"jays" poems
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore
reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)
bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
*blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!*
duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields
meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar strip wedged on the white wash dock)
baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 11:36 PM UTC
The mountain lies in front of us;
Beauitful and breathtaking,
I was hot, but i did not fuss,
And i was looking forward of when we would swim in the lake.
We start the climb,
I see a water bottle stand,
That costs a dime.
i go off the track to get the water, then i sit on the dry land.
We continue up the rocky trail.
I am more tired then ever,
so my legs start to fail.
But i will never stop, never;
As the view is exhilarating.
I see my town from far away,
So breathtaking.
I then see a flock of blue jays.
After the hike, my desire for a nap is deep.
I sludge to my room.
I start to sleep.
as i nap, the experience of hiking looms.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
797
By my Window have I for Scenery
Just a Sea—with a Stem—
If the Bird and the Farmer—deem it a “Pine”—
The Opinion will serve—for them—
It has no Port, nor a “Line”—but the Jays—
That split their route to the Sky—
Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula
May be easier reached—this way—
For Inlands—the Earth is the under side—
And the upper side—is the Sun—
And its Commerce—if Commerce it have—
Of Spice—I infer from the Odors borne—
Of its Voice—to affirm—when the Wind is within—
Can the Dumb—define the Divine?
The Definition of Melody—is—
That Definition is none—
It—suggests to our Faith—
They—suggest to our Sight—
When the latter—is put away
I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met
That Immortality—
Was the Pine at my Window a “Fellow
Of the Royal” Infinity?
Apprehensions—are God’s introductions—
To be hallowed—accordingly—
11.2k
I remember our first date vividly you had your lustrous black dress on that displayed all your curves supermodel figure, shoe game was serious fashion killer had your hair in them short curls smelled like coconuts eyes were sparkling reflecting the moonlight with that red lipstick you were so gorgeous
GOD'S canvas painted in that melanin you could have ruled the world evident you a Queen in my eyes a future bride, I was more nervous than you when we shared our first kiss floating butterflies got me feeling like a little kid, you stuck in my head like a lullaby
Girl what's not love about you got me feeling like Dwele, you such a down the earth chick sophisticated not simple minded girl you stay educted, you into them old school tunes sung you that old Jays hit you're darlin darlin baby, you everything I hoped for in a woman can't be compared to no hoes you a strong Queen with goals, I love the way you get goofy when you start laugh but that's only when you comfortable, or when your eyebrows twitch when you get ****** I study your mannerisms, ain't nobody eles I love this deep you make me complete other girls just can't compete
Girl U got me
Girl U got me
Girl U got me
Girl U got me (voice fades)
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Angry apes arguing
Odd owls ogling
Extravagant emus eloping
Slimy slugs slithering
Wandering worms wriggling
Jaunty jays jumping
Testy tigers thundering
Grumpy giraffes grazing
All animals amazing
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
The trail rose up
through the sand
and sage covered hills
following the sinews of a land
scoured by fire and flood.
Even the most severe carving
here was nothing
compared to the city below-
its concrete grid
glaring over my shoulder-
sprawled out,
******* on its dingy
comforter of smog-
******* up
the dust of the desert
around it.
The trail led me up.
Up past twisted
juniper bones,
past pale green yuccas
curling
fine white filagree
from their dagger blades,
past sandstone boulders
swirled like confections,
past ancient cooking pits
nested with ash,
and ghost-like hands
outlined on stone-
to a white cliff face
up-thrust
beneath the cloudless sky.
From a lone stump
a pinyon jay squawked
drawing my eyes down.
A sentinel
to its comrades-
who rose up
from the draw to my left
and sailed in twos and threes
sinking down into
the draw on my right.
Right before me,
around me, behind me,
first two- then six,
then tens of metallic blue
wings beating heavily against
the unfamiliar desert air.
They had come down.
Down from the scrubby
forests of pine.
Down from snow
covered slopes.
Hungry,
they searched the green
fingers of the washes-
the winter forcing them
down across the trail
that was drawing me up.
They passed close by,
wing beats feathered my ears,
first up, then down-
the sentinel
keeping an eye .
Listening, suddenly hearing
my breath beat
against the wind-
I stood motionless, perched
beyond starting
and destination-
blue wings lifting
the hunger within.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Books:
the greatest weapons of the world.
Full of Mocking jays.
Each one being Divergent
to the others.
Books are like a Maze
that we have to Run through.
They're like a Testing
that will never end.
Not even the great Hogwarts
can stand against their power.
Books are more beautiful than the Twilight sky.
More powerful than Percy Jackson,
than the Heroes of Olympus.
Books are the true heroes of the world.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
I found you
on page 119, of the sacred tome
the only sin, to slay the fine fowl
called mockingbird--why blue jays were fair game
remains mystery to me, but I trust thee,
Ms Lee, to have writ the grand truth
though when I look to the skies,
or in the flush of leaves in my oak,
I find only mourning dove, robins
and a plain sparrow or two, all hiding,
from sinners, in the soft rain
they would not heed my words
no matter how earnestly
implored
"stay behind the branches,
do not move a feather,
words cannot protect you;
when the rains stop, those
with sharp eye and cold heart
will rob you of flight and light "
and then I awake,
to a bright sun, to realize
there has been no rain and the slaughter
has continued all along
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Grant me deep roots.
Solid branches.
Let the fires pass me by.
Let generations of squirrels and blue jays
hop on my limbs.
Let me breathe fog, chew sunlight
and look down
over centuries.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Nuts falling as psalms,
From storied arms of Hazel tree,
. . . Blue jays turning leaves.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
I ride higher
Than your suicides
You write:
Take me back,
I’m sweetly reminiscing of
Solar wings embracing
celestial winds
Sunsets of broken chords
Summer's shattered sword
Winter’s ornery
Jaded blue jays
Gray's vacant face
I salute your honesty
But blisters wrought on
A calloused heart
Cuts deeper
Than the oceans' void
Let me sleep whimsically
With rotten melodies
To keep me from
Changing the tone of
My stuttering dreams
But,
Soft, teeth speak
Like broken branches
On dilapidated trees
And
I’d spend
Eternity
In the chime of your
White fire voice
Or
Those olive green
Teasing eyes
Keeping me sheepishly serene
Whirling
Weaving
Into a timid peace
Yet our
Crashing
Tongues slam
Into sour Suns
Swallowing the seams
of interconnectivity
Scattering liquid beams
of entropy
I forget those days we
Wasted on the morbid
Memories
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 10:03 PM UTC
Today my long tall tulip fell
His pearl-pink bulb had dared to swell
But blushen hung now like a bell
His slim and slender stem once towering
Arced to earth with posture cowering
Burdened by his glory flowering
How quickly he had seemed to climb
To bask in sudden sunlit prime
The longest flower, the shortest time
His adolescent orb once closed
With youthful promise, then exposed
More beauty than we all supposed
And eager straight he stretched to see
The furtive squirrels’ revelry
And blue jays jostling high in tree
His handsome head became a hand
Outstretched to welcome wide and grand
We who’d pale beside him stand
But now his palm points to the ground
Where loyal subjects once were found
A fallen king with withering crown
I saw you flower – be sure of this
Your scented cheeks I bent to kiss
Nor did a day of beauty miss
Though brief your waxing and your wane
Your colours left the purest stain
That in my mind’s eye does remain
In all the world where flowers grow
We sallow souls rush to and fro
Preoccupied, we miss the show
But when we pause to smell the blooms
Held captive by arresting plumes
Forget the sundry that consumes
Thus precious harried minutes take
Our reverie to gaily break
I noticed you -- make no mistake
I studied you that rare of gift
You gave my care-worn spirit lift
Then cut its soaring hopes adrift
Today my long tall tulip fell
Surrendering to Nature’s knell
And left us where he deigned to dwell
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
Bright flashes of red
Give away the Cardinals.
Chick-a-dee-dee-dee
from the capped visitors.
Warning! Warning!
Shriek the Blue Jays!
Loud as a siren
our tiny wrens.
Crowned with a point
the titmouse displays.
Dressed to the nines
the juncos present before a storm.
Sparrows flock about
White crowned ones too.
Nuthatches scampering
like the squirrels around the limbs.
Brown creeper so shy
round and round the trunk.
Mockingbird flashing white on the wing
singing multitudes of songs.
Crows hold caucuses
along side the road.
Whirring wings buzz
Hummingbird zips on by.
Feathered friends on the wing
Speak to nature's diversity.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
If only we could fly like
those that tweet or hoot
without aid of jet or
parachute
For I sure don't like
wings that boom and roar
just so they can take off
and soar
Ah, to fly without petrol, diesel
or fuel
Oh, to halt that taloned midair
duel *
Birds they don't pollute
the air
nor need they any airline
fare
So if only I too could rise
and glide
and let the wind be my
sole guide
I'd be happy to fly all the
way to 'em' faraway stars
if I was assured I'd risk
no charring scars.
Flying without aviation
formalities
I could be sightseeing
many more cities
Ah I so wish to fly just
like a jay or jackdaw
Then I'd fly across all and
every border
For I'd know nor follow
no man-made law!
If only we needed no darned immigration pass or visa
We could have visited so many more touristy places
Say even the spectacular and popular pyramids of Giza
And we could have known different cultures and races
Ah, a stylish photo next to the leaning tower of Pisa
And return with exotica like a framed pic of the Mona Lisa
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC
*First light in the Hudson Valley
Arbor Day of April, 1970.*
Adrenaline coursed through our young
bodies, our hearts on fire with purpose.
As we rode our bikes, walked, or jogged miles
to our rural high school, red-winged blackbirds
called out from the misty swamps.
Beautiful but invading, acres of purple loosestrife
were rapidly taking over their wetland habitats.
Harbingers of the forests, blue jays issued
warning cries from deep in the woods,
where blights were killing our trees
with increasing frequency.
Three of us rode together, cycling in relative
silence, until we came to a meadow
selected for our early breakfast picnic.
We feasted on special fruits and cheeses,
hungrily stuffing in rare treats.
One friend began to send iridescent
soap bubbles into the chilly air.
Up they rose, up over the soft, puffy cloud
of her reddish curls, and into the dawning sun.
One bubble landed, unbroken, in the cold, dewy grass.
We stared at it, somehow understanding that here
was a delicate metaphor for our own fragile planet.
Approaching our school now, we breathed deeply the fragrance
of apple blossoms from commercial orchards all around us.
The spraying of pesticides had yet to be banned.
We were sleepy in our classes that morning;
most of our teachers understanding that we stood
now for something worthwhile, that we believed in,
and they smiled with kindness, some even with approval.
Our principal agreed to an awareness-raising slide show
designed for our fellow students, teachers and parents.
An intelligent man, he was admirably tolerant of the wave
of changes that our generation brought with us.
Smoke stacks, polluted water, and dying wildlife
flashed onto a screen in the darkened auditorium,
accompanied by the vivid symphonic power of
Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring'- a score so revolutionary
that a riot broke out at its premier, in May of 1913.
We had no idea then how much worse things would become.
All these years later, we each do our part, blessing
the efforts of our children and their children,
hoping fervently that we are not too late.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Take me back to the cool summer mornings
Where the leaves fluttered with the breeze
Best friends, there was never a truer pair
Of better days there were none
Take me back to the sun’s triumphant return
When it’s first rays kiss the tranquil water
And spread the heat of passion to the rising world
Inviting us all to take part in their romance
When the side of the road was a gateway to our fantasies
We were free to dream and free to live
Among the playful rhododendron and the staid oak
Days melted away with the heat of life
If the wind on my face could bear my spirit
I could return once more to this time
And be content with the robins and blue jays of above
And the rabbit and chipmunk contemplating from below
But, it is not to be, wishful thinking is all
For today has its own magic, but no one knows the spell
Only yesterday can be uncovered, tomorrow hides anew
Under a new sun, who has yet to court the tranquil water.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 3:54 AM UTC
This faded polaroid photography
Is struggling to capture
Some once-profound philosophy
It's bending to enliven
Your city of promising bones
With all the loud mouth blue jays
Choking on bitter cherries
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Our spring love, her wing takes flight—hands find sweetness within our thighs.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.
Your laugh was a fawn, soft-footed and shy,
Caressing my ******* our fingers explore sweet-shivering highs.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
A million ****** star-eyes count ecstasy’s cries—
Their hush reveals parted lips where our pleasure flies.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.
Dawn awakes, finds our secret cove, wet ******* kissed by butterflies.
Jays echo our love-cries, our breathless replies.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Now nettles creep where we once soared the skies,
Moss fingers our secrets, deep as memories dry.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.
We find our secret cove again, and you ask why.
We strip, we kiss, our untamed passion never dies.
Mother Eagle soars, our glistening bodies once dared to lie.
Mother Eagle, ever watchful, for the day love flies—goodbye.
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC
Nuts falling as psalms,
From storied arms of Hazel tree,
. . . Blue jays turning leaves.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Loneliness is the name we gain
Abandoned in attics of despaired shame
We might not know who our maker is
Nor even how we're birthed without a single kiss
Sailing shore to shore of no causing way
We fly, we glide, we slip away
Each day is our rite without rights
Pondered those colors from black to white
And out our interluding charades
Oh, how we are judge by senseless mocking jays
Enraptured by our capacities we can engage
Still we leered showing a zealous face
From dust, A man was oddly fabricated
A tapestry of wonders to show its vivacity
He's so different from our Avant name
And has a thought that could seize a luring day
But if he never saw how wide the narrow he'd take
From dust a man shall die ever the same
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC
the drama in a ****** of crows
the clueless jive of the chickadee
the serious expression of the phoebe
hide and seek flickers
overly dramatic plovers
sleek kestrels, scanning the meadow
gulls always headed somewhere
the mystery of owls
robins, Art Carney-like
nuthatches that waddle through the air
an advertisement of goldfinches
vile, surly winged jays
waxwings, safe within their clique
ospreys, fat on minnows
snapshot herons always posing
patient vultures, ever on call
the perfect beasts to rule this world
they reveal personalities
to this lifetime observer
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
It’s the way the sun bounces off the gravel and the smell of wet moss mixed
With the edge of old cigarettes and tree sap,
It’s the gap between memories and fuzzy impressions
Of past existences mixed with recaptured instances
And empirical proof that my childhood existed.
In the way light moves heaver through the air there
Until branches from the walnut lift and you can hear scrub jays,
And the echo of cans that rattled
In perfect belonging with the march of smacking sandal shoes
Chasing along black pavement toward dirt roads
And children’s kindred spirits running after water.
The heavy sent of fresh fallen rain on old pain and yellow
Paint and trumpet flowers that play silent music
To the ears of a young person discovering existence
Exploring persistence and resilience and
Coming forth out of darkened nights with the
Resurrected brilliance of the maimed sick and twisted
Soldiers of life from these former generations.
Never has a place existed as hell and heaven
Like this museum of familial dysfunction.
I stand here at junction between, panic struck sadness,
And the will for the gumption to say goodbye
To a past with dwindling survivors
And sour memories. Praying a thank you to dark space
For the fond thought of their wrinkled faces
And a grandeur lesson of all that I want not,
And for the first thing my life to stay in one place
For the duration of its chaos.
Sweet wicked, loving woman ,
The remnants of my childhood will die with you.
I assume I will hide my tears in your memory.
My past my memories myself, I hate the parts I love
And fear a kind of numbness at the loss of you
At the loss of this chunk of myself
And of all the things that will slip my grasp
When so much of my life is confined
To the constantly desecrating atmosphere of my mind.
And when I turn to find
The first cornerstone of my existence,
My support and experience I will
See only shadows and the pasts of real things,
And I will miss you.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
I reached the summit in time to see,
the grey of dawn just leaving,
The new sunrise begin to ascend.
The breeze, reborn, fresh as the day.
An Eagle soaring high over head,
spiraling on updrafts, master of the sky,
not hunting, just testing his wings,
apparently enjoying a little joy ride.
Oh what freedom that must be,
to fly like that as you please,
so completely released from gravity.
I watched him play, 'till out of sight.
Below me, on a slope stood a
sure footed Male Mountain Goat,
Warming himself in morning sun.
Head held high, proud and alert,
eyes searching for opportunity.
Mountain Jays squawk and play
among the sparse trees below
my lofty perch, as if they too frolic,
in new day celebration.
A day ago I saw the sun rise from
the fourteenth floor window,
of my office building.
That same sun, I now see,
from the top, of this mountain peek.
But it was very different.
Rather than fresh air laced,
with the scent of Fir and Pine,
It was the stale stink,
of cigarettes and dust,
Air pushed through a vent,
Resuscitated, recirculated
and processed, dead air resurrected.
My view East slightly obscured, by ***** glass.
A picture window that can not even be opened.
The Cascades majestically blue on the horizon,
The new days sun, resting on Mount Hood's shoulder.
A bright light inviting, Big and yellow, calling.
And but a day later,
here I stand, on Three Finger Jack,
Looking further East,
Breathing in this new clean day,
Taking memory pictures with my eyes,
Alone, but never completely.
Next time I will not wait so long.
Oh, if I could only live right here forever.
On further thought, after I'm dead,
haul my ashes up here, and leave 'em,
Sunrises and sunsets for all eternity.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
*His voice is like
marmalade and blue
jays , it can drown out
the sound of your
nervous bones and
mend broken chests
and hearts. She drowns
in the colours of him as
it washes away her every
sin. Being with him makes
her whole. To die next to
him will be indeed such a
heavenly way to go. Oh
for she was just one of
those lost homeless souls
until his warmth and love
built her a cozy home. If
she could crawl under his
skin and be cradled in his
rib cage like a child at night
, she would of done that
instead of sleeping next
to him wrapped up in his
dazzling arms of gold* ~
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC