"snowbird" poems
Did you ever hear about ******* Lil?
She lived in ******* town on ******* hill,
She had a ******* dog and a ******* cat,
They fought all night with a ******* rat.
She had ******* hair on her ******* head.
She had a ******* dress that was poppy red:
She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes,
On her coat she wore a crimson, ******* rose.
Big gold chariots on the Milky Way,
Snakes and elephants silver and gray.
Oh the ******* blues they make me sad,
Oh the ******* blues make me feel bad.
Lil went to a snow party one cold night,
And the way she sniffed was sure a fright.
There was Hophead Mag with ***** Slim,
Kankakee Liz and Yen Shee Jim.
There was Morphine Sue and the Poppy Face Kid,
Climbed up snow ladders and down they skid;
There was the Stepladder Kit, a good six feet,
And the Sleigh-riding Sister who were hard to beat.
Along in the morning about half past three
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree;
Lil got home and started for bed,
Took another sniff and it knocked her dead.
They laid her out in her ******* clothes:
She wore a snowbird hat with a crimson rose;
On her headstone you’ll find this refrain:
She died as she lived, sniffing *******
29.1k
These streets
are home to countless
rodents
emerging for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun
One by one line up
for the chance to
make something
out of nothing
Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to
sleep
___
Doors to endless lands
line the avenue
each its own portal to the
unimagined
A family of four
with the yapping mutt
or a lonely cat lady
whose entryway wreaks of *****
a drug dealer
door slamming
every hour on the hour
or an empty snowbird's nest
On the surface
everyone pretends
they don't have a hole to
crawl back to
or walls that know
every night
But below the sewer grate
a world filled with
the stench
of what could have been a
good day
Many a barkeep can
shed some life
on these drunkards'
rat king
or at least a story of those who
made it out
Once or twice it'd be grand
to see the bottom of a martini glass
left with a sip or two
instead of the casually tipped
lipstick-clad cocktail,
drained of doubt and despair
until morning warms the
frozen dreams
of those retired to
a paradise unknown
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
"Teej" Julie Teasdale aka MasikaniCrocodile aka Crocodile of Happiness has taken her life after suffering from bipolar disorder. She was 27. She's home with Jesus now, God I miss her.
All her HP family are invited to the service Sunday night at 1897 Little Snowbird RD Robbinsville NC 28771. I would love to give and receive hugs from any of you who were touched by her poetry. Trust me, she was the most beautiful, kind, sincere, meek person you could ever know. She was my best friend since the day I was born and my heart is shredded on my knees crying Lord, Lord.
You can see pics and get some more of her writing at her facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/teejs?fref=ts
-Robbie Teasdale
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
"Teej" Julie Teasdale aka MasikaniCrocodile aka Crocodile of Happiness has taken her life after suffering from bipolar disorder. She was 27. She's home with Jesus now, God I miss her.
All her HP family are invited to the service Sunday night at 1897 Little Snowbird RD Robbinsville NC 28771. I would love to give and receive hugs from any of you who were touched by her poetry. Trust me, she was the most beautiful, kind, sincere, meek person you could ever know. She was my best friend since the day I was born and my heart is shredded on my knees crying Lord, Lord.
You can see pics and get some more of her writing at her facebook page:
https://www.facebook.com/teejs?fref=ts
-Robbie Teasdale
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
Pine needles in my head
Snowbird starts to fly
A want of apricity
Enters my blood stream
Like lukewarm sea water
Enters hiemal streams
I'm sprawled facedown
An angel or so
Below the snow
The taste of frost
Technically wintergreen
From your breathy kiss
Hinting at a return
To rays of affection
And the crush of limbs
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:10 AM UTC
this is the city
that my daddy built
inside of me
between my guts
where my heart should be.
what isn’t rusted
or burnt out
or tired
is barbed-wire and wary.
this is the city
that my daddy built
with his anger.
it’s set up high
on a hill of scissors and blood oranges
and blood oranges with scissors
inside of them,
red juice stains
in sticky pools and dirt.
this is the city that my daddy built
in our house.
in our home.
where the people are shadows,
speaking in whispers
tiptoeing behind closed doors
so as not to rouse the beast.
this is the city
that my daddy built
here we pay tithes in blood oranges
to humor his desires
warding off uncalled for bloodshed
like the time that I
finally stood up for myself
and he broke the kitchen table
with his fists.
it was an antique
that traveled with my great-grandmother
from Sweden,
now just another broken thing
in the landslide
of scissors
and blood oranges
and dirt.
this is the city
that my daddy built,
scarring my skeleton,
following me everywhere
like a spilled bottle of India ink
blacking out the finely drawn sun,
like past transgressions
follow the guilty,
like the golden touch of Midas,
turning everything into
a mountain of scissors and
blood oranges and dirt.
this is the city that
my daddy built,
making my concept of home
a depiction of ruins;
the vestiges of what
could have been
if we hadn’t lived
too close to his minefield,
before causing my mother
to take my sisters and leave
like a snowbird at the arrival of spring,
at last realizing that her spine
consisted of wings.
this is the city
that my daddy built.
this is the city that
scarred and weary,
shadows of skeletons of birds, we
will move on, leaving behind
brick by ***** brick
until it’s nothing but a memory
of a pile
of blood oranges
and scissors
and dirt.
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
With Winter's leave,
Comes Summer's cleave,
Gone are the days of downy reprieve,
I feel naïve,
For I dared believe,
That Snowbird wouldn't dare to deceive,
When it flew away one April eve.
Apr 1, 2025
Apr 1, 2025 at 5:11 PM UTC
I
Among ten thousand trees,
the transformation begins
with the blink of a snowbird.
II
Snowbirds live.
Snowbirds die.
Wing tips span
the seam between
egg and bone.
III
I baked my snowbird
in a pie; the oven wanted
something beautiful to eat.
IV
A nest is a clever home.
At night, house windows
shine like yellow puzzles
for the snowbird to solve.
V
I steal the notes
of the snowbird’s song,
shackle myself to the silence
that blooms between the notes.
VI
Abandoned women
in thrift store robes,
abandoned houses
warmed by bedroom fires—
the snowbird understands.
VII
The mouth of a snowbird
is small but mellifluous.
VIII
Children with dusty fingers
color sidewalks with chalk.
Snowbirds alight there and dip
their wings into an apocalyptic sun.
IX
When the snowbird departs,
the branches of the juniper
languish like bitter crescents of lime,
ice cubes melting in a glass of gin.
X
To decipher snowy syntax,
etch lines on a sheet of ice;
get on all fours and trace
snowbird tracks in snow.
XI
Rain is turning to sleet.
The snowbird is awake.
XII
She crosses her legs
on the velvet settee,
exhaling cigarette smoke
in rings across the room.
The ashtray is a crystal grave
of severed snowbird beaks.
XIII
It was winter all afternoon. Across the city,
chimneys are spilling snow into the sky.
A snowbird shivers in the fireplace.
I close my eyes and gather kindling.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 9:17 AM UTC
Snowbird in the snow
Two unique creations
Part 1
White owl white and pure
Sits and watches .....
falling snow. Quietly.
Snowflakes created uniquely
White, light and heavenly.
Falling down in winter frequently
It was then.....
Snowowl was born silently
Beautifully unique,
don’t know what to say.....
Both Precious creations
Natures art all the way
Part2
Spread your wings
white bird and fly
high into the night and thrive
fly up while snowflakes are falling down , falling down, falling down!
sky’s own created diamonds .
Majestic bird of wonder
Created so divine
Wings like from an angel
White as snow so fine
Part 3
When you look up into
night
and watch skies falling diamonds.
While Snowowl flying winter high
You’ll see a precious painting,
on this blue canvas called the sky
And God our holy painter .
Shell
🐚✨
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 12:08 PM UTC
You sure were in the moment
Monday when that opossum
Was laying on the garbage in
Your trash-day trash can, quite
An inconvenience when you're
Trying not to be late for work.
On Tuesday, you had a lot of
Questions for me when, on
Your commute, you saw that
Fawn lifeless on the side of the road.
Why is it that these moments
Make you present to me?
You come with doubting questions,
Ready to put me on trial
When every day I send you
Gifts of love even more
Real than the sting of death:
Did you notice the squirrel
Rushing back to her tree with
An apple the size of her head?
Could you see her there feeding
Her kits - born blind so they
Might learn to trust their maker?
Which reminds me, did you notice
The geese that flew over your head
While you were riding bicycles
With your wife? Were you listening
Carefully enough to translate their
Honking conversation? I remember
They were considering where they
Might stop to rest for the night.
After all, it is a long journey to their
Snowbird mansion - Hole number
Seven at Pinetree Country Club.
Are you present enough to notice
All the beauty, all the glory I've
Squeezed inside your every day life?
Open your eyes for a moment,
Unlock your ears and listen.
I promise you'll see the
Facets of who I really am.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
two men who i used
to know but who i
never knew knew each
other were sitting at
a window table as the
sky lightened to barely gray
both making a yearly pilgrimage
to the mountaintop stomping
grounds of when they were young
when they believed in revolutions
two ships momentarily run
a coffee ground on cold
october air and a well
buttered chance to catch up
"there's no replacement for family"
said the tall and pompous
actor with the demeanor of
a shark in a hawaiian shirt
"you can say that again"
replied the wiry bible
toting snowbird who used to
scramble around on roofs
somewhere through the
seven a.m. haze over my
conscious and the
florescent lampposts
the toaster popped up
two sesame bagels
*("yes there is"
i wanted to sc
ream "maybe
nobody's fou
nd it yet but t
here has got t
o be some kind
of substitute to
people who w
ill only cause
you pain for
your entire l
ife longer th
an anyone e
lse you'll e
ver know")*
let the doorbell
hurried goodbyes
of two rekindled
acquaintances
passing in the
morning fog
bring me back
to life
*(nothing's real anyway
surrounded by how
alone i really am in this
big world small cafe)*
let the rising smell
of espresso and the
bubbly hiss of 140
degree steamed milk
wake me up to something
i still can't put into words
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
Lust is toxic
sad and
hollow.
Love says
somebody else
throw the first stone.
I wonder what You're writing in the dust.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
Shifting through the snow
I don’t walk I fly
Passed the children
Passed the mothers
Passed the fathers
I’m not on their level
I don’t speak
I lay back and enjoy the ride
I let go and although I am flying my mind is not racing
I am fire
I am body and soul
Undetectable
On a mountain filled with white wallows
Marshmallows and trees that turn everything soft
I like soft things
I like flying
I don’t want to leave
I want to stay and lay here
In the clear and quiet atmosphere of the wilderness
Like Thoreau
Call me a dead poet
Call me a doctor
I only have one alter ego and it is a snowbird
Take me back to Utah
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
Yay! Some cold at last, and even a dusting of snow.
We moved back into the dorm—braving knife-like breezes—yesterday.
It was bracing and heroic - do I want it to warm up?
That’s a hard no.
let’s wax poetic..
Think not of winter as bleak
wrap your steely bones warmly, wear a cap
—for gelid wintertide can bind us together.
Midwinter is the time o' the year to be warm hearted,
to find a companion, a creature fair, a lass (or a manly man)
and suggest a more temperate snuggle— it can do no harm to try.
Think not of winter as bleak
make sweet use of flattery, and face cold’s embrace
likewise, cheek to cheek, with a warming and open heart.
.
.
Snowbird by Rani Arbo & Daisy Mayhem
We'll Sing In the Sunshine by Thornbirds
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
i saw a little snowbird as lovely as can be
sat upon a mountain top looking down on me
he flew down my side sat upon my knee
he was very friendly a friendly chap was he
then he began to sing very loud and strong
such a lovely melody to his little song
he had big brown eyes his feathers oh so white
he filled my heart with joy and filled me with delight.
when he finished singing his lovely melody
snowbird flew away and waved goodbye to me
its something i will treasure in my memory
for ever in my heart he will always be
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Dear Winter, you're leaving, and oh, how my heart hurts.
I panic as the balm of your dormancy
gives way to Spring's exuberant insistence on growth.
After Spring, Summer will saunter in
with her interminably long twilights and
loud cicada choirs.
Oh Winter, won't you transfix me again
with one of your powerful deep freezes ... or a silent snow shower ... or a glint of sun-kissed ice?
Cast once more your concealing blanket of snow and frost across the land ... blemishes be gone.
Indeed, as you fade away, I long for your return.
As you approach afresh, how my soul rejoices!
That first pure white winter flake of snow.
And then more, more, more … each one unique they say.
When you're around, my mind feels at peace
as I stroll down snow-covered streets and woody paths.
There's always a hint of magic mystery in the air,
secrets hanging amidst the ice-covered branches.
I marvel with a sense of wonder at what you'll reveal next:
a woodpecker working on a hollow tree,
a flash of cardinal red,
a twinkling ice droplet catching a sunbeam.
When you light up a lot of them, way up in the tree tops,
oh how they sparkle, an array of dazzling diamonds far finer than any man-made décor.
And what fun it is when you reveal the paw prints
of so many passers-by,
their curious patterns in the night and wee hours,
secret stories witnessed only by you.
Ah Winter, if I were a composer and the seasons a song,
I'd give spring and summer staccato quarters
to fall I'd give a half
but to you, Winter, a sustained whole.
If I were a snowbird, I'd follow you south ...
to a chilly Chilean climb or a frosty Australian hinterland.
But alas for now, my wings can't carry me that far.
And so I must wait patiently, intently, for your return,
watching for the signs, longing for the soothing forgiveness of your freezing temperatures,
the purifying baptism of that first arctic blast.
Though I may admire Spring's glory or bask in Summer's bright rays, rest assured they are passing fancies.
Even Fall, with his brilliant leaves and brisk breezes, is still a distant second to you.
These three are merely my constant companions until you return.
And so auf wiedersehen my dear Winter, my love.
I'll hold you in my memory until we are together again.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:04 PM UTC
A Snowbird’s Trip
Through Powdering snow flakes and cold wind
Rushing forward ahead of Jack Frost
This was certainly a race of endurance
to reach our paradise…..To avoid becoming his victoms
Freedom of Jack Frost’s Curse was the cost.
Past overcome victims
The odds were stacked.
We busted through Jack Frost’s Icy Wall
As to escape to a brighter destination..a war..
The first wave.. We attacked.
Jack struck back with all of his icy might..
However, the Snow Bird was too cunning….
We were upon strong wing
And blurred out of sight.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC