Gazing out the window at his clothes on the line Bruce realised just how tatty his clothes had become. Not only that, but everything was blue. What was needed was a visit to town and some new clothes. Fliers advertising the coming season’s garments had just come in the mail. This was the answer to a prayer:
New range of colours in our Spring Collection! Join in the innovative springtide riot! Throw all caution to the wind with our symphony of hues!
Feeling a desire to “branch out” this was an invitation to recklessness. Bruce got in his old truck and headed for town.
There they were! Row upon row of the new season’s clothes! All black or a lovely shade of grey. The swimming gear was black with white dots. There was one white shirt in different sizes, and (ah! one colour amidst the dismal rows) three pullovers in dark, dark green.
The next time Bruce hung his washing on the line it was identical to the previous load of laundry: all blue and quite, quite tatty.
Kingfisher waited near fish-filled stream and flashed blue fire.
Distant thunder grumbled to a scream and flashed blue fire.
A welder melded into shape tough unbending steel;
this artist’s arc launched one steady beam and flashed blue fire.
The frantic horse’s metal shoes on stony gravel
broke the silence of the morning’s gleam and flashed blue fire.
Massed irises turned their heads towards the rising sun;
yellow, purple, peach, rose, white, and cream, and flashed blue fire.
And Bruce, patience at an end with this and that and things,
saw this growing mound of stifled dreams and flashed blue fire.
(This is my final poem on this blog – at least for the time being. I’ll still post the occasional poem hopefully, but a poem a week is a bit much! I shall be concentrating on putting out a story a day until the 1500th story is reached!)