joybirdpoetry

Walking the twisting and turning path of life, trailing words behind me so that you might follow

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  • joybirdpoetry 13h

    Heart for rent

    I advertised my heart
    it had a full vacancy
    you responded to my ad
    you had a free heart to rent
    and the rest ...
    is a brand new history



    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1d

    Vacation blues

    Dear Australian sky

    I am writing to you from the edge
    of the lonely cliffs of Cornwall
    where the ocean throws up waves
    like an angry mistress
    cheated by a horizon
    that refuses to endear.

    Porpoise coloured clouds
    are slow moving ballistics
    nudged along by turbulent winds
    that entrap my holiday dreams
    and rain as sharp as splinters
    pierce beneath my ill-fated skin.

    How I long for a celestial blue sky
    and clouds as white as a bridal veil
    at a sunny springtime wedding
    and where birds glide on a vortex
    of warm currents that feel like October.

    Dear Australian sky.

    Wish you were here.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry


    #postcard #writersnetwork #writersbay #miraquill

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    Vacation blues

    Dear Australian sky

    How I long for a celestial blue sky
    and clouds as white as a bridal veil
    at a sunny springtime wedding
    and where birds glide on a vortex
    of warm currents that feel like October.

    Dear Australian sky.

    Wish you were here.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 3d

    Wild weather

    I want you to love me with the intensity
    of a three o'clock thunderstorm
    that strips the leaves from trees
    until they stand naked and vulnerable
    from the wildness of its passion.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

    #storm #writersnetwork #writersbay #miraquill

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    Wild weather

    I want you to love me with the intensity
    of a three o'clock thunderstorm
    that strips the leaves from trees
    until they stand naked and vulnerable
    from the wildness of its passion.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 3d

    #refrain #pod #writersnetwork #writersbay #miraquill. The moral of this story is that good things DO happen to those who wait!

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    The long wait

    I waited for the wonderful
    whilst sitting at the bus stop
    staring at the big lemon billboard
    that insisted I drink Limoncello
    and I contemplated buying myself a bottle
    but I didn't want to miss my ride.

    I waited for the wonderful
    stripped down to my underwear
    in the department store change room
    trying to squeeze into skinny jeans
    I struggled to get over my thighs
    no matter how much I sucked in my tummy.

    I waited for the wonderful
    standing at the counter
    of my local municipal library
    checking out Bridget Jones's Diary
    and a couple of self-help books
    to read when waiting for the bus.

    I waited for the wonderful
    walking past the sporting fields
    where little kids kicked footballs
    my insane dog dragging me along
    as the moon and Venus hung together
    in a sky the colour of night and day.

    I waited for the wonderful
    as I hung washing on the clothesline
    my old pyjamas and brand new jeans
    colour matching my clothes pegs
    red red blue blue green green
    (though blue and green should never be seen).

    I waited for the wonderful
    running along the old wooden pier
    where fishermen sipped coffee from flasks
    as their wives sat beside them reading
    Fifty Shades of Grey secretly longing
    for a little ooh la la every once in a while too.

    I waited for the wonderful
    in the fruit and vegetable section
    as I mulled over what bananas to buy
    tired toddlers throwing tantrums
    because they wanted a lollipop or biscuit
    or Frozen doll or potato. Potato?

    I waited for the wonderful
    strolling through the marketplace
    stalls selling plants and Skullcandy clothes
    rockabilly music blaring out
    from an old Mustang convertible
    a Jimmy Dean lookalike behind the wheel.

    I waited for the wonderful.
    I waited for such an awfully long time.

    And then you appeared.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 4d

    Canola love

    Against the backdrop
    of yellow canola fields
    we planned our escape
    to the mighty Emerald City
    where the only canola
    came in plastic bottles
    for three ninety-five
    in up-sized supermarkets
    bigger than our whole town
    put together, mayor and all.

    Neither of us could cook
    (or keep house, for that matter)
    so the bottle of canola oil
    sat idle in the pantry
    and the bed we made love in
    rarely got made, a sign perhaps
    that the tumultuous beginning
    would lead us down the road
    to our tumultuous end.

    You wanted your cake
    made with a pound of butter
    insisting that I make some coin
    while making mac and cheese
    which ultimately always burned
    on the dinky little stovetop
    while I attempted to Hoover
    our arguments out of the rug.

    The ring around the bathtub
    increased in circumference
    as the ring of smug satisfaction
    that we had managed to get out
    of that tiny farming town
    diminished in circumference -
    you longed for your mother's cooking
    and I longed to throw the Hoover
    at your fat egotistical head.

    Homesick for my family
    and tired of pretending to be
    little Miss Marvellous housewife
    I left you sleeping crumpled up
    underneath the eiderdown,
    climbing into my little Gemini
    to make my bold escape
    away from the Emerald City
    driving through the day until
    the vast blue sky collided
    with fields the colour of sunshine
    and I knew that I was home.

    And you know what?
    Just like those endless canola fields
    I thought that love would last forever.

    But it turns out I was wrong.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

    #end #pod #writersnetwork #writersbay #miraquill

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    Canola love

    driving through the day until
    the vast blue sky collided
    with fields the colour of sunshine
    and I knew that I was home.

    And you know what?
    Just like those endless canola fields
    I thought that love would last forever.

    But it turns out I was wrong.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 5d

    Torrent

    The rain is falling

    it teems from my eyes
    like synchronised swimmers
    that danced in the pools
    of my blue irises.

    The rain is falling

    flooding through my capillaries
    surging, like a perigean king tide
    that fills the lakes and estuaries
    in early spring.

    The rain is falling

    I try to catch the leaks
    in battered saucepans
    and rusty old pails
    that once held cheerful daffodils.

    The rain is falling

    rising floodwaters of melancholy
    swirl around my ankles
    too late to get to higher ground
    I throw my anchor down.

    The rain is falling

    but as the sun slants through
    between cracks in the windowpane
    you take my hand and lay with me
    in the puddles of my turbulent heart

    and be my weatherman.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1w

    #randomthought #pod #evensong #writersbay #writersnetwork #miraquill

    Evensong

    Tonight the air vibrates with the sound
    of ten thousand cicadas orchestrating
    a springtime mating ritual /

    the rain that falls in bad-tempered bursts
    quibbles with the thunderclaps
    that stirred it from its cloudland slumber /

    and the Nightjars chant their vespers
    from the branches of the great Norfolk Pine
    whose roots bed down into the earth /

    and anchors down the eventide
    piece on earth
    peace on earth.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

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    Evensong

    Tonight the air vibrates with the sound
    of ten thousand cicadas orchestrating
    a springtime mating ritual /

    the rain that falls in bad-tempered bursts
    quibbles with the thunderclaps
    that stirred it from its cloudland slumber /

    and the Nightjars chant their vespers
    from the branches of the great Norfolk Pine
    whose roots bed down into the earth /

    and anchors down the eventide
    piece on earth
    peace on earth.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1w

    What is silver?

    It's the threads in your hair
    that speak of a journey
    the young are yet to take

    each hard earned strand
    a beautiful reminder
    of all life's struggles

    you have triumphed over.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

    #mondo #pod #writersnetwork #writersbay #miraquill

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    What is silver?

    It's the threads in your hair
    that speak of a journey
    the young are yet to take

    each hard earned strand
    a beautiful reminder
    of all life's struggles

    you have triumphed over.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1w

    Fox

    Where are you going red?

    Mr Fantastic you loiter
    plan your daring escapade
    crouched against the tattood ink
    of a moonless night
    two green eyes glowing
    like oxidised uranium glass
    a night watchman with bushy tail
    and a cat burglar cunning.

    Where are you going red?

    You softly tip-toe tip-toe
    lift your whiskers to the wind
    and listen with your sonar
    an extraterrestrial visitor
    on an interplanetary expedition
    memorising fault lines
    beneath your softly padded paws.

    Where are you going red?

    Does a vixen hide beneath the earth
    pressed warm against the soil
    waiting for your shift to end
    her senses finely tuned
    small ears twitching
    to the exquisite sound
    of you catching her supper?

    Where are you going red?

    Will you grieve this night
    once it is over?

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

    #patheticfallacy #pod #imagery #writersbay #writersnetwork #miraquill

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    Fox

    Where are you going red?

    Mr Fantastic you loiter
    plan your daring escapade
    crouched against the tattood ink
    of a moonless night
    two green eyes glowing
    like oxidised uranium glass
    a night watchman with bushy tail
    and a cat burglar cunning.

    Where are you going red?

    You softly tip-toe tip-toe
    lift your whiskers to the wind
    and listen with your sonar
    an extraterrestrial visitor
    on an interplanetary expedition
    memorising fault lines
    beneath your softly padded paws.

    Where are you going red?

    Does a vixen hide beneath the earth
    pressed warm against the soil
    waiting for your shift to end
    her senses finely tuned
    small ears twitching
    to the exquisite sound
    of you catching her supper?

    Where are you going red?

    Will you grieve this night
    once it is over?

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1w

    Heather

    I felt the damp beneath the ground
    as I lay down among the heather /

    and the drops of morning dew
    balanced on the fingertips
    of each fine blade of grass
    like tiny acrobats
    waiting to fall upon my tongue /

    they smelled like the heath in mid July /

    and tasted like chamomile
    in late September.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry