"bluejay" poems
In a sermon, the preacher says:
*"The Lord created us in his image,
all who desecrate themselves
too destroy a part of God."*
I've murdered pets and
alphabetised people by
sense and style and laughs like
a rack of dresses.
I've kissed girls just because
they said they could never like me
like that
as if their lips were some
sacred maiden's blush and not
a pair of fleshy rims.
As if I couldn't read their
***** little lesbian fantasies
underneath those
angel faces.
Susan from accounting thinks I need
to see a therapist. I think she needs to see
a mirror. We don't really get along, but ****
maybe if drink enough
these clocks
these blue collars
these billboards with the pearly white teeth
won't look like straightjackets anymore.
I have this thing where
sometimes I'm just so tired
of being a body.
The world's a ******* advertisement,
Everyone with their scripted
good mornings and
chemical feelings
down to the last **** t.
My skin is a cage
and I'll strip it off like
a *****
Why be happy when you
could be interesting?
Love like a bluejay,
Fists in our stomachs-
The headlights of a car coming
at 80 miles an hour straight at you,
pummeling in a stream of light.
The taste of a cigarette after
it's been on someone else's lips.
Don't you dare tell me you understand.
When I tell her this
my therapist only smiles,
Darling it's only purgatory.
Allen knew. Nietzsche knew. Woolf knew.
In all our hearts-
We've already killed God.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
When the moon finally meets it's ceiling
Ahh, I wish I could describe the feeling
The countryside gives me a terrific peak
Early sun illuminates an anacamptic creek
The cricket's intuition ends their rhythmic chirp
I can see the dew glisten on the grass and the dirt
All silence - besides the wind and the bluejay
They spin through the sky for a game the two play
Warm waves of air push over the hills
Goosebumps ensue but I welcome the chills
This is a moment that an artist might draw
but he simply can't because he's part of it all
This is a setting that our memories reluctantly dilute
Though recollection of chores are crisp and acute
Try as I may - I can not pocket this instant
For when the day emerges it all becomes distant
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC
One's grand flights, one's Sunday baths,
One's tootings at the weddings of the soul
Occur as they occur. So bluish clouds
Occurred above the empty house and the leaves
Of the rhododendrons rattled their gold,
As if someone lived there. Such floods of white
Came bursting from the clouds. So the wind
Threw its contorted strength around the sky.
Could you have said the bluejay suddenly
Would swoop to earth? It is a wheel, the rays
Around the sun. The wheel survives the myths.
The fire eye in the clouds survives the gods.
To think of a dove with an eye of grenadine
And pines that are comets, so it occurs,
And a little island full of geese and stars:
It may be that the ignorant man, alone,
Has any chance to mate his life with life
That is the sensual, pearly spouse, the life
That is fluent in even the wintriest bronze.
3.5k
To **** a bluejay
Give it soda
Lots of soda
They can't drink that ****
They will try to burp and die in the process
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
i'm not sure what to do with all the distance
it's been months that have felt like years
i can remember when you came into my life in the winter
and I can remember when you left in the summer
arrival and departure
the distinct difference between the two
i'm only at the thin line of division
the way my emotions don't add up
like miscalculated algebra
all to your advantage
i kept your love letter
the letter where you plagiarized a novel
because i wasn't good enough for your own words
that was my only closure
i wanted desperately to burn the stuffed bears from the carnival
i could only part with one
when i hold it close to me
i feel like how a child would
expecting prizes only in fabric and cotton stuffing
not words of affirmation or love
i almost drove by your house
but i knew i would only go mad thinking
of who has been touching your new furniture that i helped pick out
leaving their fingerprints in place of mine
i miss my t-shirts that you still have
i hope when and if you wear them
you can feel me close
my heart beating where yours is
sometimes i feel like i miss you enough for you to show up
as if my pain could teleport
the craving of a complete closure
one where i don't need liquor or a lighter
others bring up your name
as if i'm not in the process of misplacing the letters
or dismissing the syllables
i've been trying to forget your face
your face of sharp bones
flaring nostrils
and nostalgic lips
i've been trying to imagine if that night would have never happened
when that veteran couldn't take himself anymore
he chose you to be his last interaction
it was all in hints
he was screaming for help without making a sound
how were we supposed to know
i still wonder where that blue jay is that he buried behind the building
i just couldn't bare to see it
now i wish i made a map
X marks the spot where our love died
i remember when you had to bury your own blue jay
you never saw it coming
you took the wrong step and it was under your foot
just like he said his bluejay was
fidgeting and fighting for life
i'd like to think it was a sign from him
to let you know it's possible to move on and forward
so you did
you moved on to scabbed skin and worn-out lungs
i moved on to scholarly headaches and false pretenses
back then i could never fathom my days without you
now i find it difficult to recall how we were
it feels like our romance was a dream
because it only felt real when i was asleep
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
I like the sound of the rain
washing away the silent day
And the lonely call
of a home-bound train
A mournful morning
kind of pain
....Give me the sound
of a blue bluejay
over the busy noise
that mocks my ways
I want to pack my bag
and fetch my dog
Whistle a tune
while we walk along...
Come on girl
It's starting to rain
I hear the sound
of the lonesome train
and the blue bluejay
calling my name
(Here's where yer sposed to whistle)
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
painted frowns on the sunday town
peddling backwards on the underground
sinking slander
thunder-strikes that planned her
slap up shower towel
bloom-faced scowl
kissing kissing kissing i turn my eyes down
beautiful sunlight
road sign canvas
hunger and caffeine fix
walking towards to busier stores
oxford street in the middle of october
remembering my birthday wasn't just for me
relaxing on the submarine
escalator down blue and brown
blue change to black
southern bound
dishwasher sandwich
tea cup bandage
the simple and effective afternoon
bound by thought posts
wandering from my host
tormenting and enlightening
silence and the noise she keeps
playground heartattack
softly spoken words are back
forget to smile on sunday
higher in the afternoon
monday brings a chorus swoon
bluejay on the roof above
sinking in slumber of my forgotten ...
what you did is yesterday
let go of that and this moment underway
forgive forgive forgive and sigh
smile upstairs and wave yourself bye
all i want is to see is myself through my mothers eyes
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Without a bluejay
Life is so very nay.
Without a brother like you
Dreams are bitter too.
Without a crossword puzzle
Or maybe a toy train
Life is not the same at all,
Life is not the same.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
hey little bird you dive in the ocean's waves to exhilarate your tongue
you swim through the clouds, feathers a-flutter with joy
you hide in the trees and bushes, all winky and coy
i'd love to fall hands-first along your side catching my little bugs and my little birds
i wish i could fly
i wish i could fly
oh ** oh i wish i wish i could fly
no wings, no plane, no parachute
so thanks, bluejay, crane, pelican,
all the birds,
for letting me come along
(what a way to die)
so happy i can fly
so happy i can fly
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 11:12 AM UTC
If spring draws the earth
in golden streaks of life,
I long to hear
the songs of the bluejay.
I long to hear anything.
For all I hear when you open
your mouth
is a chime of chide
and the rustle of grit:
the grinding of your
restless heart
so full of
hate.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
a bluejay recently passed away
outside on my front lawn
i tried to help him best I could
but now he is long gone
i have a pool of tadpoles
sitting right out back
the tiny little froglets
making me an insomniac
a new cat showed up last week
with a short shiny black coat
along with his appearance
my mother left a note
"please do not feed him, darling
for he is but a stray
and you've taken in three new cats
already yesterday!"
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
Life starts out each day
In colorful waves
From the purple mountains majesty
To the white caps they display
As the suns yellow rays
Captures the forests dark shade
Life is a colorful display
From the sheen of green leaves
On branches of brown
Above moss covered grey rock
On top of mud red dirt ground
As the bluejay gives way
Richness abounds
With natures most colorful sounds
The green and gold of the seas splash
On the sands mixture of beige
With a backdrop blue of the sky
Giving way to the ache
As the Crayola of colors
Leaves the box to come out and play
On this most colorful of days
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Red lipstick (I think),
but your hair fell soft around your shoulders.
You had this smile, but I could tell
it wasn’t for the camera-
you weren’t even looking at it. You-
You were on his shoulders like a bird,
little bluejay, hummingbird, raven-
sun on your shoulders, wind in your blouse,
eyes spilling sunlight.
His were looking up at you,
swearing everything,
swearing on the universe and his father’s grave
he’d hold onto you.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
I was going to write you a poem stating how your sound is
long, and arching like
leaves to the sun. How it
curls and soars like a bluejay taking
wing from an autumn aspen tree
or how it can flit, like a hummingbird
back to the columbines that bloom
violet, and sensual as May
…But I felt like a ******* idiot
comparing your sound to birds of all things.
birds are too easy, anybody
can write a ******* poem comparing
a singer’s voice to birds, for godssake that’s too
easy
I want to compare your sound to a cigarette, but I’m afraid
that comparison might offend you… what I mean
is that your sound burns
at the end, like
leaves, if you light them, and I breathe it
there’s not a better way to say I
inhale when you sing, and what comes back
out, to the air is an echo, but it looks nice
and in response I wave and clutch at the sky
piteously, but your song
pats my back, with heavy hand and says
that things are fine and good
and your sound
can rasp like flipping book pages
your sound can roll down a grass hill in June your sound
can rope the ****** moon down to where I lie
with stars in my eyes, and nothing on my tongue
And like poems about birds, your sound is impossibly easy
but like birds is nigh uncatchable
and, like the moon,
its light is fleeting
and like cigarettes, your sound
is likely killing my insides.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
A man lost his leg in a dark spell
and a dinner plate sits in a dry spot
30 years of love soaked lung choked,
"I can't live without my eyes" life!
It's a tied or be tied world
a king prays in the morning
and stars connect his wishes
tasseled, sparkle, with
blood of shaking soft hands
A man lost his leg in a dark spell
a caravan station unfolds its carpet
a pegged ***** grinds for metal
and a sandpaper shoe floats in the creek
a bluejay whispers to the soil
and a soul catches an eye
hunger taken and a spirit flies
to morphing masses and flowing skies
flowing skies
A man lost his leg in a dark spell
as a green legged woman fell into the moon
a clasp of a watch was finally won
with fevered letters and hammered guns
filtered suns
filtered suns
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
The strangest melody came
'Cross the trees.
Into those dark woods,
Where the Raven hung in green.
Drifting on that tune,
The Raven found the blue
Of the sole Bluejay
Aloft and lonely too.
But not for long, really--
A violet Starling fell into.
And this began a harmony,
Unknown purity that grew and grew.
Beholden of the heavenly,
The black Raven watched afar,
Wishing for eternity, which dreams...seldom are.
Soon the Starling flew away,
And the Bluejay
Recited once again the next day,
Till quieted, and no more.
Sat back still, the Raven saw,
Then searched for the brightest purple feathers.
Plucked out its own to replicate;
It loved that color anyway.
But the Bluejay would never sing
The song it did with that Starling.
And the Raven could only caw,
While its black feathers wore away.
But to the Raven's canopy
Had come
The Bluejay.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:43 AM UTC
Cheap Decorations
Falling from above,
splattering on the sidewalk,
bluejay - no longer.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.
Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.
We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.
We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.
We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.
Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.
I remember by name
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
I swung wide my shutters this morning at dawn
To witness the beauty as another day was born.
Too early I’d risen for the cool of night yet hung there,
Her eyes still sparkled and indigo graced her hair.
Slowly as her cheeks flushed with rose,
And periwinkle adorned her face at night’s close,
In a frost covered bush a fluffy bird stirred,
A rustle, then a flutter and soon a chirp could be heard,
A flurry of wings and the windowsill bore a Bluejay.
Proudly, clearly, these were the words he had to say;
“Goodbye dark velvet of night,
Sink lower and be gone from sight.
Up now golden yoke of day
Cast your diamonds upon the expectant bay.
Arise too folks of Sleepy Hollow,
For the sun has risen and gone be your sorrow”.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
What lies above the tops of trees?
The field in which the bluejay flies.
Far-soaring through invisible seas
With white-foam clouds; We call the skies.
Can birds deduce the here and there?
From breezy-field to where it lies?
For when it flies up in the air,
Oh, does it know it's in the skies?
Birds care not for the 'next day'
They bend not to anxiety's sway
Be like a bird and you too may
Be happy wherever you lay.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 7:13 PM UTC
Miserable, reading a newspaper, sipping coffee on the villa
Cold front omens, bluejay noise
A bank robbery, an ocean tide, the smell of gingerbread
None could make him shift or smirk
Self-importance breeded in this host, with minnow letters swimming on the paper
-cj
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
The sunlight during summer,
the rain of late, late may,
the sound of ocean waves smashing
up against the bay,
the droplets falling slowly,
the moonlight shining thin,
the feeling of your hair blown back
and tucked beneath the wind,
the ticking of a school clock,
the smell of fresh baked goods,
the feel of running freely, alone,
straight through empty woods,
The sweet call of the bluejay,
the wish upon the star,
the hours spent talking as
I drove you in my car,
The peacefulness of heaven,
the sound of soulful blues,
this is what it feels like
to be in love with you.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
My heart is tabletop -
the rest of me is the filled-in border
of jigsaw pieces, hanging teeth
around a maw; the middle is missing.
I am also the beheading bluejay
slicing the tendons of greenery
that waver in the rain lens
imprinting on glass and shadow.
I wait on street corners
for specks of truth, beauty;
"That is all ye know on earth,
and all ye need to know" and all that.
But I have a quicksand heart -
step and drown.
Wreathes of blood shiver inside
in murderous curtains.
I vanish in front of you:
This world has no middle in it,
& what little remains is draining out,
teeth strewn in a garden.
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 7:55 PM UTC
Her eyes on my skin.
Burning through layers of flesh and bone with each glare and bat.
Hot tea whistling into steamy rooms.
Creeping around the corners.
Blowing fresh orange citrus into my lungs.
Warming my blood.
Boiling hers.
Rustled sheets lying on the floor.
Cold bed.
Hardening pillows.
Morning dew running dry.
Cigarettes and coffee that used to keep me company.
Lost in your company for me.
Cold chills up my spine.
Screeching like nails against blackboards.
I lean in.
Stealing a kiss before you turn away.
It was one.
This time I didn't bother going in for two.
Or four.
Or ten.
You didn't bother stopping the faucet from dripping.
You didn't twitch with uneasiness.
I didn't go mad by the oddness of our love between warm lips.
My body pulls away.
Rejecting your hand from mine.
And every little thing I used to love about you
Bothers me somehow.
Our dreams.
Wrapped in paper.
Covered in white.
And laid out in real stars.
Tied together with a silver ribbon of light.
Now dripping in oil and black paint.
Ripped up.
Thrown into the flames.
Streaming ablaze like moths.
Like powdered butterfly wings in hot coal.
Black smoke.
Filing away at my outsides.
Pulling out pieces of hair you used to run your fingers through gently as I cried.
Spreading oceans to your lap.
Swimming with the creatures of the dry ground.
Floating on the waves until we drown.
Falling to the floor in heaps of spirals.
Falling to my knees.
Feeling the wet mud beneath me.
Pulling me under slowly.
The soft rays once glistening on our bed.
Caressing your face.
Your sweet lips gently on my thighs at Night when your bare body calls to mine.
Turned to darkness.
To the space in-between.
To the lies resting into my ribs.
Contracting inside.
Ripping away at everything living.
Keeping my chest afloat inside of me.
I kiss your feet for what seems like forever.
With one last breath escaping my lips as the water boils over.
As the ashes fill the air of crisp moth wings once before.
As the last song from the last bluejay blisters out.
Desolé mon amour.
Kicking up.
Pushing me under the bottom sole of her feet.
Sinking in deep.
With only a second of suffocation.
I fall through.
Out of the childish dream.
Of forever love.
Into reality once more.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
Imagine powder blue , morning flowers ...
Green clover nestled beneath swirling eddies , enraptured by Summer hay and sunflower fields , the chorus of Mourning dove , Brown Thrasher and laughing Crow ..Village church bells announcing each daylight hour , quiet Sunday mornings broken by Pileated Woodpecker and Bluejay ...The smell of Honeysuckle and fresh cut grass , burning leaves and Sassafras ..
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC