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Mother
With the broken home
Scattered mind and loose animals
Break the curse cast upon you
From your deserted lover (before
It’s too late)
Make meals for the hungry
Children not of your own, but those belonging to God’s mystery surrogate
The one who owns sky scrapers because the compensation was high
While you twiddle needles of spring I can tell
You are no goddess, your skin
Is all marked up with time lines
Your eyes hold cups of suffering
While your hands shake
Body balancing two extremes in empty space
Gives you more weight
Your heart freezes over so you
Can manage singing past the warfare — damaged —
Into a microphone for an empty bar on Sunday
Begging for change
While make up runs down the river of your face
Your home is chaos
But you love like fate and
Let the rat who stole your bread feed it’s young in your cupboard  because
You would do the same
jayebird Jul 12
Fish bodies filter
Water of life
Nightmares come open faced
Polluted seas have no blame
Disease has no blame
However unasked for
Remains cold and real;
Answer is trees
Their wild statures lay strong in
Death bed of atmosphere
Broken-limbed and worn
Waiting for things with wings
In open womb to be born
Setting wet souls free
(But what does that mean)
jayebird Jul 1
We are strangers
Yet my heart is open to you
Soon to be neighbors is the
American Dream
Not a greed machine feeding nothing but
Chauvinistic pleasure
Nor is learning how to hoard resources to one side of a body or border an active vision anymore
Instead this night aspires for green trees untouched except by skin, a home and morale for the fallen and free, even more varied cuisines
All faces spring forth just as fluently here, no need for same speak as we may share a smile and nod just as easily, duly noting
Our colors and diversity, who is suitably similar to the landscapes travelled throughout the states, a testimony to
Our uniquely cultured experience which yearns to preserve
forever under sparks and sprinklers in summer when things grow for all;
For me, for them,
For us, for We.
  Jun 9 jayebird
Sylvia Plath
A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!

And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?

Such pure leaps and spirals ----
Surely they travel

The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift

Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.

Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,

And the tiger, embellishing itself ----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.

The comets
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off ----

Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling

Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given

These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes

Six sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair

Touching and melting.
Nowhere.
  Jun 9 jayebird
Sylvia Plath
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
jayebird Jun 4
when will this skin transcend into an iron exoskeleton?
when will these bones birth out from neath the fragile wine red wires of self-preservation?
water-hands ebb on about a digital dam of evolution,
meanwhile promising my-own ****** dissolution.
  Jun 4 jayebird
poetryaccident
To fully fly would be a joy
leave this earth where I’m stuck
elevation by any means
becomes the greatest of all needs
this fondest wish is distressed
by the pull of nervousness
that pain is all that I’ll receive
firmly tied to sad dreams

the many snares of the self
taunts of worth that demean
one or another is enough
to reduce the strong as consequence
now multiplying in delight
a thousand cackles I’ll deny
finding strength to overcome
chains evoked from cold resolve

compounded by winds of time
a tempest asking far too much
if only life did not conspire
as the breeze becomes a storm
denying youth even as
pain is gifted to body’s span
as the memories are tossed about
in the cyclone of inner doubt

to those ends the sky awaits
by helpful drugs or risque ways
put aside the judging looks
when sanity finds a relief
both deliver for a time
supplying wings to lift clay feet
before the earth reclaims the one
that escapes to fly above.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190529.
The poem “To Fully Fly” was based on the beginning thought of writing a piece about escaping life.   The result is about self-sabotage, aging, pain, and some temporary avenues of relief.
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