lead.
>
>
>
>
> Hail and tornado turn  it to
>
> An eerie purple-green.
>
> Its flaming-blue of autumn  time
>
> Is unlike any color I've seen.
>
>
>
>
> In summer, a  bright but gentle blue,
>
> In spring, a dazzling one.
>
> And sometimes  streaks or pillows of clouds
>
> Whiten blue or block out the  sun.
>
>
>
>
> The sky is always beautiful
>
> However it chooses  to look.
>
> It's really sad to think some people
>
> Only see it in a  science book.
>
>
>
>
> When all they really need to do
>
> Is  stop and look for a moment or two.
>
> If they'd only stop staring at feet  as they walk,
>
> And look up, they'd enjoy a better  view.
>
>
>
>
> But I think there's something they're really afraid  of.
>
> It's raising their sights too high.
>
> I wish I knew why  they're scared of that,
>
> Goodness sakes, they'll just see the  sky.
>
>
>
>
> It doesn't expect a thing from you,
>
> It doesn't  demand your time,
>
> It doesn't set deadlines that you can't  make.
>
> But for the poet, it sings a rhyme.
>
>
>
>
> Poetry is  an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl  Sandburg
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