Blue Jay Poetry

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….

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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, 

set free…

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

no words!

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

soldier vanished

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

summertime

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?

chapter 2:

how to obtain happiness in three easy steps.

step one, fry some fish you caught in a pan

just kidding-

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.

i do.