Hummingbird Blue: Favorites

Jul 2013 Hummingbird Blue

Morgan

I stood in front of the mirror until four in the morning. I counted the imperfections in my face, multiplied them by ten & called it the imperfections in my head.

I wrote to you until eight in the morning. Counted every "I'm sorry" scratched in red pen on white pages, multiplied them by ten & called it the guilt scratched into the blue of my veins.

*I listened to your album until two in the afternoon. Counted every mention of her eyes, multiplied them by ten & called it suicide.

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

May 27 2012 23:09

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

Jay Bryant

May 27 2012 23:09

I Feel Like
I Complicate My Life
By Looking To The Future
For Current Insight
Yes I Do It
But I Don't Think Its Right
So At Night I Lay, Think, And I Write
I Lay Alone
Wishing I Was Next To The Girl
Who's Confused By The Poems I Write
Yes There's More Than One
But I feel This One Is Just Right
Tho, I Hesitate And Play It Safe
By Wrapping My Heart Tight
With Caution Tape
The Love Is There
However I Find It Unfair
That Cupids' Arrows
Pierce My Sides And Stay There
When I Pull They Tear
Can't Take That Pain
So I Keep Them There
Tho This Girl
Mends My Wounds
Brings Cool Air To June
You May Not See It In Her
But She See's It In Me
I See Her For What She Is To Me
What She Has The Potential To be
Potentially She Could Live With Me
Breakfast In Bed
With Sunny Side Up Eggs
Tho I Take My Steps Slowly
Afraid That She Could Burn Me
Afraid That She Could Begin To Know Me
So I Have To See If I Can Hide Me Gently
You May Not Comprehend
But I Know She Understands

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

mural

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

st64

mural

turning..turning..turning
how it ever
turns

1.
they all pass me by
everyday
and no-one says a word
to me

the earth moves
one more time
and it all
starts again

2.
on their way to work
high-heels totter
they chatter on
birds in smoke
hardly aware

from the evening subway
attachés whisk past
looking so important
eyes down on text
talking into boxes
streaming... streaming
endless

onto the bus
a struggle
a pram is lifted
distant cries of a baby
an echo of an old man
in a park nearby
sitting, lost in thought
counting the arthritic joints
of his fingers

skateboards
in such great haste
as on an almighty trail
somewhere

footfalls go
some clackety-clack
a thousand by the minute

by now
I lose track
of the number

3.
they look my way
and they don't really see me
not anymore, anyway

I'm just there

but I hear it all

the steps..
they clack-flash across my ears
the words..
they flaunt over my silence
the secrets..
they furtively long to share with someone
the awful rush..
they long to shed
the frustrations..
they find no space for
the dreams..
they ache to realise

4.
only *the mendicant traveler
comes by
once daily
with a battered Coke can
to sit and keep me
company
just for a while
a little while

leaning against me
I smile inside
to think
I can still be somewhat
useful

or the occasional trolley-lady
who guards all her assorted treasures
a bric-a-brac of unrecoverable dreams
all neatly piled neglect
reflected in
society's abandoned grown-up child

then, that funny visitor
comes by
to bestow on me
hebdomadary gift:
his customary ****

too lazy for a WC!

5.
I am just
what I am..
on a wall
as pretty as they come
yet half-invisible
and
I am here

how
I keep track
of
all the beings'
coming-and-going

as the busyness
of life
keeps
turning..turning..turning

(once in a while, though...a new pair of eyes may flash upon me and love me for my worth.
then again...just for a few seconds...but it is enough: I may be peeling now, but I am such the fine burgundy-and-green masterpiece, of a rather stunning bird, caught in mid-flight.... that once was the great love of my esteemed master, the eternal artist...long, long ago.

and I can smile...inside)

I dare to smile, yes..

how the earth moves
one more time
and it all
just
starts again

S T, 26 June 2913

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Do so love the use of metonymy.

sub-entry: 'pictures etched'

1.
a fine day for rain, it is
soaking into earth
warding off all noise
but the gentle
pitter-patter
of half-born
ideals

2.
such grasping images
come
all attentive
and
tremors unaware
ensconced
by
pictures etched
deeply into psyche
they sit

slow birth
of
some very
powerful
ideas

3.
then, write a heartfelt note
and lick a stamp
post it off
in a spiffy new
London-red box
and
wait..
distant destination

4.
final score
no parting

break down the wall
and
rescue that light

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

Damned

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

Leila

******

Here comes the devil, breathing down my neck.
He makes life hard and he makes me sweat.
Taunts me all day, tortures me all night.
I can't live like this, I hate life.
I could be happy and I would smile.
If he'd just let me breathe, just for a little while.
But he wont, he'd rather just tear me apart.
Some creatures don't have hearts.
Happiness and love are now missing.
And if you be quiet you'll notice he's listening.
I've seen the devil and I believe
I was ****** on the day I was conceived.

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

Fear

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

High on Lolipops

Fear

Hands shaking, lips trembling,
What exactly do you see?

A spider dangling in your face
Or a witch's broom crackling?

Concealed in a dark, closed room
Or the sound of thunder and lighting?

Zombies eating your brains (if you actually have any),
Or the sinking feeling of dying?

Of all the nightmares in the world,
Which one leaves you shivering?

Horrible, I know. I'm sorry. Will *try* to do a better job next time.

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

The Waiting Room

Jun 2013 Hummingbird Blue

Something aka Stormitive

The Waiting Room

I've been waiting here for such a long time,
inside this waiting room, inside my mind.
I'm sitting alone, I wait for my turn,
While all the while, my suppressed heart burns.

The woman at the desk sits with no fear,
She knows who I am and why I am here
Neither she nor I knows why I wait
but I have an advantage, I believe in fate

Although I am waiting, I know not what for,
I know not what lies beyond that door.
I dream it is happiness, tranquility, and peace,
but perhaps it is just the lair of a beast.

I'm chained down to my chair, but I never fight,
I'm only a prisoner of my own device.
Why do I wait, why can't I run free?
I need that door, it's become part of me.

So yes, I'll wait, until the room ends,
since it's in my mind, on me it depends
I will wait in this room as long as I can,
wishing all the while to be a real man.

First poem of a series, so to speak, a series of poems from a chapter of my life or something, I'm not trying to sound profound. Anyways, if you liked it, there's more to come