"goldfinch" poems
It was the winter of 2009,
14 inches of snow had fallen overnight.
It was the most I had seen in years,
since when I was 3 years old living in Kalama.
My siblings and I
as soon as we saw the snow
rushed into our
heavy winter coats
and overall snow pants
with mittens and caps
to cover the gaps.
Then we raced outside
moving like marshmellows
with our golden labrador with us.
Determined.
we laid the first angels of the snow
and created the first snowman of the season.
The snow man didn't have buttons for eyes
or a carrot nose.
He had stones for eyes
and a smile and ears made of granola bars
and peanut butter pinecones for hair.
Our mom named it the birdfeeder snowman.
But our fat old goldfinch labrador ate him
before the birds could ever get to snack.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
On the face of it, there isn't much about this bird
To stop me in my tracks.
Brown, oblivious, busy with the ground
It totters along on stilted legs
Probing among the frozen fields.
It's the name that's the trouble.
Childhood hours spent copying pictures
From the Readers' Digest Book of Birds
Call to mind the name, 'Curlew'.
In my house, though, birds had Scots names
and my dad, a linguistic David Bellamy
Urged us to conserve these rare words
or lose them forever.
Goldfinch? Gowdspink!
Starling? Stuckie!
Blue *** Umm...
But the undistinguished gentleman before me
was definitely a whaup.
Curlew or whaup?
Which is it to me?
The English of books
or the fading Scots, maybe closer
to the bird's wild home?
Textbook reality
or romantic poetry?
Or both - can the creature sit
in two states at once?
"Schrodinger's Curlew", I think with a smile.
("Schrodinger's Whaup!" bellows the bit of my dad
that lodges in my head.)
Here, under a cloud of my own breath
In the low winter light,
Neither seems quite adequate.
And then, untouched by my musings
The bird spreads its wings and lifts,
Naming itself, with a long, pure note
And my heart, in two states,
Leaps
and breaks.
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 12:03 AM UTC
Asked to write a poem of yellow, what could I possibly have to add that would celebrate this word found within the sun, the moon, at times, the stripes of a bumblebee, a butterfly, a yellow jacket's sting, the brilliant splash on a painted bunting, the goldfinch, canary, a yellow breasted warbler, baby chicks, a rubber duck, a baby duck, too, a dandelion in spring, a sunflower, a rose of sorts, a lily, daffodils in a field of wheat, rubber boots upon your feet on a rainy day, a slicker, too, a school bus, a number two pencil, a taxi when you're running late, a tangy lemon, a banana, sometimes a grapefruit, butter on a pancake, egg yolk for your western omlet, lemon drops, cheese, macicheese, and a cheese pizza, too, yellow hair on a farm boy, a piece of straw in his father's mouth, his yellow-haired beautiful sis, her yellow polka-dotted dress, a yellow kitten, a dog in a sad movie like old yeller.
So nice, the color yellow, on a sunny day in May.
r ~ 5/3/14
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
tie me down
crowing about a crown of flowers
curl my palm into the hollow of your cheek
(oh my god drown me)
and here we have the soldier
hands covered in blood and knives (and something
else;but
we don't talk about that)
look how the blind man cries tonight
see these bones on the grass
frost building in the cavity between your ribs and
your skin
SCREAMING ****** IN THE HALLWAY
(THIS IS THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN HEAR YOURSELF
THINK
THIS IS THE ONLY WAY ANYONE KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE)
you, love, you, goldfinch
climbing windowsills
creep in the dead of night, cicatrix spiderwebs
here, here, here, in the small of your back
(can you feel me, here, crawling into your skin?can
you feel me sewing our palms together, goldfinch?)
"and the world will revel in wonder and delight--"
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Darkness creeps, a heavy, silent shroud,
Enveloping my soul, a mournful cloud.
Frantic, cold, I search drawers wide,
Pills my sole solace, survival's wild ride.
Anti-depressants stare, empty, bare,
Desperation grips, no refuge there.
The nightstand jerks with a forceful sway,
Scattered remains of emptiness lay.
But in the chaos, our feather lies—
Goldfinch quill, a sharp surprise.
Black as night, like my sorrow’s blight,
Yet golden glints hold memories bright.
I sink back, sweat stained silk slides on skin,
Coldness seeps slowly within.
Curled fetal tight, the tears cascade,
A storm that no memory can evade.
Yet memories rise—a forest fair,
Blooming wildflowers scent the air.
Through filtered light, we walked unseen,
Our steps soft under leaves’ green sheen.
She found the feather, bold and slight,
“Look,” she smiled, “it’s our love’s light.”
“Like you,” she laughed, “a fierce gold flame,
Unbroken strength, and spirit’s claim.”
At water's edge, we undulate,
Lips meet, bodies entwine, love creates.
Wet skin tingles, to our feather’s trace,
Legs gently open --
A sweet, secret place.
Reality pulls, the cold seeps through,
Back and *** ache, stiffness breaking through.
Time lost, darkness gathers, depression's sway,
Minutes or hours, endless disarray.
Clutching our feather, memories sweet I breathe,
Yet, beneath love's scent, depression’s blade, unsheathed.
Depression's shadows creep, darkness claims space,
Our feather's comfort, fading grace.
Defeated, armor shed, lace silk unfolds,
Transparent whispers, love told.
Soft stained fabric slides, silk underwear released,
Vulnerability unveiled, depression's dark gold.
Naked, exposed, lying still, curtains closed,
Darkness envelops ----
Weightless, sinking, water's gentle grasp,
Slowly submerged, darkest pass.
Eyes closed, descending, beneath waves,
Depression's undertow, heart enslaves.
Silence --
But through the depths, her whisper calls,
“You are strong, though darkness falls.”
A feather’s grace, love’s healing might,
Even as shadows steal the light.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 10:23 AM UTC
Christina sat
on you lap
you sat
on the low brick wall
around the playground
leaning against
the wire fence
the summer sun
warming your head
as she sat
her grey skirt
drifted up
revealing thighs
over on the playing field
Goldfinch kicked the football
but missed the goal
(two coats put down
wide spaces apart)
and pushed his hands
in the air
with frustration
she leaned in close
kissed your cheek
her hair blocking
the view of field
her hands inside
your jacket
your one hand
about her waist
the other resting
on her skirt
covered thigh
there’s no where private
for us to be
she said
no nook or cranny
to be alone
her small ******* pressed
against your chest
her warm breath
invading your ear
I’ve heard some
go into the woods
over the way
you said
no good
she replied
prefects go there
too often
to be much use
she loosened her tie
and unbuttoned
her blouse
shifting on your lap
she set herself
more comfortable
the grey skirt
riding higher
showing more thigh
she pulled the skirt
down to her knees
as a prefect went by
catching her eye
you should be
on the playing field
not here
like that together
the prefect said
looming overhead
Christina got off
your lap
and brushed down
her grey skirt
with small hands
you stood up
giving the prefect
a small smile
and wandered off
toward where
Goldfinch played
with ball
with boys
you saw Christina
saunter away
her hips swaying
her hand
giving a wave
then she was gone
amongst the other girls
who stood and stared
at boys at play
her small wet lips
imprinted
on your cheek
the kiss would be
unwashed away
you blew
from open palm
a secret kiss
to touch her
as she watched
the young boys play.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
After a long boring
science lesson
I had my sandwiches
in the lunch room
then went out
on the playing field
to find Yiska
hey Benny
Goldfinch said
how about a game of footie?
no I can't
I'm meeting someone
o not the girl again
leave girls to the soft heads
come play football
he said
but I walked on
and looked for her
and then saw her
with some other girl
plump girl with dark hair
and a green bow in it
I stood and waited
for her to go
Yiska saw me
and the other girl went off
giving me the cool stare
sorry just chatting to Mary
she's having problems
what problems?
I asked
girly problems
Yiska said
o right
I said
well where shall we go?
let's go to London
and see the sights
she said smiling
I mean now
here on the playing field
I said
up near the fence and woods
she said
so we walked up
by the fence
passed groups of girls
sitting and chatting and laughing
and the sound of boys
playing football way back
how was your morning?
she asked as we sat
on the grass by the fence
boring as hell
something about gases
and air or something
I said
and you?
netball then maths
then geography
where I nearly fell asleep
she said
did you miss me this morning
when I wasn't by your bus waiting?
yes I thought you
might be off ill
I said eyeing her eyes
no I was in the gym
getting ready for netball practice
yes I saw the short skirt
she smiled
you would
yes guess I would
wish we were at my place
she said
having lunch and such
but my moaning mother's home
and my big brother
comes home some lunch times
and I try and avoid him
why's that?
she looked at me intently
he tries it on
tries what on?
can't say but I prefer
not to be there alone
with him and he'd
tell Mum if he
saw us alone together there
she touched my leg with a hand
say nothing to anyone
why would I?
just in case promise?
of course my lips are sealed
I said
she leaned forward
and kissed my lips
then moved away
then we talked about other things
her mother's moans
and migraines
and depression
and I talked of my interest
in cars and birds
(feathered kind)
the school bell rang
and we got up to go
back to class and lessons
I wanted to kiss her
one more time
but with others there
I didn't dare.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
*I sat there, alone.
I sat there alone, for hours.
I sat there alone, for long days and nights.
I sat there alone, for months depressed and sour.
My Goldfinch, in a clumsy state of being,
In the same corner, she got sick of seeing, the same walls around her, the same walls around me.
I took a moment in that inspiring hour.
I wondered what made her so sick of a life of a coward.
I wondered what if,
I wondered what if I had her wings,
I wondered what if she had what I had, being free.
I thought of how things would have been,
Of her soaring, wandering in places I've never seen.
I took her to the roof in a rush, opened the cage, and sat her for once free!
She spread her wings, in a joyful spirit, free.
Time froze that iternal moment of hope, of her to fly with my dreams far, further than I could ever reach.
She flew, shaked her wings. For once, twice then thrice.
To the ground, she fell, unable to fly.
It is too late, that cage got the best of her. Those four walls got the best of me.
Free,
We will never be.
© copy right protected*
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
Golden flash on wing in flight
Fleeting vision, yet so bright
Soaring high, called from above
Beauty is your gift of love
Liquid calling, tumbling down
Bobbing heads, with red on crown
Guileless Charm of birds, behold!
Caps of red and wings of gold.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
hearing the
plaintive notes
I scan the
branches
but no flash
of yellow
or acrobatic
flits
hidden singer
wistful song
lesser goldfinch
who dared give you
that name
Tom Spencer © 2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Reynard and I
held back
after biology
while the other kids
had gone
and we walked up
the corridor
I could have scored that goal
lunchtime
if Goldfinch
hadn't got
in my way
he's always
where you don't
want him to be
Reynard said
I saw Jeanette
walking ahead of us
with her blonde friend Angela
Jeanette had class
I thought
her friend
was a short
mouthy girl
but Jeanette
was quite reserved
and looked at you
as if you had stepped
in her sunshine
but I liked her
and that quick kiss
I snatched the other day
still felt stuck
on my lips
Angela had short tight
blonde curls
Jeanette had long
dark hair reaching
her shoulders
I gazed
at her thin figure
her arms by her side
the satchel
over her shoulder
Reynard was still talking
about the football lunchtime
I was looking
at Jeanette’s sway
of hips almost unseen
yet visible
to the trained eye
the way her legs
came down
to her well heeled shoes
the white ankle socks
think we ought
to try get Frazer
on our side
he'd be great in goal
better than Dunton
the prat
he couldn't save a goal
if the ball
was as big as he was
Reynard said
yes we must get Frazer
I said
wondering how I’d get
that kiss
that Jeanette promised
the lips tempting
and her cheek
just visible
the place my lips
touched
the other day
and the kiss
just stayed there
and wouldn't
go away.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
You know, this journal does not even contain half of what we know. I hope we never forget.
(sonnet #MMMMMMDCLV)
Now, while cicadas drone 'neath blue skies' pale
Glance, or to deeper shades of that, what hence?
Remember Starbucks' "Friends Day" for intents,
The prompt last night, as yesterday's detail:
We rode the bike path 'gain whose wildflowrs hail
As wont in clover's pink, and yellows thence
With brown eyes, thistles' purple, grasses dense
On either side, while goldfinch laughed t'avail.
I'd hated these auld trails we knew, as poor
Since Mum's death, but now I belong to you,
Oh! all's sae sweet like ne'er before as twere.
My car'mel fru-fru drink was tasty too:
Cuz I am yours. That means I can't write fer
All that cuz evry minute's yours who woo.
08Aug17
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
pear leaves strum the high wire
fern roots claw a sun drenched bank
creep vines mount the hedgerow
sow bugs jump a grated worn step
picket wall stain on cedar
mountain stream brisk at lush green pass
four legs down the foot path
biscuit brown trailers fill the pipe
spiders march on dew web
knots and rivets cut hard at the seam
maples cover the forest floor
sap ***** ping the front gate
dandelions drift on west breeze
blue berries plump at shepherds grove
wood sill holds a stained glass
letter box lined above the scrub
delft ware on the mantle
(with petals and script for a promised guest!)
junior poised with mouth agape
birds and squirrels whistle jovial tunes
goldfinch darts the sea ranch
tabby cat rests in a white wicker chair
a crafters window in the alpine
follies await the summer task!
queen bee on the flutter
airedale set on a woven grey mat
watchmen of the hollow (+ earwig and mite!)
scurry, under rustled moist leaves
frogs leap at trickle creek
shutter bugs mount on gryphons lair
still water ripples in the shaded pool
folding fingers on corner bridge
foragers cut the high shelf
silver fish come to life
whiskey jack sings on indian green
elijah and xavier pause...
at a long days end
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
Til twinkle pinkie rosebuds turn shrubbery so wild
wilder than the fume upon which the moonglade
climbs gloomy tide to make welcome of the night
until the little birds sing your name
then times be as happy as flame
One goldfinch and 3 white pigeons
a colourful macaw parrot and falconet
or the black crowncrane of large pinions
soul's fleeting harbinger of the lorikeet
type, as i await the little birds sing
The whole of my being approves
by the star shining in northerly clime
as in clinging on tight to a feeling so true
of grim death in moment so prime
until the birds vocalize your name
only then shall I not feel the disdain
Patience robs the clamouring chest
heels are still weary and cold in rest
and soon little birds send me tweets
by the dawn chorus of early birds' beats
shall one become happy and gay
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
John sits
on the school coach
by the window
next to Goldfinch
watching the trees
and fields
and cottages go past.
Goldfinch is talking
of football:
who do
I put
in goal lunchtime
as Potts is way,
who do you think?
Goldfinch says.
Not me that's,
for sure,
John says,
his mind
isn't on Goldfinch
or the goal,
but on Elaine
sitting over
the other side
of the coach.
He looked at her
when she
and sister
got on the coach,
but she looked away,
and not at him.
He guesses she
was shy after all
the rumpus since
Elaine's mouthy sister
told everyone
on the coach
that he had
kissed Elaine.
But it soon
died down
and apart
from a few
How's the Frump Elaine?
When he got on
and later
when Elaine got on,
then it died out.
Now the kids
are talking amongst
themselves or listening
to the music
from the coach radio,
some pop song
about loving somebody.
Need someone
by lunchtime,
Goldfinch says,
whom do you suggest?
Green might,
he ain't bad,
John says.
Green? He couldn't
save a 1p
for Christmas;
someone else,
Goldfinch says.
John doesn't
care who,
he's thinking
of Elaine
and whether she'll
let him kiss
her again
after the rumpus;
he hopes so,
although he's
not sure
he'll be welcome
at Elaine's home now.
Why did her sister
tell like that?
He muses,
listening
half heartedly
to Goldfinch's talk,
it was just a quick
kiss not
too passionate
and it was only
while her mother
was out of the room
briefly that day.
He looks over
to where Elaine
is sitting quickly
to see if she's
looking his way,
but she isn't
she's staring out
the window.
Her sister
glares at him,
so he looks away,
and back out
of the window
and the passing view,
not sure
what to think
or what to do.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
Yehudit sits
at the front
of the school bus
with her sister.
I sit with Goldfinch
on the left hand side
half way down.
She turns
and smiles at me.
Her eyes glimmer
like moonlit waves.
Goldfinch talks
of football.
I hate football
but pretend
to like it,
throwing a few names
I know
into the conversation
to keep away
the silence.
The driver turns
on the radio.
A song about Mr Postman
and a letter comes on.
I look up at her.
She looks at me
the smile still there.
I wish she was here
next to me
instead of Goldfinch;
her thigh touching mine
as we sit,
her elbow brushing
against mine
in conversation.
Her smile seems to say:
remember yesterday?
I remember.
My lips holding
her lips in the that
first kiss.
Her body close to mine.
A pulse racing through me
like a chased cat.
I wish she was here
and not there.
I look up
and she has turned
to the driver and talks.
I wish it was me
she was talking to do,
my eyes
she was gazing into.
I look away
and catch a word
that Goldfinch throws.
How deep love sinks
and holds
no one knows.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
the Goldfinch sings of his find
perches next to the nuts
-I hang from his tree
I think he sings for his love
and I have asked Heaven
to send to him his mate
the Summer here is long
stretched sunshine
bird song fills the silence.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
That is it
all over
Elaine thinks
on the bus
after school
she and John
and the kiss
all done with
everything
on the edge
her nerves wrought
as if each
hidden thought
was exposed
to everyone
silently
she sits near
the window
looking out
tears sitting
on the rims
of her eyes
like actors
impatient
to get on
to the stage
and perform
she’d seen John
walk on by
to get on
the school bus
he is there
across the
aisle sitting
looking out
as she is
wondering
what went wrong
what he’d said
or done wrong
at lunch time
on the field
at recess
he saw her
on the bus
sitting there
looking out
not at him
pretending
not to know
he is there
Goldfinch talks
beside him
some such stuff
in his ears
empty words
soft laughter
all John wants
is Elaine
to have her
near to him
her body
close and warm
not this cold
far distance
between them
Elaine feels
all undone
all exposed
each nerve taut
every
thought of John
being near
but not near
wanting him
next to her
as it was
before lunch
the bus moves
to go home
she watches
scene changes
vibrations
moving tears
to the edge
like fragile
suicides
thinking on
the long fall
but her love
bites deeply
all undone
can’t recall.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
I sat under the quiet trees all the restless afternoon,
Dreaming of what had been and never more could be:
Bitten the clouds, the declining canopy of air
Weary with insects weary with bats.
Black days black nights.
The benches of the dead set out, the dining dead.
At eight I rose, bitten the clouds,
A dog barked dead and long
Down the river of dead sights.
The thistle over which the dead goldfinch dreams of seeds;
The crimson road that marks the accident.
In courts, in currencies of plenty, wherever you are,
Do you hear the frogs croak, “Katharine”?
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC
“Stay away from the ones you love too much. Those are the ones who will **** you.”
— Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
Shoshana
is already
on the bus
before me
I notice
a few seats
behind me
I sit next
to Goldfinch
he's talking
on football
and brings out
football card
shows me them
but my thought
are on her
Shoshana
sitting there
a few seats
behind me
wondering
where about
she gets off
the school bus
each time it
stops I watch
to see who
it is that
gets off but
it's not her
I picture
in my mind
(ignoring
young Goldfinch)
Shoshana
trying to
hold her there
putting in
each aspect
of her that
I recall
then Goldfinch
stands up and
leaves the bus
then she sits
beside me
must see you
before I leave
she tells me
my stop's next
she blushing
but she talks
I don't get
a word in
just watch her
her dark hair
and her eyes
lips moving
her school tie
loosened up
I don't live
far from you
she tells me
we can meet
sure I say
then she's up
down the aisle
off the bus
and the space
beside me
radiates
where she was
a slight whiff
of perfume
(hers I think
not Goldfinch
I presume).
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
You,Yehudit,
were at the bus stop
waiting for the school bus
with your sister;
I was waiting too
amongst other kids,
in wintry weather,
which made the wait
far too long.
I looked at you
standing there,
huddled
in your green
raincoat and hood,
hands in the pockets,
you watching
the beginning of rain,
your eyes,
bluey green,
stared out,
as raindrops passed.
When the school bus came
we clambered aboard
and took our seats.
I sat with Goldfinch
near the back,
you sat at the front
with your sister,
near the driver.
Goldfinch talked
of football
and his favourite team;
I looked at you
at the front,
next to your sister,
wishing it was me there,
beside you,
elbow to elbow,
talking away,
having things to say,
eye to eye gazing,
but I was at the back,
with Goldfinch,
in love with you,
my boy's heart
blazing.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
I sit on the grass
with Yiska
warm summer day
lunch time recess
do you think of me
when you're home?
she says
most of the time
I say
I think of you
nearly all of the time
at home
she says
what do you
think about?
I say
us together
in my bed at night
she says
as I hug my pillow
and kiss it
I pick grass
with my fingers
every night?
I say
most nights
she says
do you hug your pillow
and dream of me
in your bed?
she says
not easy
I share a bed
with my younger brother
I say
of course
she says
do you wish it was me
there and not him?
she says
I scatter the grass
at my feet
I think of you lying there
and me hugging you close
and kissing and such
I say
my mother said to me
what's the matter with you
wandering the house
like a moody cow?
Yiska says
nothing I told her
just that time of the month
and my brother said
what time of the month
is that?
**** off
I said and mother
told me to behave
and not swear
I look at her sitting there
her hands on her knees
what does your brother say
about us sitting here lunch times?
he says nothing to her
I don't think he worries
and he'd not tell tales
she turns and leans close
and kisses me quickly
wish you were
in my bed at night
she whispers
so do I
I reply
Goldfinch comes over
aren't you playing football?
he says
we need you
for right back
not now
I say
I'm back here with her
he shakes his head
and goes
I look at her
and she smiles
and I imagine her
with no clothes.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:39 AM UTC
taste this blossom-sung wind
with your tongue of a thousand songs.
forget how to speak by this window,
this window of a dozen softly dreaming springs.
allow this cooling fire to refine your visions
like an icy birdsong in the machinery of noon.
breathe, sigh, shut your eyes to the light;
fear nothing of that gold-dusted dawn,
that rose-tinted glass of tomorrow’s words,
for simplicity favours them;
nothing but the hills of emerald wind,
a solemn birdsong; a tune of half-seen reflections in windows,
a distant blossom tree; its petals plucking themselves
one by one from the sundewed branches,
a rooftop reflecting light; a smokeless chimney
stretching high beyond the peak of bricks,
a sky of spring-soaked blue; scuds of white
streaking the azure vault of heaven
in little here-and-there places.
dream high into this endless sky,
dream windless and green into the eternity of earth,
dream sunny and freely; dream as freely
as those blossom petals.
reach the crescendo of this precious springtime;
let it blossom,
let it bloom,
sing forgetful into the waxing days
like a goldfinch in the waning darkness
of winter’s ice-forged grip.
summer’s god-warmed arms are almost here;
sit and dream, sit and sing,
and taste that blossom-wind
with a mouth of eternal life.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC