"canaries" poems
Woke up late from a nightmare
disguised as a daydream;
the mediocrity of life burning
at the bottom of my throat
from last night.
Failing organs and trying
to age gracefully
to keep dignity.
Dying every day.
Ten foot sunflower out back
like an anti-depressant that makes you ponder suicides.
Ten foot sunflower can't find the light
but reaches out like there's something out there.
Ten foot sunflower can't run away, can't take the rain,
can't be desperate or in pain.
Ten foot sunflower has peace of mind through emptiness.
I woke up with canaries out my window
and broken organs in my head.
So, people tell me I talk too much,
and I find it hard to disagree.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
A short direction
To avoid dejection,
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends and relations,
By evitation
Of amputation,
By permutation
In conversation,
And deep reflection
You'll avoid dejection.
Learn well your grammar,
And never stammer,
Write well and neatly,
And sing most sweetly,
Be enterprising,
Love early rising,
Go walk of six miles,
Have ready quick smiles,
With lightsome laughter,
Soft flowing after.
Drink tea, not coffee;
Never eat toffy.
Eat bread with butter.
Once more, don't stutter.
Don't waste your money,
Abstain from honey.
Shut doors behind you,
(Don't slam them, mind you.)
Drink beer, not porter.
Don't enter the water
Till to swim you are able.
Sit close to the table.
Take care of a candle.
Shut a door by the handle,
Don't push with your shoulder
Until you are older.
Lose not a button.
Refuse cold mutton.
Starve your canaries.
Believe in fairies.
If you are able,
Don't have a stable
With any mangers.
Be rude to strangers.
Moral: Behave.
4.9k
Somewhere in your wardrobe, I'd be willing to bet
There's a t-shirt probably bearing the silhouette of Che Guevara
He was revolutionary, yeah, he wore a cool hat
But behind the design I think you might find it's not quite as simple as that
Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe,
I think... apparently.. who knows?
Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe
This is my song in defence of the fence
A little sing along, a anthem to ambivalence
The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it, doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference, when you're sitting on the fence
Somewhere in your house, I'd be willing to bet
There's a picture of that grinning hippy from Tibet - the Dalai Llama
He's a lovely, funny fella, he gives soundbites galore
But let's not forget that back in Tibet, those funky monks used to **** the poor, yeah
And the Buddhist line about future lives is the perfect way to stop the powerless rising up
And he tells the poor they will live again, but he's rich now so it's easy for him to say
I'm taking the stand in defense of the fence
I got a little band playing anthems to ambivalence
We divide the world into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and pedo's
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And the things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into status quo and scary
Yeah we want the world binary, binary
But it's not that simple.
And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
Yea your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And so does your baby, maybe you oughta trade HIM in for a Prius-
ROCK!
I'm taking the stand in defence of the fence
I got a little band playing tributes to ambivalence
We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks
Into atheists and fundies
Into tee-tot'lers and junkies
Into chemical and natural
Into fictional and factual
Into science and supernatural
But it's actually naturally not that white and black
You'll be
Dividing us into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and pedos
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into parrots and canaries
Yeah we want the world binary, binary - 011101!
The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference
Cause it's not that simple...
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
Your Clouds, judged be it pickled or disdain
Have mostly trained your canaries to think
Whether to ruffle more Feathers; Then feign
Those Truest Notes dipped; And begroom your Mink
For who could solve what your Tampered Mind spies
Then translates such Harvest for a Desert
To Good Sense cheer; From Truth becomes a Lie
With Random Calls ring your Body to advert
And whilst you do, any Cause to forget
Those Taped Pioneers who endured your Phase
Pray for your Interview; And chance to beget
Which Startled Sweets was the Sweetest at base.
Yet still Occupied to that Video owned
Belittle what Possum's Cry now reknowned.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
Birds in cages are immortalized in poetry,
in wordy melancholy and round top cages beside
windows tauntingly open to the mountains, the
earthy smell of wheat and the breezy ocean air.
Hundreds of perturbed human eyes press close against brass,
mooning with open mouths and dry lips
cooing baby-talk bird-calls in hope of a
crying return, like a blessing,
or a soft forgiveness.
Outside,
Lovebirds are doves and songbirds.
They commune with owls and storks
and perch on branches, all the better to coo
and cry to the loving, glowing moon.
Anger, jealousy, and fright are all stones. They are heavy
and they have no place in the bellies of skybirds.
Caged birds have jealousy and clipped wings,
brass bars bent into tiny atmospheres, but canaries
carry bile in their beaks, beady black eyes watching
changing seasons with singing spite.
I am and have always been a swallow,
all creamy white belly and a thousand
creeping kinds of brown.
I wish to stay up, up for a thousand hours
in the realm of thought. In your thoughts,
I wish to be the voice whispering stories to you
from inside your precious head, curved
lovingly above me like an unending sky.
I am wings and feathers and I am full of things
that I desire much much more than air.
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
She had a dressing table,
Aveeno cream,
And a big blusher brush.
There was nothing sad about the scissors
But they sat there open on the dressing table,
And they looked sad.
Two canaries flew freely about the room,
So we joined awkwardly in the darkness
Under the sad eyes of scissors
And the colour yellow.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
it feels foreign to be so transparent
ancient walls built up to protect my sleeve
which is home to my heart and my peace
the walls comfort me, I can still hear the canaries
they sing in lullabies that heal my child inside
I slowly unravel my life's work to see the canary fly
the yellow hue makes me think of the sun
I smile looking at how grown I have become
I smile knowing that I am worthy of love
I smile just because
Jan 23, 2022
Jan 23, 2022 at 12:14 PM UTC
The forecast on the radio
I didn't need.
I felt it coming
In and through the threads of my light sweater
Tickling my skin so my arms embraced
One another.
The barometer falling
As are the remaining Ash leaves
Of yellow, like canaries rushing about
Certainly saying goodbye
To the past
As they must
When the wind picks up.
Hurling chilly
whips of wind
down
The East canyon
Announcing its arrival
I think of my warmest coat
And how long I'll have to wear it
As I sit on the porch in my shivering
Bare feet listening for what is to come
The seasons change
How will I?
Nov 23, 2023
Nov 23, 2023 at 4:07 PM UTC
The dead canaries
are still screeching
as the wolves claw at the door.
*They told me that dead
birds mean new
beginnings but all I see
are shattered
hopes.
I looked the corpse
in the eye and
I swore that
I could see the shape
of tomorrow in smoke
and razor teeth
reflected in glassy beads.
I paid the hag
in gold coin,
and then the witch
took the rotted
thing away,
still shouting.*
The dead canaries
are forever screaming
as the wolves break down the door.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC
Poets are word canaries
prepared to die in dark, airless places.
Poets are sharp sirens
alert, alarmed and warning of the firestorm.
Poets can read
tree bark calligraphy of knots and scars.
Poets decipher codes
and shrewd puzzles, bold and enigmatic.
Poets ignore the talk of Angels
their prophecies and broken promises
Poets turn over Tarot cards
lay out rune stones, fearless of the future.
Poets steer clear
of treasure, jewels and golden ingots.
Poets climb ladders
and stairways cut in rock and stone.
Poets can see beyond
apple blossom, lilac blooms and dead lilies.
Poets find the past
in patterns of stars and the orbit of comets.
Poets lick salt
relishing the wounds and tears.
Poets throw life-belts
wreaths onto empty oceans.
Poets split existence
into life and death with nothing between.
Poets sift ashes
and sand for the rough edges of infinity.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
I'm a lil'
annoying canary.
Chirp-chirp-chirping
out
the chatter.
Coming from the cat,
sitting on
your other shoulder.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:00 PM UTC
The birdies bumping in my chest
are restlessly, fluttering
right to left
left to right
scurry birdies, take flight
I am impervious to your
songs tonight
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
^¡^
everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar
some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets
ALL
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
When we reunite
It feels like I am looking through glass
A solid pane crystallized by weeks of separation.
I am terrified
That the minutes and hours we spent apart
And the distance that blocked our paths
May have severed our friendship completely.
After all
I am used to people leaving.
It is as familiar as the crickets that sing me to sleep
Or the canaries that sing me to wake
Though not quite as delicate and beautiful.
But it is her
My best friend
The one who loved me at a time when I didn't think anyone could
The one who had any choice of companions but chose me
The one who understands what I say...and what I don't say
The one who can ramble on for hours but instantly fall silent if I ever need to speak
The one who doesn't have to use words to promise that I will never be alone.
Can distance really break us?
I reach for her hands
My fingertips a whisper away from hers
As they touch
I find my answer.
“No.”
The barrier between us shatters.
And I realize that I am looking not through a window
But at a mirror.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
She looks at you,
feathers still protruding from her mouth.
She's handing you a ticket to her way of thinking.
If you take it, you're in.
You have access to her mind;
unadulterated access.
Just renounce your humanity.
She's looking for a partner,
another wolf to connect with.
Be it for her.
She looks at you teasingly.
Take it.
Be one of her,
and she will give you everything.
She wants to dine with you on the flesh of the living.
She wants you to play with her.
Take it.
She looks at you,
feathers still protruding from her mouth.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
Tired bruises
bloomed under her eyes
like spring flowers
Her voice
once singing like canaries
drowned
into a whispering breeze
And that soft smile
so warm
desinegrated to ash
Vanishing into oblivion
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
A stampede of oxen
stumping the head
Cacophonous Canaries
Crucifying the mind
Needles avalanche
Down the cerebrum.
Tranquility a scarcity.
The skull longing to be hewed
In half so it can breathe again.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
Woke up at 4pm today
and remembered I have no dreams
that have flown beyond the cage,
and past the cage there's still
a burning coal mine.
Ten foot sunflower standing out back
trying to be a beacon in the night,
like a blind leader for the dead;
sending them down that river,
paper boats across a sea of lies,
and there is no right direction.
Once you set foot here you are
lost permanently.
No one knows if it even
had a beginning,
or if it'll ever have an end.
Woke up late with a ten-foot sunflower
at the foot of my bed, harvesting canaries.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
Outside is great cave . . .
Coal mines exploding the skies,
. . . Canaries long dead.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 7:50 AM UTC
Tomorrow never comes.
Tomorrow morphs into today, growing tentacles of pressure and deadline slinking round precious time.
Tomorrow is the myth that keeps us going into the hazed purple dark, only to vanish in bleaching daybreak.
Tomorrow is the pipedream we search for in bedsheets, neglecting the canaries of impending doom, the warming abolition of plague civilisation.
Tomorrow seems detached, pushed into the outer orbit like the catastrophic bombs hailing and howling in Syria.
Tomorrow hates us today a mongrel race but yearns for yesterday, the tender embrace of tinted times, always better
Tomorrow feels the wound of every hour passing by and sets feet into erratic stuttered taping heart breaking out of caged chest, passive but untamed,
Tomorrow is sitting waiting for all of us, unsure when we're to arrive, shaking stripped down in a naked hot mess seeing the damage we've done today, fearful of more pillage and ****
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 12:41 PM UTC
These canaries go on chattering without an end
in their yellowish green language,isn't it queer?
Ambivalent I remain, are they at loggerheads with one another?
noisy canaries, aren't they a bother
why can't they sit quiet,
and listen to the silence?
But the canaries are a spirited lot,seems to create a world they like.
what they say is unintelligible, should I listen to them?
A bit, I did, then it acts on me in more ways I than can imagine.
One can sit eyes shut as long as one wish,
their tweets are sweet after all.
The canaries have a musical gift and a language of their own
they incessantly chant, it takes time to discern it's essence,I find.
There is an expert in canary speak; what's his name?
Yes, Brian, should I get his help to get it explained?
my thoughts turn more focus on the mysteries of canaries.
"Listening to them did a lot of good to you"says my girl.
The doctor is very supportive to the cause of canaries.
"There is wonder in the results of your blood works" he tells.
"The canaries are braking new grounds in my life" I realize
"My blood pressure is down without any medicine", cool.
I begin to realize what Canary symbolism means,
they led me to a life style never did I dream before
as if by some magic, now I perfectly understand their language
she tells me how quick I am in picking emotions nowadays!
would you believe this , the canaries are my Gurus nature gifted,
teaching me living, loving and flying away without making noise.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
1. Under the bright lights, the car parked.
"Is it wholesome?"
"What is?"
"Just like the canaries on the roof. They lean on each other so helplessly yet so beautifully"
"...like a movie?"
"A play."
"Why not drive again?"
"I was driving slowly, but I strayed away when a sudden moment of painful retention appeared in the rear mirror."
_____________________
2. How long has it been, since we’ve flown three and a half kites across the black sky?
“I sought refuge within a shell.” You once said. “They wouldn’t buy your jewels.”
“I lost my sandals, in an ocean.”
“In our ocean?” You hushed. “You weren’t wearing any.”
“The sounds of the battle, has cost you your sight.” She laughed. “And, your insight.”
_____________________
3. What makes the world go ‘round? (1)
“I left you a note, seven years ago.” You held your breath. “Have you not read it?”
“The sports page?” Her face is aglow. “Your beloved fluorescent pink marker? How could I miss?” She closed her eyes. “Your cotton-candy, and your umbrellas? Have you never known me?”
_____________________
4. The shooting stars never fail to disappoint.
“Our fates intertwined” You’re half-asleep. “So did our shambles.”
“I’ve waited on you.” She’s made a sandcastle. “I’ve swum through a thousand knots.”
“Yet, you’ve lost.”
“After I’ve tried.” Her wings in bubble wrap. “I’ve been to the closure and back.”
“They’ve shot my heart down.”
“I’ve taken my pieces.”
_____________________
5. In harmony we detained our secrets, and cremated our bones.
“They told me of stolen years.” You wonder. “Where have they gone?”
“Many a lie consumed breathing air.” She swallowed her tears.
“This gift is worthless, if you can’t break your wings.”
“Derange my world?”
“Drown your life.” You sighed. “Save mine.”
“Your heart, my jewels, your shell, my wings, your notes, my sandals.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
_____________________
(1) Al Green.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
So
it is said
she should be dead.
Her trials and turmoils engulfed the strength
beneath her thick, pallid skin.
Her hair frayed to puffy lengths of dried rope.
Her eyes seeking fruitlessly behind and beneath their
center of focus.
The throat a collapsed mine shaft, the men
who once labored in hopes for the reward of her ore
trapped within.
So dismayed, so drained, so damaged.
So frail in her failing strength that love herself would love her.
Near to bursting or imploding,
the skin stretches and hangs,
undulating in its near-death tug-of-war.
Her prisoners gasp for air, the canaries,
yellow,
sickened and grayed by ash.
So far gone that love herself would love her.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
What a breath of fresh air
Seeing you once again
Your company is always welcome
So good to befriend you love
I sure can use your comfort
Your elegant, powerhouse vibe
Quenches my lonely soul
I am in need of you
Its been such a long time
Since our dear minds floated
In a milieu of ignited joy
I have combed the vicinity
From the periphery of the night
Til the nascency of the sun
Close by and far about,
To cross your seraphic path
Once again, here we are...
So come take a walk with me
Let us prance along the lake
Dash through spring's leaves
Exalting each other's presence
Let us dance in airborne circles
Together, as inseparable canaries
My thoughts of you
With that celestial killer smile
Your dazzling eyes of pensiveness
That touch of sweet caress
Is strongly needed in my life
Spending time with you
Is truly like no other
My adulation for you
Is passionately unspoken
This pash I have for you
Has kindled as we bonded
There is honestly no way
I'm letting you go
No more, never again
So take my hand
Slowly spin with me
Into love's unknown
Together forever.
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC