blue jay poetry is an experiment in free flow poems, written off the cuff. i will edit them…but i won’t edit them to death, or treat these poems as permanent fixtures that must become timeless. instead, i write them as tibetan prayer flags, in a passionate fervor, spontaneously, meant to send out love, and disintegrate with time, just as the body does….
this is all about leaving and coming (12/19/2016)
the buildings rise like majestic creatures from sturdy cement
against the nightgown blue sky rising a sun
causing fleshy pink to inhabit clouds…
i want to sing out loud but none of the old songs will do,
i am birthing out of isis like horus
cracking out of endless russian doll encasings
challenging even the buddha,
devoted most to the chaos moment swelled with new,
waiting for an open heart to pour forth into
untold stories held in the tenuous whiskers of a city rat
for some reason…
needing somebody to swoop down and scoop me
out like a sea bird diving into the wet unknown
carrying me away in his determined and hungry mouth,
old-me, dead as a city mouse…
sitting over a cup of something in a diner seat listening
to the snowy mountain give a message on repeat-
be easy as dew…be easy as dew…
i am contained by his fury like scalding licks of fire penetrating down
to the crystal bones holding untold stories of ancestral thrones
that told my ancestors they were not worthy-
served up on a plate, the cooked muscle of a tortured animal slathered in spices to lull the beast into abating her will
abate, young will, abate…(no more)
outside city walls i will breathe…i will breathe
clean air and sing songs to mountains, not buildings
his fury replaced by loving arms like warm fire licks tending
to a new story written in prose between her strokes
slathering fleshy paint onto canvas in the garage
inhabiting clouds of an inner soul no longer pushed down
by the domination of law, book or glory
softer than should and not in need of doing what is right
replaced by nature’s meandering unfolding…
letter to a friend on the metaphysical madness of our last meeting…
his words put a glow worm in my belly
lower intestine to be exact
if we all have an unconscious that is so deep and vast then how come we aren’t all loving one another?
the glow worm was born with that sentence, waking up inside me, he said he was here to love,
a creature from pan, which is the real earth!!!!!
(just like that, with many exclamation points.)
the class kept talking, we sit in one big circle, 20 of us, teacher sitting up front…
the glow worm needed to express itself bad
i finally shared him with the class and as i was speaking and shaking, i realized my hands were on my belly that was full
only like the full moon,
i wasn’t sucking it in, trying to look thin or perform persona sorcery. i felt at ease for the first time.
it’s cause of the glow worm.
a deeper sense of femininity returned to me, from the olden days back on mu…which is….pan….
the glow worm was forming in me all day and by night i was facilitating an exorcism. it’s these snake demons that attach to kids and grow up inside them, nourished by and wreaking havoc with their harvesting of shame.
i looked into the demons eyes and knew it. i knew it needed to go.
in the hallway of the bellevue business office, on the floor, while we were supposed to be doing some other exercise, we exorcised a demon from the soul.
off the cuff we both walked through the underworld into the upperworld as natural as could be,
came pouring through as palpable history, a story that is part fable, part myth, part faerie tale that dissolves into metaphor until it at last becomes a constellation, or remembers that it was born inside of one….
treasure. i struck gold
the glow worm made this all happen and he is growing up inside of me and he comes from the real earth!!!!!!
i also merged with pan a lot more over the course of our meeting. he showed up by forcing mucus out of me through a cold. he wants me to take him surfing or paddle boarding, he wants the sea, he is a bit of a surfer, oddly.
i’m gazing into a rainy pot hole of moon water, aware of how my ego is submerged in the waters of the unconscious. beautiful perceptions inundate me…
it’s the glow worm.
(my hand is tired from typing, but that’s the gist of the metaphysical madness of our last meeting)
Love Poem 777 3/08/2016
you call me love, you call me darling
i wake beside you every morning, rising
to put the coffee on, quietly moving
while you ready for the day
a picture of me rests on your desk to remind
you that today could be the last for at least one of us
we know that time goes fast and how to lose control
rattling the paintings of failure off the walls
our love is a tree that grows
polarized by leaves above and roots below
captured in the snags of ordinary lore
you call to see what i need from the grocery store
a dog lays across our feet in bed
against your warm chest, i rest the back of my head
you call me babe, you call me honey
we pool together all of our money
splitting up the hassles, doling out the chores
cooking up a revelry in our hearth fire home
filling up friends into the philosophical salon…
where thoughts rise high with incense smoke
before bodies enter humid darkness
your soul diving into mine like a hungry whale
putting moonlight in my belly before
daytime drops down her sun soaked veil
coloring our vital differences
contrasting traits housed in different skin
planting sacred purpose into earth’s dream
making our grand plans before leaving
weaving together and apart like dna strands
giving and receiving as equals
a clear mirror seizes our infinite reflection
dancing through chaos, juggling the falls
eroding gently into wrinkles and companions
devotion bidding the richest treasure
as the light of lesson’s loss
turns to bright green moss crawling
up our ancient trunk…
Family Tree Seizing Me 02/15/2016
my healers and many of my closest friends
are invisible to the human eye
living inside unconscious chaos soup they emerge
from a russian tea cup of ancient ancestors i sip from
after being instructed to write a paper about who i am
based upon my family tree, bloodline, culture,
and how i was affected environmentally…
in this soup i simmer with him the abuser and him the hitter
he who touched me wrong along with three others,
she who knew but kept quiet to keep up the good girl cover
a snake inside the mouths of stiff shirted men
brushing up against tired pleats covering untanned legs
the winding road backward scattered with paper clips and kitchen tin
feeling us while listening to neil finn,
his voice healing deep something primal within that
reason could never nurture with her sharp mirrored blades…
sometime you gotta nestle in the petals and trees, who listen in quietly
to the tragic trunks of human hearts wailing like forgetting elephants
how subliminal voices moan in the night beneath
incessant thoughts of cracked open restless western minds…
stop it from happening, let me grieve, give me time
to rest, sweat, and seethe, hungry and exhausted,
inside the tender marrow of history holding up
his skeletal story-making factories creating repeats,
shadow soup fueling false fire underneath every nicety
yes sir and thank you please,
mr jones masking the magical fallen mephistopheles
i dunno…ghosts, tragedy, traps, intensity,
this too shall pass-get back to painting and go to bed,
after slipping into sheets of minimizing…
Death and the Duke 2/09/2016
i want the body, the sun, the mouth, tears
rebellion against the sanctuary of reason,
carved out of years, sculpted into this body-
i spit upon you, reason!
like the dead duke full of himself… who am i?
what personality has seized me tonight,
crawling out sopping wet from the sea of the unconscious?
a man who relates to my longing,
died in 1878 in the war,
young and newly married to the girl
who put color in his cheeks, taste in his thoughts
flavoring the world semi-sweet-
“but not just that,” he says, swinging his baton around,
talking loud, adorned in a red coat with badges,
“i shouldn’t have died no matter what!” he yells
to an unseen crowd, heart needing ten thousand
imagined lives to listen to his shout…
i get it, honorable soldier,
you come to me as i sit here on this red couch
feeling injustice lightening strike every cell
killing the static garden inside, causing me to fall…
but there is no bottom
“i know,” he whispers in gentle recognition,
suddenly not the soggy sorrowful man dredged up
from the deep lost and lonesomeness,
but turned into a string of pearls, a kaleidoscope, a tapestry…
come to me,
wanting his wet ocean angry self to return home
“can you help, please,” he asks?
man, what i need right now is to just be an animal, don’t you see?
i rave, trying to pull my foot out from the other side,
and avoid the grave
oh the injustice! i bellow,
swinging my words around like his lead baton
feeling grief for the factory of lives now passed on,
of which i am moving toward all along…
this moment never to be retrieved again,
work never done, plans turned to dust, dreams decayed
into learned helplessness like rust on old silverware…
nodding his curly hair yes yes yes he says,
“you and me are one in the same,
two characters placed in chairs across the the table of the living,
talking reason in an endless play
trying to make time stop on a dimly lit stage.”
truth, man, i relay
standing up like a blade,
facing a perked audience
noble and brave…
an ending to act one, i command!
without reason, sudden loss of luscious
lips tears, jobs, wars, illnesses, and relationships
bitter death squawking on the fake leather couch
facing the faceless void
behind the living room shelf…
Helen, this Poem is for you… 1/23/16
you know what i wanna know, helen?
if it’s possible to enjoy life no matter what’s happening?
she told me to immediately write this question down
i saw blue jay poetry in my mind
here is empirical truth of that,
solid boy with feet stuck in the metal core of thinking
earth says different.
telling me the bulk of her is not even visible,
with all her colors and sass, oh i can feel that…..
i can feel her spirits swirling around and the sing
song cackle of the hyena knowing mystery like this,
should never be figured out
life brings me a bowl of cherries,
but let’s make them strawberries instead
strawberries slow time down,
making me forget for a second that i’m already dead,
causes time’s an illusion nothing is permanent,
the mind make delusions….i got mine too
silly images swallowed while reading the diaries of anais nin
and henry miller’s all absorbing “sexus”
it’s something i have to go on,
whose lives are not my own yet their souls
breathe a part of me, cause you see
oneness is real at the top, but as you distill oneness down
he turns into a very specific personality, flower, single cell bacteria, sound
you name it, and it’s here for a limited time only….
earth names it and it’s here for thousands of years…
she clears the way for us to embrace the temporary inside
the ceaselessness, that feeling of endless falling
with no ground
the juicy meat inside the coconut
the mundane pinning down the profound
anyhow, helen…. can i?
Nervous for Summertime 12/21/2015
when change comes with the wind your body knows it,
legs turn sturdy to hold you in place as relations change around you
hips dance in circles to get you in tune with a hungrier rhythm…
lips curve up and down, then up, then down, cause life as you know it is losing
its grip, like you got no thumbs to hold it together anymore-
and since you’ve become useless, it feels like… wtf, jump!
when change comes the heart feels it
you tremble, skip beats, dig for love in craiglist ads looking
for apartments, jobs, men, beaches, salves, treasures, completions…
an ice cream sunday gets eaten in a little island diner, talking to your
friend, not yet dreaming of the right place…
have you ever watched a turtle for long?
time is a perception, much like the strings of a violin are only sung
by hands that know how to play them…
this night’s gonna be long, so it goes down in the memory
but too many long nights make them fade into one.
you know change is coming when you forget things
such as what day it is, and what you call a person who predicts the future
you forget if the water got turned off….
breakfast loses the ability to comfort you when you open your eyes
cause you know these will be the last sunrises to see out of this particular
window: to the….
soul and your secrets. the dharma you fly like a kite with little hands in
making sure to keep it light when the pain floods in,
but change wont let you go, so
the pain vanishes as quickly as it gushed in…
no more drowning in blue thoughts and getting lost in constant myriads
over and over and over again,
this ebb and flow no longer a friend
no more uphill battles to walk, you’ve tossed your anger to the wind…
time for something new
a pink flamigo, turquoise sarong, fresh fruit
air like healing jelly and
salty water cleansing you on the other side of this familiar world.
Can you say that again, Rain? 12/7/15
grey sky, sunlight, thunderstorm, wind, and snow
you just never know what the morning wakes you with
inside or outside this shell of a body, or both…
spirit contained inside the flesh, as my very breath,
will consistently inhale and exhale as me, until breath ceases…
causing my body to become the shell that once housed michelle
which is weird you know.
weird that, how i feel is not just the spirit being breath…
and also, not just the body producing a system of chemicals,
but a combination of both.
you can’t have one without the other…
this is how i’d love to feel about a lover,
if i could make it so…
not a husband, not a father…but a man
otherwise known as osiris, guardian of the world i call home…
dreams percolate this way on purpose….
some of us are champagne…amethyst…ruby…
while others are the bread made from earnest hands,
early in the morning…
a pack of pups will show you so!
how the breed mixes with breath, sewing together a temporary temperament…
love your life, cause it’s here for one show only…
is your’s a competition?
how to obtain happiness in three easy steps.
step one, fry some fish you caught in a pan
i know you can’t understand the same way i can…
this me/you thing.
this individual nature each one of us has…
well, that gives an artist a large array of choices from which to paint with-
many colors, many strands…
be it enemy, customer, boss, spouse, child, nanny, aunt, fantasy, or friend-
i am rambling,
this kind of talk has no end
turn off the sky faucet
but the moon’s thirsty again…
The Abyss 9/15/15
it’s an endless falling into colors and stars, leaving me not human-
unable to work, create, dress, eat from a plate, have relationships, have a name…
it’s a woman alone leaning up against a granite wall, smelling of rot and oil,
listening in on conversations through a vibrant window bedecked with candles…
i can caw at it like a crow and make it stay the fuck away from me
but it’s always lurking like a gravitational force unable to go…
this is why i tread lightly with as much love in my breast as will fit because
that’s the only way i can successfully get rid of it…
that rat racing through the subway underground, intent on finding scraps to stay
alive in the humid orange underworld most would call some kind of hell…
and the moon dragging her ass across the bulbous earth in circles forever, never
getting anything in return but gobs of poems from witchy girls…
my oh my what to do with this void that walks with me wherever i go, acting
like he don’t know….like he’s all that, as if one day i’ll merge into him and lose
myself, be the death, a final act…food for the rest of his days…
yeah, i can go into that kinda daze…a sucker for the weather of discontent…
but the true abyss is not this, my friend…(whispers blue jay)…
those stars and that light, the lack of physical containers, dollars, skin, cemeteries, marriages, bottles, intoxication, libraries, theories, meanings of life sitting on the fence waiting for their rides into the minds of fearful shaking people, the flashlights of the universe…all running on low batteries-
i could swallow them all up and spit them out again, re-birthed and gorgeous (gloats the glowing abyss….)
the writer of this poem is feeling humbled.
abyss, i honor you….enter my cells, find residence in my foreverness and a plain ole day…
have it your way.