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"parakeet" poems
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers    I was small then    She had a parakeet that landed on my head    and a bathtub too    with water so deep!    and legs and claws!    **** thing nearly chased me down the stairs! She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks    where bugs hung-out in the haze    of teenage August    I played in the tall weeds    with a shoeless Italian boy    who ate tomatoes like apples    and cucumbers right off the vine!    He was ***** free and foreign!    We played— reckless, abandoned    behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn       and through the endless fields    I didn’t know....    His name was Tony    I ate pizza with him—the first time At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight    but I could watch night flowers    bloom on wallpaper    She came in to say good night    slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open    and I peeped her *******    like Tony’s cucumbers!    I had never seen my mother’s wonders.... Night spread its wings from the old fan—    a bird of tireless exhaustion    whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage    tireless exhaustion    tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock    stretched out on the whine    of the overland trucks    Route Five through the night of an open window In the grape arbor below— tremulous incessant    crickets    crickets    crickets tremulous incessant—insides of a child    a summer child    not yet ready for the fall of answers Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen    I followed her everywhere I could    I was small then--        do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit I followed Maureen through my dreams    of being sixteen    and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”    while she tied her sneakers    against the mattress by my head I followed Maureen (in my mind)    tanned and bandanned    to work in the fields of shade tobacco    with all those Puerto Rican boys!    She knew where she was going! I was small then ...do anything for a stick of  gum “Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”    ...through the goldenrod of roadside    through the smell of oil that damped the dust     I followed Maureen’s white shorts    and chestnut hair...to the corner store I followed the way the boys smiled    the way the screen door slammed    on her bright behind    the way her lips taunted and took    the coke-bottle’s green I followed Maureen I swear, I tried for hours to get that right! Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever” Maureen ties her sneakers in my face Flaunts her years above my head She has that look— “We kids don’t know nothin” (Little turds” that we be) …followin’ Maureen through the goldenrod of roadside tic-tockin’, beboppin’ “Fever— in the morning Fever all through the night….”
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Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
I Follow Maureen
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers    I was small then    She had a parakeet that landed on my head    and a bathtub too    with water so deep!    and legs and claws!    **** thing nearly chased me down the stairs! She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks    where bugs hung-out in the haze    of teenage August    I played in the tall weeds    with a shoeless Italian boy    who ate tomatoes like apples    and cucumbers right off the vine!    He was ***** free and foreign!    We played— reckless, abandoned    behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn       and through the endless fields    I didn’t know....    His name was Tony    I ate pizza with him—the first time At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight    but I could watch night flowers    bloom on wallpaper    She came in to say good night    slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open    and I peeped her *******    like Tony’s cucumbers!    I had never seen my mother’s wonders.... Night spread its wings from the old fan—    a bird of tireless exhaustion    whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage    tireless exhaustion    tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock    stretched out on the whine    of the overland trucks    Route Five through the night of an open window In the grape arbor below— tremulous incessant    crickets    crickets    crickets tremulous incessant—insides of a child    a summer child    not yet ready for the fall of answers Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen    I followed her everywhere I could    I was small then--        do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit I followed Maureen through my dreams    of being sixteen    and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”    while she tied her sneakers    against the mattress by my head I followed Maureen (in my mind)    tanned and bandanned    to work in the fields of shade tobacco    with all those Puerto Rican boys!    She knew where she was going! I was small then ...do anything for a stick of  gum “Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”    ...through the goldenrod of roadside    through the smell of oil that damped the dust     I followed Maureen’s white shorts    and chestnut hair...to the corner store I followed the way the boys smiled    the way the screen door slammed    on her bright behind    the way her lips taunted and took    the coke-bottle’s green I followed Maureen I swear, I tried for hours to get that right! Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever” Maureen ties her sneakers in my face Flaunts her years above my head She has that look— “We kids don’t know nothin” (Little turds” that we be) …followin’ Maureen through the goldenrod of roadside tic-tockin’, beboppin’ “Fever— in the morning Fever all through the night….”
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82
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless".  Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.   What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband.  This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.   Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers.  I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said. What  I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce.  Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.   I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now.  I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives.  Death was no longer just for pets or old people.  It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door. Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
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Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
It Was ****** (nonfiction)
My cousin told me that I am a good storyteller, but I should write something about me, about real people and a time that I was scared "shitless".  Well, I can only think of one time of a real life shocker that shook up my young world. It's nothing suspenseful. It probably wouldn't win any contests, but it isn't contrived. It's a snippet of the first time that I encountered the raw reality of death.   What did I know about death at eight years old? Our parakeet, Perky, died. My grandparents dog, Bruno, had to be put to sleep. As a girl, I vaguely recall seeing a dead man in a coffin, and that was at the funeral of my mom's aunt's husband.  This was only an introduction of the temporary world we live in.   Well, then there was an older couple two doors down from us. They had two grandchildren that used to come and visit them, a sister and brother. When in the neighborhood, they would play with my older brothers.  I cannot even recall their names. I cannot remember what they looked like or what they said. What  I do remember is the news being on in the living room, and I was eating dinner in the kitchen with my mom and brothers. Suddenly, the faces of that brother and sister were on TV. It was reported that their mentally troubled mother had killed them. I think it was because she was denied custody of them in an ugly divorce.  Doing a little bit of digging in the Michigan death index online, I rediscovered who they were. They were Susan and Richard. They were ten and nine-years-old at the time.   I surely don't remember plenty of details, as this was in June of 1973. Over forty years ago, it's a much faded memory now.  I only know I did not go to the funeral home. If I did, I am sure I'd be horrified to look upon those children who were robbed of their lives.  Death was no longer just for pets or old people.  It wasn't fair and it didn't discriminate in age. And if it could happen to someone as young as them, it could come knocking on my door. Perhaps, that was the beginning of my fear of death.
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6
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ Though glass, it is rimmed with gold around the cup, handle and even the saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums   of various shades; the vermilion horizon, Spring's honey, songbird's magenta, sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast and the Aegean sea. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And then, there are three sightly tea caddies with lacquered wooden bodies; one rosewood with red dancing fans, one burr-oak with golden mountainous landscape and one maple wood with green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes each of their lids by using the cloth, and presents the pearls that were wrapped in sun-kissed foil. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent. Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes me to the far distant Province of Yunnan, past the snow-kissed mountains and rice terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that it began to bubble before a large splash rose. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian, the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend. With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking the sunlight. It's great body now entwined in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips around in the air, leaving an iridescent trail of colours. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ With a great leap, he soars through the air, trumpeting his great roar that rattles the skies. Just as quickly as he rose, he descends down with a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker, the small Moon cracks, presenting me it's contents, a long kept secret. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ The pearls are the colour of seaweed with streaks of yellow and burnt umber. With earthy notes whirls around my nose, along with some floral sweetness, burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great guarded secret that he reveals to me! His best pearls ferment in the womb of the Moons! Purified by the Star Virtues of Elysia's Harmony! ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ 'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,' I say, my eyes now open. 'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!' 'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's very unique in smell and taste.  I will save such fine broth for another day.' Ainhana nods, places on the tray and lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my eyes once again and my mind wanders yet again. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
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Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
~ ⚘⚪ Jasmine Pearls IV ⚪⚘ ~
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ Though glass, it is rimmed with gold around the cup, handle and even the saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums   of various shades; the vermilion horizon, Spring's honey, songbird's magenta, sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast and the Aegean sea. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ And then, there are three sightly tea caddies with lacquered wooden bodies; one rosewood with red dancing fans, one burr-oak with golden mountainous landscape and one maple wood with green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes each of their lids by using the cloth, and presents the pearls that were wrapped in sun-kissed foil. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent. Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes me to the far distant Province of Yunnan, past the snow-kissed mountains and rice terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that it began to bubble before a large splash rose. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian, the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend. With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking the sunlight. It's great body now entwined in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips around in the air, leaving an iridescent trail of colours. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ With a great leap, he soars through the air, trumpeting his great roar that rattles the skies. Just as quickly as he rose, he descends down with a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker, the small Moon cracks, presenting me it's contents, a long kept secret. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ The pearls are the colour of seaweed with streaks of yellow and burnt umber. With earthy notes whirls around my nose, along with some floral sweetness, burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great guarded secret that he reveals to me! His best pearls ferment in the womb of the Moons! Purified by the Star Virtues of Elysia's Harmony! ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~ 'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,' I say, my eyes now open. 'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!' 'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's very unique in smell and taste.  I will save such fine broth for another day.' Ainhana nods, places on the tray and lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my eyes once again and my mind wanders yet again. ~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
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69
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse' There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes' Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea' 'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines' It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime' There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock' The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc' In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green' 'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine 'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake' From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey ) The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
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Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Fifty shades of Green
BENEATH the flat and paper sky The sun, a demon's eye, Glowed through the air, that mask of glass; All wand'ring sounds that pass Seemed out of tune, as if the light Were fiddle-strings pulled tight. The market-square with spire and bell Clanged out the hour in Hell; The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and white As powder on a mummy's face, Or fawned with simian grace Round booths with many a hard bright toy And wooden brittle joy: The cap and bells of Time the Clown That, jangling, whistled down Young cherubs hidden in the guise Of every bird that flies; And star-bright masks for youth to wear, Lest any dream that fare --Bright pilgrim--past our ken, should see Hints of Reality. Upon the sharp-set grass, shrill-green, Tall trees like rattles lean, And jangle sharp and dissily; But when night falls they sign Till Pierrot moon steals slyly in, His face more white than sin, Black-masked, and with cool touch lays bare Each cherry, plum, and pear. Then underneath the veiled eyes Of houses, darkness lies-- Tall houses; like a hopeless prayer They cleave the sly dumb air. Blind are those houses, paper-thin Old shadows hid therein, With sly and crazy movements creep Like marionettes, and weep. Tall windows show Infinity; And, hard reality, The candles weep and pry and dance Like lives mocked at by Chance. The rooms are vast as Sleep within; When once I ventured in, Chill Silence, like a surging sea, Slowly enveloped me.
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3.6k
Clowns' Houses
BENEATH the flat and paper sky The sun, a demon's eye, Glowed through the air, that mask of glass; All wand'ring sounds that pass Seemed out of tune, as if the light Were fiddle-strings pulled tight. The market-square with spire and bell Clanged out the hour in Hell; The busy chatter of the heat Shrilled like a parakeet; And shuddering at the noonday light The dust lay dead and white As powder on a mummy's face, Or fawned with simian grace Round booths with many a hard bright toy And wooden brittle joy: The cap and bells of Time the Clown That, jangling, whistled down Young cherubs hidden in the guise Of every bird that flies; And star-bright masks for youth to wear, Lest any dream that fare --Bright pilgrim--past our ken, should see Hints of Reality. Upon the sharp-set grass, shrill-green, Tall trees like rattles lean, And jangle sharp and dissily; But when night falls they sign Till Pierrot moon steals slyly in, His face more white than sin, Black-masked, and with cool touch lays bare Each cherry, plum, and pear. Then underneath the veiled eyes Of houses, darkness lies-- Tall houses; like a hopeless prayer They cleave the sly dumb air. Blind are those houses, paper-thin Old shadows hid therein, With sly and crazy movements creep Like marionettes, and weep. Tall windows show Infinity; And, hard reality, The candles weep and pry and dance Like lives mocked at by Chance. The rooms are vast as Sleep within; When once I ventured in, Chill Silence, like a surging sea, Slowly enveloped me.
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48
Sweet Tea wrote 3 months after I turned 15, 2018 Before you, I was a girl devastated by things I couldn’t change Trapped in an endless bitter reality from which there was no escape Sinking into a dark, spiraling well, from which I reached my hands and found a pool of light You were my light, a haloed sunshine angel, who graced me with his presence for what seemed so long and ended so abruptly The sound of your voice seemed to be honey, so sweet, attracting the bees, attracting me My sunshine sweetheart, angel lover You’ve done your time so now you can leave Why would you want to stay with me? I’m only a cement brick that will bring you down A loose thread that will tear you down, a yammering parakeet who will wear you down One time you told me that I thought too highly of you How couldn’t I? With someone who made me feel so confident with my body, somebody who praised me, someone who thought I was worth their time at least for the time being In a way it’s better that you left, you’ll never be forced to see what I had to see looking in the mirror hating every inch of myself, hating the way I acted, and the way I interacted with everyone and hating the way no one seemed to like me But you liked me, but it’s better this way because I’m a letdown It’s Like when you thought you had bought sweet tea But it’s actually unsweetened The new version Sweet Tea wrote 1 month before my 18 birthday, 2021 Before you, I was a girl alone Being molested every day by the people who said they would take care of me I was a fourteen-year-old girl who was taught at a young age to get yourself a man to save you So I tried everything to keep you because talking to you distracted me from the fact my fourty-year-old stepdad was touching me But what I definitely didn’t need was a twenty-year-old man messaging me Telling me all the things he wanted to do to me When the law would finally unclaim me and allow me to give someone a part of me he doesn’t deserve You made me feel so much more alone Somebody who told me he’d touch me But instead of giving me what I’ll need he’ll leave “Lick me up like an ice cream cone” huh Luke? yes I thought highly of you Because you made it seem like you’d never hurt me You were the biggest disappointment You always will be
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Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 2:36 PM UTC
Sweet Tea then and now trigger warning
Sweet Tea wrote 3 months after I turned 15, 2018 Before you, I was a girl devastated by things I couldn’t change Trapped in an endless bitter reality from which there was no escape Sinking into a dark, spiraling well, from which I reached my hands and found a pool of light You were my light, a haloed sunshine angel, who graced me with his presence for what seemed so long and ended so abruptly The sound of your voice seemed to be honey, so sweet, attracting the bees, attracting me My sunshine sweetheart, angel lover You’ve done your time so now you can leave Why would you want to stay with me? I’m only a cement brick that will bring you down A loose thread that will tear you down, a yammering parakeet who will wear you down One time you told me that I thought too highly of you How couldn’t I? With someone who made me feel so confident with my body, somebody who praised me, someone who thought I was worth their time at least for the time being In a way it’s better that you left, you’ll never be forced to see what I had to see looking in the mirror hating every inch of myself, hating the way I acted, and the way I interacted with everyone and hating the way no one seemed to like me But you liked me, but it’s better this way because I’m a letdown It’s Like when you thought you had bought sweet tea But it’s actually unsweetened The new version Sweet Tea wrote 1 month before my 18 birthday, 2021 Before you, I was a girl alone Being molested every day by the people who said they would take care of me I was a fourteen-year-old girl who was taught at a young age to get yourself a man to save you So I tried everything to keep you because talking to you distracted me from the fact my fourty-year-old stepdad was touching me But what I definitely didn’t need was a twenty-year-old man messaging me Telling me all the things he wanted to do to me When the law would finally unclaim me and allow me to give someone a part of me he doesn’t deserve You made me feel so much more alone Somebody who told me he’d touch me But instead of giving me what I’ll need he’ll leave “Lick me up like an ice cream cone” huh Luke? yes I thought highly of you Because you made it seem like you’d never hurt me You were the biggest disappointment You always will be
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32
Above the forest of the parakeets, A parakeet of parakeets prevails, A pip of life amid a mort of tails. (The rudiments of tropics are around, Aloe of ivory, pear of rusty rind.) His lids are white because his eyes are blind. He is not paradise of parakeets, Of his gold ether, golden alguazil, Except because he broods there and is still. Panache upon panache, his tails deploy Upward and outward, in green-vented forms, His tip a drop of water full of storms. But though the turbulent tinges undulate As his pure intellect applies its laws, He moves not on his coppery, keen claws. He munches a dry shell while he exerts His will, yet never ceases, perfect **** To flare, in the sun-pallor of his rock.
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The Bird With The Coppery, Keen Claws
They say it's cliché, writing a poem about being alone on your birthday. Cause how could you be alone, with the not-so-faux paradise of the gently swaying lush greenery that sprouts tweety-bird yellow over your head, complete, with the insistent ca-caw of the Red-throated beak that doesn't let you sleep on the anniversary of your birth. How could you be alone with the contrast beneath, the contest of of somnabulism between the rickshaw and the great grey suzuki, that perfectly encompasses the colour of Europe. The barking stray dogs in the Pune streets, the rustle of the parakeet palms in the monsoon breeze. You're stuck in a shell of unending continuity, howling canines and Hindi beats, honking cars and the buzz of your mind. alone. and old.
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Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
Pune
If you knew I had you figured out, you might cease to be. I see through your encryptions now. It came so easily. You're as rare as a Garganey, but speak in Parakeet. You're flightless like the Dodo bird, but, like a Nightingale, you sing. I thought I saw your body washing up and down the beach. Instead I must have seen your ghost doing a dance for me. I can't say that I've seen your face. It remains a mystery. The next time that you show your face, I hope that you show me.
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Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:00 AM UTC
The Life Agnostic
I hope when we lie down together in one another’s arms After staying up much too late, You feel my rib cage underneath my skin, Beneath your fingertips As you rest your hands and cradle me in your arms. When you feel the ridges of my bones, I hope you’re reminded of the small parakeet That sat inside a big cage where all day long You heard her chirp and was reminded of my steady heartbeat. Only did the chirps quiet when you reached your fingers through The small openings; wanting to touch its feathers and feel Them through your flesh. Are you reminded of the way my heart seemed to stop Whenever you moved your fingers over my scars? I wonder if the wounds that have healed over Remind you of a jailhouse that holds back the monsters That lie within me. If the white bars that hold the cage Remind you of a prison cell where an inmate Speaks quietly to himself late at night, I hope you’re reminded of the parakeet and how It fills the night with chirps, like the prisoner’s voice Echoes through the cells as if he’s the only one who’s Imprisoned. And I hope my scars tell you that the monsters Have been silenced For the night.
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Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
An Orange Jumpsuit Howls
Happy Birthday! Is there something I can make or get or buy for you to own? A parakeet or a bicycle seat or a pair of skis on loan? What is it you might like to have to show I think you're nice? Perhaps an Oilers jersey or a special cooking spice? I should go by your int'rests and hobbies if I'm very sure I know 'em But perhaps... Would you be satisfied with a silly little poem?
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Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
For my friend Chloe
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again Seems I just took down the lights and the tree Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids The old beat up station wagon I drive On the hunt for this years perfect tree We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs With only twelve days left before Christmas My ** ** ** is already long gone Picking the best tree out within our budget My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that She'd rather not say with the little elves around Before an argument even ensues I've lost the battle before I hit the front line You wonder how I'm so confident of that The same thing happened last year at this time As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor I notice it leans bad to one side Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem The gas fumes **** my kids parakeet out right With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays I was able to purchase the product I need Working late into the wee morning hours I did a good job shellacking the parakeet I'm not sure that my kids even noticed Or brought up the question what for But they sure like the shinny new ornament Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas As subconsciously I'm being led To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie" And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
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Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
The Christmas Tree
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again Seems I just took down the lights and the tree Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids The old beat up station wagon I drive On the hunt for this years perfect tree We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs With only twelve days left before Christmas My ** ** ** is already long gone Picking the best tree out within our budget My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that She'd rather not say with the little elves around Before an argument even ensues I've lost the battle before I hit the front line You wonder how I'm so confident of that The same thing happened last year at this time As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor I notice it leans bad to one side Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem The gas fumes **** my kids parakeet out right With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays I was able to purchase the product I need Working late into the wee morning hours I did a good job shellacking the parakeet I'm not sure that my kids even noticed Or brought up the question what for But they sure like the shinny new ornament Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas As subconsciously I'm being led To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie" And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
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40
Just a drink of water, to quench my thirst for your presence for ever--- A loving pat on one cheek for all the love on me you showered, and softly, ever so softly on the other cheek give  the parting kiss for keeps. That's all I ask for, all the love we shared between us never fully contained in whispers and kisses all night conversations and caresses. Taking a deep breath, look in to my eyes, and pour all your blues, for me not to forget, we are a coagulated scented mass, rare no one in this world could separate. Let me  emulate the wind, that rustles leaves well before leaving without telling anything and in return shuffle my hair, like before, I will leave smiling, without thinking. even when my heart is in fire hissing: "Ah! this is how it all ends, never to repeat" I 've learned the art of containing pain, quite early in my life, without much effort, a white fluffy haired pup,my dad's first gift, that made happy beyond my little heart's content, the one I bathed cared and fed, day and night left for ever, in one cold  after noon... heart broken I wept, tried to wake him up Dad consoled "Let's buy another".It didn't help, a bit. But when the pet parakeet, that flew around our home was made his meal by our own rouge cat the scattered wings, feathers and bones scared, I didn't cry or panic, the pain died down within I was learning a lesson then for a path strewn with thorns. I'll walk away straight, with a smile, like many smiles went past you, but now, I know  you'll whimper, But don't,  please don't shed that drop of tear at the corner of your eye, hold it there, it'll mutely tell you about a love divine, for ever.
0
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
Let's walk away smiling
Just a drink of water, to quench my thirst for your presence for ever--- A loving pat on one cheek for all the love on me you showered, and softly, ever so softly on the other cheek give  the parting kiss for keeps. That's all I ask for, all the love we shared between us never fully contained in whispers and kisses all night conversations and caresses. Taking a deep breath, look in to my eyes, and pour all your blues, for me not to forget, we are a coagulated scented mass, rare no one in this world could separate. Let me  emulate the wind, that rustles leaves well before leaving without telling anything and in return shuffle my hair, like before, I will leave smiling, without thinking. even when my heart is in fire hissing: "Ah! this is how it all ends, never to repeat" I 've learned the art of containing pain, quite early in my life, without much effort, a white fluffy haired pup,my dad's first gift, that made happy beyond my little heart's content, the one I bathed cared and fed, day and night left for ever, in one cold  after noon... heart broken I wept, tried to wake him up Dad consoled "Let's buy another".It didn't help, a bit. But when the pet parakeet, that flew around our home was made his meal by our own rouge cat the scattered wings, feathers and bones scared, I didn't cry or panic, the pain died down within I was learning a lesson then for a path strewn with thorns. I'll walk away straight, with a smile, like many smiles went past you, but now, I know  you'll whimper, But don't,  please don't shed that drop of tear at the corner of your eye, hold it there, it'll mutely tell you about a love divine, for ever.
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42
My childhood was stubbing toes on pool railings while trying not to drown four foot tall, six feet under. I sat by houseplants on cold tile. I lost my teeth to salt water taffy. My parakeet was named after a character on Full House who had frizzy hair and did not have her mama either. One day, she broke her beak. It was my fault, I brought the blood to my face as I would salve to apologize but it was far too late. Daddy set her free while I slept. I would rush to the school supply aisle in Kroger for pens and pencils and bought Barbie dolls to glide against the bayou’s surface. Later, Katrina came to sink everything I ever touched. I thought about the black men and their saxophones downtown how I wanted to replace the reeds so badly to hear New Orleans jazz one final time before we moved. The whole time my sister was made of sage. My brother slept on my Powerpuff Girl sheets so often that I kept my ******* in another room. And I thought that mothers came from fireplaces because mine hid her liquor in there sometimes.
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Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
until 2005
My mind is a canyon where your voice echoed. I wish you belonged to me but I think that's what I like most. That you're not meant to be owned. And maybe it's wrong of me to wish for you on falling stars. Maybe It's childish. But it's so rare to meet someone who knows who they are. and I don't care what anyone thinks they know. they do not know you. And I'm determined to show you I can be all that you need. I want the best for you, wanting you for myself is simply out of greed because I know you can do better. and with every letter I write in each word in each line while you're on my mind is important. my writing gets distorted at night but every A, B and C is hope that you might take another look at me. And maybe see something in me worth saving. as of now my heart's been replaced with wooden shavings And the tree that they came from is nothing but a stump I get a lump in my throat just thinking of how I **** everything I love. Because I give my whole heart. And I love things to death. So I shouldn't be surprised to see that they left. But I almost always am. And I don't know how to start the grief process. when no one is as lost as I am. I wish you would find me I've stayed where you left me. defiantly, more shaken then I was before. When you awaken with my scent in your empty bed, Do you just sleep on the floor? Do you even know me anymore? are you torn between not knowing and not caring. because I'm staring at the walls wishing there was a way to get to you, a way out of here. it appears that I'm trapped. If these walls could talk they'd be full of crap because all they do is keep me from living. and the life they're giving me isn't life it's just a safe way to survive. Because a free spirit shouldn't be confined. And I'm fed up, with being fed and given water, shelter and love like that should be more than enough. but I love my parakeet. i give it food and water so it should happily tweet. But it's still a caged bird like me. The only thing I truly need is to be free. and freedom is hard to come by. you're the only one who's showed me some. and I don't want this thing to die. my mind is a canyon where your voice echos my eyes are canyons full of the tears I haven't let go. My lungs are canyons full of smoke. and my hollow laughs at life's sick jokes. I'm a canyon, quite simply I'm empty empty empty © copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
0
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Emptiness and Canyons
My mind is a canyon where your voice echoed. I wish you belonged to me but I think that's what I like most. That you're not meant to be owned. And maybe it's wrong of me to wish for you on falling stars. Maybe It's childish. But it's so rare to meet someone who knows who they are. and I don't care what anyone thinks they know. they do not know you. And I'm determined to show you I can be all that you need. I want the best for you, wanting you for myself is simply out of greed because I know you can do better. and with every letter I write in each word in each line while you're on my mind is important. my writing gets distorted at night but every A, B and C is hope that you might take another look at me. And maybe see something in me worth saving. as of now my heart's been replaced with wooden shavings And the tree that they came from is nothing but a stump I get a lump in my throat just thinking of how I **** everything I love. Because I give my whole heart. And I love things to death. So I shouldn't be surprised to see that they left. But I almost always am. And I don't know how to start the grief process. when no one is as lost as I am. I wish you would find me I've stayed where you left me. defiantly, more shaken then I was before. When you awaken with my scent in your empty bed, Do you just sleep on the floor? Do you even know me anymore? are you torn between not knowing and not caring. because I'm staring at the walls wishing there was a way to get to you, a way out of here. it appears that I'm trapped. If these walls could talk they'd be full of crap because all they do is keep me from living. and the life they're giving me isn't life it's just a safe way to survive. Because a free spirit shouldn't be confined. And I'm fed up, with being fed and given water, shelter and love like that should be more than enough. but I love my parakeet. i give it food and water so it should happily tweet. But it's still a caged bird like me. The only thing I truly need is to be free. and freedom is hard to come by. you're the only one who's showed me some. and I don't want this thing to die. my mind is a canyon where your voice echos my eyes are canyons full of the tears I haven't let go. My lungs are canyons full of smoke. and my hollow laughs at life's sick jokes. I'm a canyon, quite simply I'm empty empty empty © copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
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55
********* the frayed edges of this worn down heart from hope and yet fed by the taste of you Honey dew tangerines take shape of leaves falling from the sky the way you took my hand and took a dive with me I'd stay under and wait for you like the pine trees waiting for the others to wake after winter I'd hold my breath for you and count to 365 3 times- unless there was a leap year but I'd still count that day It'd be the one where I saw you The one where you held my hand and watched time travel faster than my anxious heart waiting for your return so I could nestle you in my straw sheets Stiff, from not enough love sweet, because no man has been here, except for you when my eyelids fall victim to the weights of emptiness that feign them of your presence Fall victim to my mind's imagination protruding from my scalp my iceberg and carved thicker than any of the mastered tattoos that stain your bones Carved like you are, all crisp and folded neatly into squares where you're slipped under my left breast buried here in the nook of my rib cage and mimick the parakeet of my heart calling to the only bird who sings my song Calling to all lovers oceans apart but woven so intimately inside one another, a basket of every item you could ever need- Empty but built through frayed edges of worn down hearts that inhale each catty-cornered breath to survive Singed ends proof that your match has lit my birch for it's last time Proof that this is frozen like the permafrost embedded within my rib Proof that you'll stay with me through the thicket of ice and fury and frost before slipping away and leaving me with the lilies of Spring risen from the warm rain you'll toss here from the salt stained sea renewed and refreshed as our hearts choke and gasp and shriek but our bodies calm as they perform their miracles and heal and mend all of the sutures that love has stung us with I'll heal from the frostbite you poisoned me with but not without the deepest of scars from your high velocity crime on my soul and the ink bleeding through my skin But, she'll keep quiet for you and she'll wear her battle scars over her left breast and wear them with dignity Have you loved like this? Tell me, have you taken a dive and held your breath? Have you run down your heart until all that is left is frayed edges of this worn down heart- a parakeet chained to the cage of my ribs singing a song waiting to be sung singing to a lost Lover of the lilies of Spring.
0
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:54 PM UTC
Lilies of Spring
********* the frayed edges of this worn down heart from hope and yet fed by the taste of you Honey dew tangerines take shape of leaves falling from the sky the way you took my hand and took a dive with me I'd stay under and wait for you like the pine trees waiting for the others to wake after winter I'd hold my breath for you and count to 365 3 times- unless there was a leap year but I'd still count that day It'd be the one where I saw you The one where you held my hand and watched time travel faster than my anxious heart waiting for your return so I could nestle you in my straw sheets Stiff, from not enough love sweet, because no man has been here, except for you when my eyelids fall victim to the weights of emptiness that feign them of your presence Fall victim to my mind's imagination protruding from my scalp my iceberg and carved thicker than any of the mastered tattoos that stain your bones Carved like you are, all crisp and folded neatly into squares where you're slipped under my left breast buried here in the nook of my rib cage and mimick the parakeet of my heart calling to the only bird who sings my song Calling to all lovers oceans apart but woven so intimately inside one another, a basket of every item you could ever need- Empty but built through frayed edges of worn down hearts that inhale each catty-cornered breath to survive Singed ends proof that your match has lit my birch for it's last time Proof that this is frozen like the permafrost embedded within my rib Proof that you'll stay with me through the thicket of ice and fury and frost before slipping away and leaving me with the lilies of Spring risen from the warm rain you'll toss here from the salt stained sea renewed and refreshed as our hearts choke and gasp and shriek but our bodies calm as they perform their miracles and heal and mend all of the sutures that love has stung us with I'll heal from the frostbite you poisoned me with but not without the deepest of scars from your high velocity crime on my soul and the ink bleeding through my skin But, she'll keep quiet for you and she'll wear her battle scars over her left breast and wear them with dignity Have you loved like this? Tell me, have you taken a dive and held your breath? Have you run down your heart until all that is left is frayed edges of this worn down heart- a parakeet chained to the cage of my ribs singing a song waiting to be sung singing to a lost Lover of the lilies of Spring.
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106
pretty boy she'd recite in building echo to Paul the parakeet his feathers slicked like Elvis' helmet hair rustling in her beating loop Fall's plucked leaves his caged mirror spins on strings in the wind's singing a pocket watch tick-tocking from pecked emerald plastic to the inverted bird hollow
0
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Sadly in Love
*They are all drunk, light footed, swank spunky babes and daring guys once in campus now yellowing leaves in slanting evening light their dress, manners and assured pace suggest "There is no need for any hurry in our lives any more" all those songs deeply buried quickly surface after all these years of total separation, can you believe? They started from where they left, many decades back memories poured out, collected in pools, happy faces reflected on that clear surface like before, and words regained their cadence of those days of yore meanings deeply buried under the dead leaves of fallen years surfaced, tickled, they giggled and shared secrets once more as if still in teens they are                                                         The last thing one remembers, before slipping in to stupor is Happiness a parakeet with colorful wings floating on the air, lovingly calling each one's pet name in campus then, magic that went missing from lives, all these years was brought back by memories, they find what that means there it was thick in the night air, past , chocking every throat, a simulacrum of past, white clad ghost embraced them tight.*
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May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
A simulacrum of the past visits with silent steps
Stillness of night reigns, pale full moon conveys something subtly ambiguous to each one looking at her from their respective stand points, the most painful feelings echo in the heart of the lover alone in this jungle hideout on a blind pursuit of another kind of happiness he can't forgo, even if he wishes. Now the stillness is broken glass roar of a big cat out in the wild hunting the best of preys well fed, an ecstatic mating call, of an amorous parakeet,fallows, In the rule of the jungle, pain and pleasure co exist any moment, like darkness and light, the wheel moves on, interminably for ever.
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Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
The cycles of pleasure and pain
I've got a talking parakeet That counts loose change in my penny tree He only makes it up to ten Before he looses count and has to start again The cat I have sits below The penny tree as if to know One day the parakeet will fall asleep And fall out of the penny tree There is a dog tied up nearby That watches from the corner of his eye Little do the cat and parakeet know He untied the rope ages ago I wonder who will be the first To get the deal that is the worst I only know it won't be me As I own the penny tree
0
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
The Penny Tree (a nursery rhyme)
The murmuring grove all of a sudden falls mute, as they enter listens to their words, love prompted in the distinct love dialect. A red beaked parakeet watches her without batting an eyelid, the  ruddy cheeks and ruby lips of the girl, all aglow as the golden rays of evening sun caresses; feeling jealous, the parakeet makes a loud racket.
0
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
The lovers create a wave in the grove
In the bamboo grove they met, a garrulous parakeet, repeatedly asked, "Aren't you in love couple?" "We don't intent, we are out of it" they retorted, "Hey, you still keep it, kiss and make up"it pleads.
0
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
What the parakeet said
The sun is up My eyes are closed Will this be the end of us? Dawn till Dusk I will not see a single soul As I dream of what could have been My heart swells of the aching pain Wandering minds bring me to you As I rethink my decisions Dawn till Dusk Is the time to think Clear your mind and just rethink The link is broken Now you're free Just fly away My lost Parakeet
0
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Dawn till Dusk
My marginal dysfunctions like a panther saunter gliding me out to peripheries edge. We won't comment on loose banter, someone says. My mind circles the time as the crow flies, too disturbed for reentry, tweets the parakeet. Phase out with allegiance to no one, Phase back in with desperate facade. I am blank, bleak and broken. Well...that's just the token to get us back in ...the Dahlia wasn't always black to begin with you know, so many colors remain to absorb our sorrow. So lost, forgotten and frail... a ghastly scene so serene and forsaken. Do not fret my fellow faire, we are ghosts of crimson lore, pathos to the people...morose...together on the edge of forever. Interlacing fingers, we stand then walk the plank of insanity...who will hold my hand??
0
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
[Plank of Insanity]