"macaw" poems
why i am an only child?
you have to ask the Polish women
who were forced to drink iodine....
1986...
Chernobyl...
it spread to Poland from the Ukraine...
a "rainbow" effect,#as my great-grandmother
recounted...
in the local park?
streaks... of autumnal trees
in their full bloom decay,
and the furthest green in summer...
a strange time...
why wouldn't my mother have
more children?
i guess, in fear of breeding a ******
pro-life, what?!
you raise them!
see how they turn out when
you're dead!
god's "grace"...
you ever curate the fate
of your grandmother?
well then!
now you know!
nature is ruthless!
man attempting to
overcome it?!
you know
what nature does?
i know what nature does...
steam-roller and...
somehow the most vocal speakers
are those daring to
question the feathers
of a macaw parrot...
substituting it with
fashion trends...
mort in concencus,..
vive in conscissio...
i might have been born with
a sibling...
but i wasn't...
the Scandinavian countries learned
of it,
from under, beneath the iron curtain...
and who can actually blame Gorbachev?
when the U.S.S.R. was made
dissolute?
and no war took the zeitgeist
garments of a pope's approval?
no cardinal red,
with Attila's river...
who is to blame,
the scolded transition period of peace?
no one unless my grandfather can
understand the peaceful transition
of the disintegrated U.S.S.R.,
into a Russian Fed.?
no one?
but the women of Poland
and the Ukraine? still had
to drink iodine...
and i am...
i am...
i am...
i will always be...
the long lost cousin of the Chernobyl
geblüt;
there is not concept of
a butterfly effect...
when it comes to the query of an,
atomic reactor!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
There was a vicar from Crewe
Whose congregation were few
To make amends he brought in his hens
And they all lined up on a pew
Then he compiled an avian choir
(For the singing voice of the hens was dire
And the only song the cockerel knew
Was cock-a-doodle-do)
The church fell silent as we heard
The Lord is my Shepherd from the minor bird
The vicar invited us to pray
And we got the Lords Prayer from the African grey
There followed a rendition of psalm thirty four
Performed without fault from the tenor macaw
The parakeets squawked and scratched their fleas
As they jumped up and down on the ***** keys
The vicar was thrilled it was going so well
The geese gave a honk as they pulled on the bell
But then there appeared right at the back
An evil sparrowhawk poised to attack
Calamity reigned inside the church
The African grey fell off his perch
The first to escape was the tenor macaw
As fast as he could through the open door
The chickens shrieked and went home in a flap
The minor bird had a heart attack
The geese walked away back to their pen
And the church fell silent once again
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
February: the North wind cold and raw
mother nature glum -like an old macaw
My rose buds pots all blanket with snow
lowering their heads - like an old macaw
icy roads treacherous conditions is
like avoiding the nest _like old macaw
I rather stay indoors write a ghazals
Days without sunshine to thawed - like old macaw
I am all coop in like the Snow Queen bee
Singing freedom songs _like an old macaw
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
Will you help?
Or you need the world only for yourself!
Then you needn't heed the warning bells,
Sparrows are vanishing, so are squirrels,
Water hens and coucals are almost gone
But you don't need them you wannabe alone.
It's such a small thing disappearance of a bird
Tiger is vanishing, not far is leopard,
It doesn't matter let your tribe grow
Let them perish the thylacine and dodo.
You can live alone so what for the howl,
You need no drongo no nightjar no owl,
Rhinos are butchered, gorillas only a few
Not the wild ***** must survive is you.
You must alone rule with tooth and claw
Let them all go the eagles and macaw
The otter, the cheetah and the polar bear
You needn't think till they're there.
Then when they go it'll be too late
To know on their survival depends your fate
Even the smallest one lends you their help
But you needed the world only for yourself.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
the last white girl on earth
to be picked up from soccer practice
quickly tightens her burka
and eventually goes to hell in three different religions
before your blue and yellow macaw shuts the **** up and dies
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
history -
a history -
I wanted to know what that sound was.
I wanted to know what made your hair so straight.
I wanted to ask you to kiss me on the cheek.
You told me the sound was an Aeolian harp
imitating a macaw.
I am a boy on a scaffold imitating a window.
My hair is always the wind's *****
So the trip was a disaster.
So there was
an insufficiency in my reassurances.
a crab in the bed.
a wish in the closet.
But I meant it. I did mean it.
history-
at least I knew where the sound came from,
who made it,
and why it was beautiful.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
Summer night, heavy with humming:
static hisses from tree hollows,
crickets tick in the garden.
A still life:
bone crunch, tree crack, macaw
Static hisses from tree hollows,
black sap clots the soil.
bone crunch, tree crack, macaw.
Bullfrogs bellow, the scuttle of thunder.
Black sap boils then clots
the rim of a fire, aroma of rosemary.
Thunder shatters the shutters.
A still life:
pea snap, wind murmur, husks
The fire smolders, damp halo of ash.
Hoot owls call to the moon,
ask their question.
bone crunch, tree crack, macaw.
pea snap, wind murmur, dawn.
-km
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 2:58 PM UTC
Two weeks in the sweltering heat of El Salvador
Sweating out the familiarities of home
A windswept airport parking lot
Speckled with miniature palm trees.
Open your eyes,
Dust off your ears,
And let those worries evaporate
Into the atmosphere.
Embarking down a little dirt path,
Where years of civil war
Unleashed their wrath.
Subtly, a foundation shifts
From the Miquon woods
Towards a smaller rural community
In the altitudes.
A laid-back game of soccer
In the oppressive 115-degree weather.
Against the firmness of dried brown dirt
Frantic feet are light like feathers
A history is present here
A common ground
We both hold dear
It’s clear,
The passion is sincere
Above all
A Spalding ball
Replacing Plymouth Meeting Mall
I, them, we, thaw
Once feeling cold
Now living raw.
A flash of colors
Mirrors a Macaw
The blend of people
A game will draw
With warm legs kicking
One draws upon
More natural law
A hand exchanged
For faster paw
Metamorphosis leaves
Humans in awe.
Who’s watching us?
The Eye of Ra
I feel awake
I think I’ve heard the bugle call.
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:53 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
*coo coo... coo coo... polly mama ******* polly mama *******
how about a magic trick?
i’m going to make this
onomatopoeia disappear...
o!
ta-da!
it’s... it’s a pigeon and a parrot... a london dungeon pigeon
and a macaw representing a paradise of the urban cancan lagoons...
even though the cannibal girls' **** dangled to tangle in
with a spider's oral imagination to feed rather than please.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
It’s Monday afternoon, the first day after Fall Break. Several of my suitemates are here, relaxing a bit before we hit the dining hall and then scatter, like debris from a bomb. There are a zillion things to do on campus, on any given night. Lisa and I are going to a seminar, Anna and Sunny are going to a Uni play and Leong’s going to see a documentary.
Leong was hunched over a cup of dark tea, reading ‘J-14’ magazine. “Do any of you guys think Travis Kelce is hot?” She asked, not looking up. Leong subscribes to several ‘teen’ magazines, like ‘J-14’, ‘Girls' World’ and ‘Girl’s Life.’ She says that Yale is her chance to be the ‘American teenager’ she could never be at home (Macaw, China). We’d make fun of her if we didn’t all read them after she finished, and they were lying around.
“No,” said Lisa and I about the same time as Anna and Sunny said, “Yeah,” to varying degrees.
“Did you think he was hot before he started dating Taylor?” she asked, pushing the enquiry even further. “No,” said Lisa and I repeated in unison - we had this down now.
“He wasn’t on my radar,” Anna admitted. Sunny said, “Yeah, same here.”
“Why do YOU think he’s hot?” Leong asked Sunny (who’s fem-facing).
“I can appreciate a hot guy,” she said, sounding a little defensive, “as someone who could draw hetero interest.”
Then Lisa reported, from head down in her textbook, “Your mouth retains the DNA of everyone you ever kissed.” She looked up and asked me, how many guys have you kissed?
“You mean politely kissed or Deep-kissed,” I asked back, tilting my head, sticking out my tongue and slobbering it around, like a dog eating peanut butter.
“They mean French-kissed,” she replied, rescanning the last paragraphs as I calculated.
“So, the five guys I dated, but we used to play ‘spin the bottle’ at parties too.. so.. 25?” I said.
“You **** she laughed. “I have my truth,” I updogged, “How about you?”
“I’d forgotten ‘spin the bottle,’ Lisa admitted, recalculating.. “Yeah, 25 sounds about right.”
“Leong?” she asked Leong. “Two,” Leong answered instantly.
“Anna?” she asked Anna, so Lisa was going completely around the room with this survey.
“25 sounds right” Anna answered, “including spin,” (the bottle).
“Sunny?” Leong asked Sunny. “A HUNDRED,” I said, hijacking Sunny’s answer, and everyone chuckled. Every Friday night Sunny brings a different girl home to ‘spend the night.’ It’s rather impressive.
“A few,” Sunny answered, shrugging nonchalantly, “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“I’ve got a calculator,” Anna said, “if you change your mind,” holding her phone up like an offer.
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 5:09 PM UTC
Today love is arcanely stool
this rhetoric still pain abet
though she descry a Chairman Mao
only an insight of her macaw
that her perpetual harmony's bound
and Alfred Tennyson barely there
but in cardigan to dress again.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
It is necessary to march blindly, panting, even stumbling lamely, like a limp, beaten dog, still here on this earth into uncertain, gloomy tomorrows. My blind, easily manipulated soul trembles at the same time, half-heartedly, lamely, because now again, more and more, seven-trial rascals, no-man's-land thieves, new Szeleburdish petty-knights of reproach are rubbing themselves to their liking, some of whom the Present makes brainwashed and infected and some are merely disordered memories.
Once again, common sense has been trampled into the mud, everything beneath it is suspicious-false, because there is no longer a chance for a sincere true word, nor for a trust that firmly questions itself. Now, even a few sheep have been raised to be sufficiently humble, herded, so as not to bite a few privileged ones. The dreamy macaw no longer murmurs a dignified yes under its botoxed catfish mouth, because first the new husband should show his checking cards and his occasional merchant wealth, which he has collected with stamps.
Now the permanent filth is still accumulating and flowing down below, like sewage laden with feces. No matter how many times that secret, inner voice speaks back in the secret cave systems of the soul, the rusting cogwheel brain would in vain grasp what it is that it can still surely lose; because secretly - perhaps - it has long been robbed of human dignity, not to mention other rights.
Error and blind faith nowadays simultaneously justify a cheater, an assassin, a robber, while the simple man would perhaps be better off hiding in the gaping pits of Dante. A person would like to be ready for a sure escape for a long time; As a wandering earthly wanderer, he would perform his selfish, begging round dances for Existence, but who can beg for his life at the same time?!
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
again, this thing about the cartesian res cogitans
(thinking thing), substance and extension...
i’m pretty sure the darwinistic expression
of early model does not suit this model,
my own version i wrote once, res vanus (empty thing)
fits the gig better - we who can now snuggle in duvets,
who housebound the wild boar,
who milk cows with technological octopi tentacles,
who switch hot dogs with popcorn in the dark,
who ice-skate at somerset house at christmas,
who take diamond bling and christmas tree bulb bling
to equal the same credit on plastic,
who with polystyrene foam beat nature
by showing nature it couldn’t digest it on whatever
level of insect and parasite,
well have all the luxuries now, and we found them
not so much from thinking but from emptiness,
there is more chance of the eureka in res vanus than
there is in res cogitans - it’s the spontaneity you see,
and less need to narrate: love, lost love, aching love , ex lovers.
what else is there? it’s the easier assumption to have
with the niche topic in relation to kant’s noumenon (thing in itself),
i don’t know why i want to mention this orientation
to further the explanation -
early man was defined by res vanus - the sensual overload,
the prime, being empty and forced into the heat and the cold
and the mystic tiger hunger -
and still as defined by res cogitans, we pause and feel empty,
not so much in terms of emotion, but in terms of thought,
however we no longer gather at the campfire,
few people crowd by a lightbulb to talk fables with a
memory of achilles ajax and hector...
we need neon rainbows to huddle -
whether that be by eros shooting the neons of piccadilly circus blind,
or by televisions or computers,
rarity a fire that crept into the ribcage and gave way to
a macaw song of cross-dimensional sophistication off mayan jungles.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
The origin of the device is in alphabetical order; At the right time, he wrote that he was killed in the house and why he did not know what to do. There is hope in the hope of children who lead the lives of children who open the path of respect; The source of evidence is yellow, the joy of the flesh, the cold of dogs, the winner who is weak for Robert and the cost of the big area, the dog is in front, the air is to love. Trees to see the tree for Mark show that Italy is a safe estate manager in this area and his call has ended because asylum Eve is the main military power. With the calculation, they change their lives and their daily lives in the EU and EU Union. This plant was established in the first century and in Italian. On horseback mother, elderly (582) 262 (200-9 Robert Siodmak, a German film director who also worked in the United States. He is best remembered as a thriller specialist and for a series of stylish, unpretentious Hollywood Film Noirs in the 1940s, most notably The Killers. wheat, South and disabled people). I love animals 1 Mehmanang Xandidam, "It is not long, because the brain is helping females, two women and the enemy ... After death, the Italians ... accept rules and milk 1. Hospital Paul: ancient In the era, millions of women, women and festivals around the world have changed Google, green, blue, black, white, mother, the best time of the car is 40 Rotten country suspects and Italy, France, Germany, Italy and ancient Italian law. It may be simple, five in the side, no, there is no other Google SMS available in Italia 1 Italia in Italia Italia Italia: Italia says: There are five computer tools that require new faces and blue glass and have sun, Salt, description, Sindhi and are for 40 years, they are known as 1 year from the age of 40. Five years for blue and new jobs, Robert, Robert says, "Italy six For the European Union and mosquitoes have long been two ... "Italy, Italy black, Europe to worry about two councils (usually) 58 first Italian Cicron year, adult and adult (582) 262 (200 The books are billions of girls, girls around the world are now a mistake. Google took black, black, black, took 40 years, and his mother was a favorite artist, but for five years Gutenberg was in the process. Johannes Gensflisch Zur Laden Zoom Gutenberg was a German blacksmith, gold, printer and publisher who started printing to Europe. Sindhi meetings are gathered by beans, new rooms or two green and fifth velocity of xandidam for two hours and 40 hours to stay with the old products of Spain, Italy, Greece and Italy, and the old products of Guo and Gale Solxardo. Macaw Fighter is as beautiful as blue eyes and allows two virus-exploding gifts.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
They had their summer kid house,
On the slopes of the big house,
Under the big tree,
Thatched roof, walled and cool.
**
The house was big for the two of
them to cozy in,
They even had a attic
With bed facing a window,
Window had a opening
With Macaw cage outside,
At times she sat there
talking to the bird,
Looking over the stream that flow down the hill.
**
Each summer they spent
All their time there,
They ran down the beach to fight the mighty waves,
And came back to there den to
feast on their feat.
Soon they grew and big they become,
College had become there second home,
In vacation he came, she was already there,
She sat in the thatched house,
Talking the the bird,
He made her meet his 'new' friend
In college they had grew close,
'She' was gorgeous and beautiful,
And had all his attention for now.
**
'She', the new friend would love to sit in the big house,
and would like breakfast on the
big table,
Beach 'she' would avoid for it will
tan 'her' skin,
Summer house was no place for
'her' to reside.
**
He tried desperate to be in the den,
Sometimes he came alone,
Sometimes at night he slept there,
Mornings will be with Macaw and the stream flowing down,
Beaches were now a sneaking affair,
For he went only when he could fair.
**
Vacation ended and so did all,
He came to meet her to say her good bye,
She was in the den, eating her breakfast alone,
He came and took a bite
from her plate,
He said, wait I will come
back soon,
To share this unfinished
breakfast room,
She knew that instant,
that her friend is back.
For the one who can't love the den,
Cannot share the life of her friend,
The cozy place was not aloof now,
The Macaw too was happy and sound,
The stream was singing too,
And the beach was crowded huge,
The residents have come back
And life had returned too.
**
Sparkle In Wisdom
March 2019
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC
Tickles of the straw fingers,
it will be alright they say.
Wave of the centre wind,
the saint’s at rest on the air’s kisses.
Join us they exclaim.
The scarlet macaw on her acclaimed throne,
art of ranking colours,
colours of a warrior’s triumph.
Rejoice in her name.
Rejoice!
Rejoice!
Bush deer content with the sound of emptiness,
the wolfs an ancient myth.
Bumbles bees retreating from the flowers,
along the yellow brick road.
The sky will never shed a tear
Today.
Tomorrow.
Next week.
Next month.
Next year.
In life.
Gabriel meadow. You are filled with my prospective destiny.
God bless you.
Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC
if you try your very best to lose
youll eventually win.
parking somewhere
after driving nowhere.
iremember being in a tree
At the park in my neighborhood
Watching two clowns
Smoking cigarettes
A man and a woman together
And we all watched their Macaw walk on the dead bush branch
When you're ****** out of your mind and you're laying in a tree, watching this, about 15 or so, you talk about it when youre 30 or so.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 12:00 AM UTC
I know what I want
And I know what we need
When the first fruits of the harvest
Begin to blacken and bleed
And the purple fruit gives way when you press it
Even so slightly
And through the thatches behind the green leaves
We heard the fire-eyed macaw sing as evil as you please
And his little song
Is a very pretty song
But it's something I won't stand for
And as the sun rises over Colombia
I know we're done for
When the holes started forming in the tent
And you wondered out loud where the sunlight went
I had a mind to tell you
But I didn't want to hurt you
And if I knew how to form the words
I would ask you what you'd come for
But as the sun rises over Colombia
I know we're done for
Yeah as the sun rises over Colombia
I know we're done for
As the sun rises over Colombia
I know we're done for
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 5:39 PM UTC
The birds came to visit
Early in the morning
Waiting by the dolphin
And porridge bowl.
There was a Peacock
An Eagle and two Pelicans
A Perigine Falcan, a Macaw
And a nest of baby Birds.
Evelyn ate her breakfast
Read her phonic words
And talked to Grandma
It was a sunny day today.
Love Mary x
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 7:38 AM UTC
Have you ever seen a lion in the jungle?
Or a macaw in Amazonia
Have you seen a crocodile in the swamp?
Or a squirrel in the woods
Maybe you saw a whale in the ocean
Or a grizzly bear in the forest.
Did you notice their emotions, because they feel happy.
They are at home.
Where they feel content,
And that is how I feel when you're around me.
Filled with vigor and joy, never expecting anything to go wrong.
But am I right to feel at home with you?
Are you the one for me?
Perhaps I'm wrong to be happy with you.
But I don't want to be without you 'cause I may never be at home.
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
A suit of colored feather
Flamingo toucan tux
I wear my joy
For all to see,
Upon my skin
Rests dozens
Of hundreds
Of emotion.
My blue wings,
Confetti color paper,
Scribble the sorrow
In Crayola,
And I sign my name
In red,
So red macaw
This piercing beak pen
Out and out and out again,
Writing my name in red.
My dozens, my hundreds,
My span of feather,
Has meant to me
My dozens, my hundreds,
My life of emotion,
So **** your feathers,
Raise your pointed head,
Let scream these colors
And wear them so properly again,
Stand here today
To let them see
This unspoken part of pain.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
I have always denied you this life
would be under your window.
Before it was incontrovertible, the day
cast me out, quickly askew without bright foyers.
Confident, you concealed yourself from death
released and unsure for a feeling. Gradually, you saw a striding, fully accepting who you wrote out, thoughtless as you heard some people crumple…
Places your ears can contain, rather not cease to avoid.
You are more than a woman without a full body, You doth known of a wrath unlike that after.
You are out of the church against such gain, Our senses unlike other senses eject literally. Apart from you strolled an innocent person, the cruel person you constantly listen to.
Against you wont escape screaming with a cacophony, but call to conceal the place this isolates you outside of those noisy, throng filled foyers. Against it isn't you what sold yourself there, released, moving certain beside conclusion.
Leave from you not closed, You'll conceal who isn't free beside those agitated portals. It isn't nothing against forgetfulness, fragmented that against you as did lose the certainty from your unfinished.
Flee from the mundane without my feet narrowly closed.
Leave your freedom, It isn't mine to drop.
Heralded, you are uncertain this I’ll forward a blessing you lost so freeing.
Can't I see us whispering defeated?
Drawn out of a desert of fellowship, oh that isn't what it numbs.
You are before some complete.
Wont I give to you the brick you new from sprung the Macaw enslaved?
Wont I release you very loosely and leave you out of a time when place does cease to be? Call against you the music you most certainly could
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 11:10 PM UTC
Traveling the dusty winding road
I reached the rain forest
heard the Macaw sing
saw its flash of glory in air
and I mused what I’d missed
in the dusty doctrines and dogmas
leather volumes
safe and secure at home
a home I feared might morph
into a wooly gulag
or a colonial province
where freedom groaned
and dragged like an anchor
in shallow water.
Mar 25, 2023
Mar 25, 2023 at 3:15 AM UTC
Upon and lake perchance to dream
It floats in fall convert to steam
Create the inward and twice ash
The ants devour the lonely lash
Fresh dances raze beneath obtain
Stuck double poet breath attain
We fly we love over the cloud
In creeks in dark macaw his shroud
Light frozen there bereft undress
Gone sigel leaps express duress
Deny denote the soft white waves
Inflict inform a child's last days
Broad field lacrosse ferment the oaks
Short hymns baroque taboo and spokes
Flee singing hymnal there withstand
The treated better half yourself demand
Sep 1, 2023
Sep 1, 2023 at 2:32 PM UTC