#jars
i recall this as a child
*i tried to jar smoke
the plan was to release it later as a prank
wowing friends with magician skill
i got only a stale smoke smell
at the back of my throat
and a collection of poisonous condensation droplets
*which leads me to a further recollection
involving a jar
*i tried to preserve a dead duckling egg
in a jar of river water
even sealed it puffed gases
ants became attracted
inside the jar sticky decay betrayed
*this then popped into my mind
*i'd fill a green jar with liquid soap
give it a shake and stare deeply
i thought it might conjure clues
of my grown man fortune
my parents discovered the jar by my bed
they threw it away
and called me wasteful
*.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 11:54 AM UTC
There she sits in her narrow room
Room narrow and tall
The room a cave cold and dark
With a shelf on the wall
To her left there sits a table
Covered in tiny jars
And to the right there is a window
Lined, of course, with bars
Every day that starts anew
She rises with the sun
Shuffling over to her table
Her job has begun
She grabs a jar and whispers
Filling each one with light
Then seal them up quickly now
Seal them up tight
Holding the jar carefully in her hands
She shuffles to her shelf
And places it with the other ones
Each one part of herself
The shelf is covered in them
The little bottles filled with color
Sparkling reds, blues, yellows
All arranged around each other
And so the day begins
They come now to her cave
Arms reaching through the bars
It’s her bottles that they crave
So one by one she gives them out
One, two, five, then ten
Soon she’ll run out of jars
Time to refill again
Each bottle given out
To another reaching hand
Gets swallowed up in one gulp
So quickly it gets crammed
They drink it all down
Then they sway with delight
A toothy grin left on their face
A sort of high it excites
But soon the smile is gone
Their eyes snap back open
They fill with panic needing more
Realizing how much they’re broken
They rush back to the bars
Reaching gnawing clawing
Please, just one more
But her body now is falling
It’s become too much
There is nothing left
She collapses crying out
Soul now bereft
So the sun sets and they go away
They leave her alone now
Until tomorrow when the sun rises
This prison is her vow
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
dried up skulls
with motionless eyes
pulled out of their sockets
lie about on forgotten land
as more are placed in
the jars, already filled with other
dusty, dirt covered eyeballs.
the strangely clean glass containers
in which the eyes are placed
stand on wood shelves,
calling,
b e g g i n g,
to be set free
from the trap of the elderly,
blind man's clutches.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
Fact: My sister is a wonderful human being.
After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.
She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.
She gives one to me.
The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.
I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.
But it didn't last.
After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.
I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.
Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.
My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.
Walking away from everything.
But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.
A shining star.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC
Today without question
I placed myself in a glass jar filled with you.
With no way of closing the jar I left the lid undone,
Already beginning to sink
I watched you ooze out, spilling against the sides.
I sat puzzled as I sunk to the bottom.
Reaching watching those familiar parts of you slip through my fingers.
There was no way I could recover the parts of you dripping to the outer bottom of the jar.
Never once did I think to breathe
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
Never keep a jar of hearts
They can easily be used,
broken, and
discarded as one would please.
But instead keep a bottle of stars,
you can have as many as you wish,
pluck them at anytime, and
watch them shine brighter than the sun.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
In this jar,
take a look please.
It's full of the tears
you caused me.
In this jar,
the crimson looks black.
It's full of the blood
you shed from my back.
In this jar,
the creature is alive.
It contains a demon,
and that demon shall thrive as long as you're here.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
The stars are caught in his eyes tonight,
lets capture them in glass jars
and hang them on our peeling wall
as reminder and a promise
of the taste of your laughter and mine.
It hums in our mouths
as we travel the world together
within our thoughts and words
spreading the warmth that lingers at
the latest of hours of the darkest night.
So pick a jar, my love, and open it,
plant the seed of our hopes and dreams,
water it within your deepest soils,
an exposed soul to a harsh reality.
Lets watch it survive the elements
within its protective crown of thorns
and grow into something
truly extraordinary.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
I collect the stars
and drop them into mason jars
that once were home to
my honeysuckle jam
Suns Suns Suns
One by One
I use their lantern's glow
to light up my universe
Ahhh . . . , the universe is black
without it's light
And I pause in my gathering
to comtemplate
The sky is blue
A sea of blue
as far as I can see
A sea of blue without mermaids
Oh , that feeling
as I turn into blue
A lingering
A disintegration
A chorus of crickets
are singing ,
"Here Comes the Sun King"
he is one and done
Yeah !
I need a jar
to start collecting
all the lightning bolts
Didn't anybody tell you
that touching a bolt of lightning
was so much hotter
than kissing the sun
pause for reflection . . . . .
I opened all my jars of restraint
and freed the Suns
They fled smiling
glowing with joy
I contemplated
smashing all my jars
but I made scupernong
wine instead .
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
Any brighter and
streams in the ditches
would look like Cuyahoga River
across Cleveland during the 1960's
There is no fire, only flies
who make bright their bellies
and flash for show like the perverts
in metropolitan inner city parks
Enticed to the flies, like moths
to the ceiling globes,
we gather jars and lids
with air holes hammered hard
No walking as we streak
along gravel roads built after WWII
when rationing was lifted
and road speeds jumped
Flies caught one by one
are smashed on white tees,
luminous signals for drivers
alert to the folly of our play
Our madness endures
until Ball jars become
dim lanterns of joy for us and jail
for the bugs doomed
to die before daybreak
until swept from the garage
floor as we plot our assault
on airborne glimmers along
tonight's roadsides
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
the way that alcohol
f l o o d e d
her veins
was almost like
the way in which
stars
flood a night sky.
and her eyes,
were black holes:
empty
and dark.
she left all her cares behind
a long time ago,
on a shelf
in a jar,
sitting right next to two others, labeled
"happiness"
and
"trust."
you might ask what happened to her love.
she left that with me,
and said,
"do with it what you wish,"
for she hadn't the trust
to expect me to keep it safe,
nor the happiness
to keep it for herself.
i never saw her again after that,
but i still have her love.
and to this day,
here it sits.
on a shelf,
in a jar,
right next to two others, labeled
"memories of you"
and
"hope for the future."
though i must say,
each of these jars
is growing emptier
each day.
(a.m.)
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
i am a terrible poet.
the words i tied together in attempt
to annunciate
the way your kisses felt
along the soft of my
cheeks were
mediocre and just barely enough.
just barely.
there weren't enough ways that i could describe
the mouthful
of stars that spilled at the seams of my
lips as you gently traced them with warm finger tips.
mm, your finger tips.
your finger tips felt like a personal extension from god himself as
they dusted the empty jars i left untouched
in the forgotten spaces of me.
you held them tightly and filled them to the top
with a breathful of morning secrets
and hidden places to meet.
i found you.
i found you and allowed the words to slip
through my small hands
as you kissed my palms gently and sweetly
and folded them into your own to keep for just a little bit.
(
i could stay here)
i could lay underneath your tired smiles
and messy hair
until stars realigned themselves and directed
me to you all over again.
(
i could stay here)
i could tangle in-between your pale sheets
and make up all the words that
effortlessly translate the way i melted and simmered
at the sheer thought of waking up and knowing you again.
i could illustrate all of the galaxies you whispered
onto the trail of my back with
colors and warmth i never knew
and turn them into poorly strung together,
black and white strings of thought.
you were my favorite secret
and the cause of all of my writer’s block.
(i could stay here)
i’ve lived in florida my entire life
and have spent more days than i can count
under the sun and in the wake of rays that always burned,
but i’ve never felt more warmth than lying underneath
your expired thoughts and eclipsing eyes
as the moon seeped through your broken window blinds.
i forgot what it was like to breathe
until you took my face
sweetly and sincerely
and kissed me.
the paragraphs and ellipses that perforated my parenthetical
sighs of relief
stained the corners of my mouth
and lingered
long enough for me to remember
the after taste of your recycled sunshine
as you left me.
i am a terrible poet,
but a better kept secret it seems.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC