"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….”
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
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.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
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.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
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
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
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.
3.6k
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
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 2:36 PM UTC
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.
3.1k
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.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
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.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:00 AM UTC
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.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
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?
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
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
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
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.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
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.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
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
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
********* 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.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:54 PM UTC
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
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
*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.*
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
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.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
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
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
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.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
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.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 11:07 AM UTC
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
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
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??
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC