Two Ray Sharp love poems posted today at the blue hour magazine. Enjoy!

The Blue Hour


The blackberries are thick this year
after a hot summer and a few big rains.
They turn from pink to a glossy deep purple,
almost black, when they are ripe and ready
to be slipped off in one clean tug, the thimble
from the cone, like pulling off your jeans
as you lie on your back on the couch, laughing.
The berries are clusters of small shiny globes
like the giant cluster of new galaxies forming
so far away from our little home. And by giant
we mean bigger than the biggest metaphor
any poet ever conceived and farther than light
travels in five billion years, which renders
the fact that at the center of the cluster
seven hundred new stars are hiccupped
every Earth year not so much news as a report
from very long ago and far away, like love letters
carried across a vast ocean on…

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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