My pigeon army
Made of paper
You'll never count them all
I make them when I'm empty
I make them when I'm weak
I make them when I'm running on little sleep for a week
I make them when I'm unhappy
I make them when I can't feel
Anything good or real
Blank or lined
I use what paper I can find
Then I fold
A pigeon of paper
You'll never count them all
I fold and fold
My arms are filled as I hold
My little creations
Bringing me a slight smile
But they just sit with me for a while
So, I do what makes me truly happy;
I give them away
To others who could use something to brighten their day
And what better way
Than a gift
Of a small, little pigeon
How many I've made,
I'll never know
All I know is
This pigeon army will grow
And spread a smile
All the while
I still make more
And I never bore.
- Jay M
March 10, 2020
Whenever I'm not doing so good, I fold origami pigeons and give them away to people. Whoever seems like they could use something to brighten their day, or whoever just looks like they'd be happy with one sitting with them someplace. I love making people happy - that makes me happy. Maybe it's foolish, but it's just what I do.
I made 23 tonight. These little guys keep piling up around my house - they're everywhere! Guess I'll hand some of them out tomorrow - give someone something nice.
i don't breath anymore
i just let air pass through me
i am a vessel through which it travels
and becomes something else
something it was always meant to be
i am its beginning and end
and it is the material with which i create
and form new creations
that couldn't have been without its life giving powers
we need each other
and to become
stone and clay
wood and paper
can the artist choose?
shades of green
can the gardener decide on one?
sweets and treats
savories and piquants
cakes and pies
can the chef say which is best?
I challenge any poet
can you choose your favorite "child"?
I made myself hungry in that one part!
So many words unspoken from various flowers,
but they live and thrive.
They are tender creations of God with radiant souls.
For in a world so muddled, they are rays of beauty.
Currently in a park, surrounded by flowers.
They remind me that the world is still beautiful...
There is a little red bird sitting on a tree
I then tried to catch him but it suddenly flee
I want that little red bird but then I see
I think it will be better if I let him free.
There is a little red fox on the side of the bay
I then tried to chase him but he ran away
I want that little red fox but then I say
I think it will be better if I just let him play.
There is a little red hamster crawling on the grass,
I then tried to hunt him but he hide so fast
I want that little red hamster but then at last,
I think it will be better if he stay where he was.
There is a little red frog jumping on the shore
I then tried to grab him but he hops even more
I want that little red frog but then I recall
I think it will be better to let him jump and crawl.
There are this little red ones singing together
I’m glad to see them happy and live with each other
I hope we understand their words and laughter
For these little red ones should be valued forever.
©2013 John Vincent Obiena. All rights reserved.
This poem is suppose to be publish in one magazine but problem occur that it failed to reach the final submission, but still this is one of my favorite poem I made.
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Time for All or Nothing Forgone
Travelling a long way to a hill-top
From where I can get the vision of
The beauty of God's creations
Black and grey mountains
Standing like body guards
The sun peeping out
Behind the mountains
Clouds moving gracefully
Trying to touch the hills
Running waters of the rivers
Spreading its fragrance on small rocks
Ground of green grass where
Boys grazing cattle of cows
Yachtsman in his boat singing
Songs about the beautiful rivers
On his way back to home
Old woman sitting under a Banyan tree
Tiring from her day's work of selling buttermilk
Sun hiding slowly behind the hills
Allowing the moon to shine
Forest fires lit at night like stars on a hill-top
By the people of the country side
Was lost in the world of sleep
In my home of hill-top tent
Thanking God for this beautiful heaven!
Back in the day
of youth and play
and my reality
seemed so similar to me.
I'd get that deja vu
and the scene came true,
and I knew I'd make it through
because I had been in those shoes.
I learned to lucid dream -
I loved to control the seams -
and the characters around me
were creations of my animosity.
They reflected my thoughts and visions
under those pubescent conditions,
and yet I stayed one step ahead
by resting cozy in my bed.
Then time had passed,
and the settings changed -
a bigger bed, a room rearranged.
My dreams had changed course:
reality and fantasy divorced,
and each individual's face
lost its place
in the palette of my desires;
if a dream never comes true,
is it then considered a liar?