life

Blue Jay

He visits me in the mornings
and late afternoons,
this Blue Jay.
He sits in the branch of the tree
outside my window and
sings sweetly, mellifluously.
His feathers are a palette
of blues and whites:
a deep ocean mixed
with piercing blue skies
and fluffed up clouds.

He visits me in the mornings
and late afternoons,
this Blue Jay.
I give him some food
and put out some water.
He loves the water –
washes himself with it,
ruffles up his feathers
and shakes the water all over him:
he always makes me smile.

He visits me in the mornings
and late afternoons,
this Blue Jay.
He is the beauty among the chaos
in my world, in this world,
but each day he renews my hope.
When I see him sitting there
my heart swirls
and life doesn’t seem so meaningless.

He visits me in the mornings
and late afternoons,
this Blue Jay.
I hope he never leaves
and keeps coming back
to sing his sweet songs
to satisfy my heart that longs.

Advertisements

Mortal

So it goes:
Life.
In out.
Nothing turned to something
and becomes nothing again,
legacies fade too…
There is hope
in knowing our diseased ideas
die too.
Eventually.
Pink girls;
blue boys.
Are these lies fixed?
Can we escape?
Are we stuck on this island?
Surrounded,
clueless.
Existentialism consoles us:
all we have are thoughts –
theories
to try control.
Adrift at sea;
deep waters,
shallow thoughts.
The waves rock the boat
and we rock along too.

Chocolate & Morphine: Satire of Society

The faded white paint peels perniciously
from these haunting hospital hallways…
Wards filled with beds filled with bodies filled with sickness:
a stitch in time saves none.

Disinfectant (the omnipresent ghost)
saunters around like a drunk,
making sure to get noticed by all.
Helium-filled GET WELL SOON! balloons
limply deflating among deflated bodies wearing
weathered blood-stained gowns.

Plump bags filled with clear liquids
stand slumped beside bedsides:
IV transfusions transfusing HIV?
Needles, catheters and antigens
hopelessly fighting these pervasive pathogens.

Death strolls around (cane in hand)
carefree and calm,
handing out chocolate & morphine
(accepted without heed).
He alone gets to laugh last.

Staccato beeps echo like wretched weeps &
hearts murmur their mumbles,
drowning among these malicious maladies.
Society?
Critical but stable.

Butterflies

Sweet creation
flittering above the river &
between the overgrowth,
floating, naïve to these contemplations.
Explosions of noise on those fragile wings;
the air tastes of dark blue misery.
Yet you’re so peaceful
in the Garden of Eden
before the Fall of Man…
Before Man became man.
Come here, sweet beauty!
Stay a while.

No, don’t try escape my clasp!
Here, let me
tear
those wings off!
Let me tear up.
Death begets Life;
Life begets Death.

Fly now, sweet thing, fly now!

my Parents

they raised me not to take
but to give where ever possible
my Parents
gave me everything i needed
i did not have to ask
my Parents
did not raise me with the back of their hands
but with the love in their hearts
my Parents
taught me to be helpful
and loyal to what I do
my Parents
were never inconsistent with their love
so neither am i with mine because
my Parents
taught me to have a mind and heart
before an ego or agenda
my Parents
will never leave me
even when they pass
my Parents
are the reason i will be a good parent
and my children will owe it to
my Parents
have made me into me
and i thank them
my Parents

Splinters

I give my hand
You stare at it
Green eyes meet look away
Nobody is perfect
I know
But I’m here for you
Don’t you see?
You can’t
You’ve turned the
Other way.
I tried to carry
Your cross with you
But you’d rather
Let it fall
And break into

Splinters.

Maybe heroes aren’t real
After all.
Maybe the cross we carry
Will be the last weight
That weighs down our
Hopelessly lost purpled souls.

Do I love you?

Well?
The answer?
The answer:

Sitting on a creaky wooden bench
beside a small lake
motionless
eyes fixed in a trance
a tear
one
then another

A ceiling midnight blue
a bed beneath
spotlit by the silver moon
crinkled sheets
silent tremors
then sleep

Red rose water droplets
fragranced
thorns lots of thorns
green thorns
on this red rose
dropped

trampled
pushed aside

Love?
Yes
I know it
I know it well.

Exit Here?

I want to fit out
but I can’t escape
the twisty smoke and cool alcohol.
I’m so unique like you
and you and you.
Mirrors always tell me what they tell you.
My Insta is a flood of what gets likes
and my tattooed infinity sign is finite
on this skin.
I want to fit out
but friends keep making me:
they hold me high…
The parties aren’t fun,
the clubs play music that sells by formula,
the beat of it all is always the same.
Day in and out
mom and dad don’t talk:
whose parents do?
I want to fit out
but Disney has me hooked
singing frozen melodies I can’t let go.
And my bank account
is as low as me.
I want to fit out,
help me out the window:
I know it’s cliché but I want to leave.
I don’t want to be a statistic.
I just want to fit out.

I weep

“All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.”
– George Orwell, Animal Farm

I weep:
I weep because we see skin
before we see circumstance;
I weep because we’re weak,
and I weep because we think we’re strong.
I weep because it feels like
equality is an ideal;
I weep because Orwell was right.
I weep because we’ve forgotten how to laugh;
I weep because our index fingers grow
and our hearts shrink.
I weep because I don’t feel like I belong;
I weep because democracy
is not about the people;
I weep because politics
are about personalities,
and I weep because freedom
does not mean we’re free.

I weep because this is how I feel…

Welcome

They wipe their muddy feet
on the WELCOME mat at the door.
Enter.
Money in their pockets;
guns in their minds.
Secrets as bullets
waiting to kiss someone’s insides.
Tailored suits and fresh crimson roses
in buttonholes.
Hedonistic intentions kept in place (for now)
by tight-fitting waistcoats.
Expensive white smiles
smouldering holes in soft sofas:
even if they noticed, they wouldn’t care.

This is the way the world works the world works the world works
this is the way the world works oh em gee!

This is the world:
formal, fake.