joybirdpoetry

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

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  • joybirdpoetry 3h

    I couldn't help myself. My lovely son is a house painter by trade, and he just finished painting my new fence. And in the middle of summer poor boy. It looks wonderful.

    #painter #miraquill #writersnetwork #writersbay

    Fence

    White white white green
    White white white green
    popsicle stick palings
    where shrubs had once been

    a straight picket line
    stretching down the yard
    white white white green
    the repitition gets hard

    three hundred palings
    three coats on each
    white white white green
    it seems out of reach

    the painter keeps painting
    white white white green
    popsicle stick palings
    where shrubs had once been

    the vast sky is blue
    and the summer sun bright
    but on and on he paints
    green white white white

    and finally it's finished
    the fence is now done
    white white white green
    and all for his mum.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

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    Fence

    White white white green
    white white white green
    popsicle stick palings
    where shrubs had once been

    a straight picket line
    stretching down the yard
    white white white green
    the repitition gets hard

    three hundred palings
    three coats on each
    white white white green
    it seems out of reach

    the painter keeps painting
    white white white green
    popsicle stick palings
    where shrubs had once been

    the vast sky is blue
    and the summer sun bright
    but on and on he paints
    green white white white

    and finally it's finished
    the fence is now done
    white white white green
    and all for his mum.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 2d

    Don't try to be a hero.

    Just try to be brave.

    There's a difference.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 3d

    #portrait #wod #miraquill #writersnetwork #writersbay Thank you #writersnetwork for the kind repost.

    Bonsai

    Do not let yourself
    grow
    do not unfurl
    your feather soft leaves
    that dither
    on slender
    horse hair stems
    of a hundred years.

    The windowsill
    stays dusty
    and the faucet drips
    the water
    makes its journey
    through old copper
    and out to sea
    I catch some drops
    in a Frozen glass
    to measure out
    some life.

    Let it go.

    Do not get hopeful
    you will reach
    amplification
    nobody hears
    your leaves unfurl
    in time lapse
    it is silent
    as you strain
    in artificial light
    to yawn.

    Let it go.

    Do not despair
    you will survive
    clipped and shaped
    at the hands of
    others
    change direction
    search for sun
    through tiny cracks
    incandescent
    your beating pulse
    it flows still.

    Let it flow.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

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    Bonsai

    Do not let yourself
    grow
    do not unfurl
    your feather soft leaves
    that dither
    on slender
    horse hair stems
    of a hundred years.

    The windowsill
    stays dusty
    and the faucet drips
    the water
    makes its journey
    through old copper
    and out to sea
    I catch some drops
    in a Frozen glass
    to measure out
    some life.

    Let it go.

    Do not get hopeful
    you will reach
    amplification
    nobody hears
    your leaves unfurl
    in time lapse
    it is silent
    as you strain
    in artificial light
    to yawn.

    Let it go.

    Do not despair
    you will survive
    clipped and shaped
    at the hands of
    others
    change direction
    search for sun
    through tiny cracks
    incandescent
    your beating pulse
    it flows still.

    Let it flow.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1w

    #friendship #miraquill #writersnetwork #writersbay

    Earthquake

    Feet planted firmly
    between the axis
    and the sun
    tectonic plates
    shifting
    a low grumble
    balanced
    upon your larynx.

    We spin like molecules.

    Two magpies
    searching for
    sustenance
    spearing beaks
    into moist earth
    feeling for vibrations
    where insects shelter
    beneath blades of grass
    that cut like glass
    our fragile bodies.

    The sun throws its voice
    drowning in sorrow
    casts long shadows
    towards eventide
    hungry wolves howl
    at the crescent moon
    and the earth moves
    infinitesimally
    as I cry out your name

    towards Heaven.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

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    Earthquake

    Feet planted firmly
    between the axis
    and the sun
    tectonic plates
    shifting
    a low grumble
    balanced
    upon your larynx.

    We spin like molecules.

    Two magpies
    searching for
    sustenance
    spearing beaks
    into moist earth
    feeling for vibrations
    where insects shelter
    beneath blades of grass
    that cut like glass
    our fragile bodies.

    The sun throws its voice
    drowning in sorrow
    casts long shadows
    towards eventide
    hungry wolves howl
    at the crescent moon
    and the earth moves
    infinitesimally
    as I cry out your name

    towards Heaven.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 1w

    Cocktail hour

    An old cocktail armchair
    of the finest quality
    made in London
    in the fabulous fifties
    a glamorous chair
    where men in velvet jackets
    sat drinking whiskey
    while smoking thin cigars
    and elegant women
    in pink chiffon
    sipped dry martinis
    legs crossed at the ankles
    as they politely discussed
    the finer points
    of Bridge
    and what a wonderful college
    their son was off to.

    And now seventy years later
    across the Tasman
    here in Australia
    tucked away in the corner
    of my blue walled bedroom
    springs sagging
    upholstery faded
    the grain in the wood
    darkened with age
    no glamour here
    just me
    unglamorous
    shorts and t-shirt
    bare feet
    I nestle down comfortably
    and get lost in my writing.

    This chair and I
    we have become
    close confidants
    as the ghosts of those
    who have sat in its seat
    whisper their stories
    into my ear
    giving up their secrets
    plumes of cigar smoke
    and the clink-clink of glasses
    in my peripheral vision
    the sound of tinkling laughter
    from across the room
    and cheers to you darling.

    I give a nod and a smile
    and answer back quietly

    cheers.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 2w

    Swinging from the high trapeze
    without a safety net

    hold on hold on do not let go
    the show's not over yet

    and as the crowd holds tight its breath
    and asks the question why

    you'll answer 'my darlings don't you see,

    I was always born to fly'.




    Fly high in 2022 everybody.

    Happy New Year.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 4w

    I Will Pause and Think of You

    When Christmas comes and the tree shines bright
    and the children can't sleep on Christmas Eve night
    when the family is gathered for the traditional fare
    and we reminisce of years past and wish you were there
    I will pause and think of you.

    When Mother's Day comes and the flowers are in bloom
    and the sweet scent of roses fills the room
    when my children make me my tea and toast
    and ask me which present I love the most
    I will pause and think of you.

    When Sundays come round and I'm having a lie in
    and I'm wondering what pleasures my day will bring
    when my children jump all over me in bed
    and my morning paper doesn't get a chance to be read
    I will pause and think of you.

    When my telephone rings on a rainy day
    and I've got just about a hundred things to say
    when I want to share all my thoughts and views
    and talk about all things exciting and new
    I will pause and think of you.

    When a good friend pops in for some company
    and we're sitting enjoying a nice cup of tea
    when we talk of things silly and foolish and fun
    and we laugh so hard that the tears start to run
    I will pause and think of you.

    When I sit alone quietly to reflect on my life
    am I a good daughter, a good mother, a good wife
    when the answer lies so easily within my reach
    and I know it is because I had you to guide me, to teach
    Yes Mum, I will always think of you.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

    Thinking of my beautiful mother this Christmas, gone but never forgotten.

  • joybirdpoetry 5w

    Colours of a Southern Land

    December is the colour
    of a billion grains of sand
    that stretch along the coastline
    of this our Southern land
    where ocean waves kiss beaches
    pristine in all their wonder
    they circumnavigate this Isle
    we've come to call Down Under.

    December is the colour
    of cathedrals in the sky
    where rocks and cliffs are ochre
    since millennia gone by
    where dreamtime animals in ancient art
    tell stories of their land
    and where traditional owners left their marks
    with imprints of their hands.

    December is the colour
    of the most amazing shades of blue
    where far horizons meet waterways
    in every single hue
    and though the summer rains fall gently
    storms rage fiercely in their might
    but blue reclaims its rightful place
    beneath a sun that shines its light.

    December is the colour
    of convection waves of heat
    where ribbons of tarmac shimmer
    down every road and street
    as swimming pools and waterholes
    offer cool relief from hottest days
    and the Pacific Ocean embraces those
    who swim beneath its waves.

    December is the colour
    of zinc cream upon your skin
    of pink galahs and lorikeets
    and watermelon dripping down your chin
    it's cricket games on Sundays
    and Christmas lights upon display
    it's a multicultural melting pot
    painted our own unique Australian way.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

    #coloursofdec #writersbay #writersnetwork #miraquill Great challenge, love it!

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    Colours of a Southern Land

    December is the colour
    of a billion grains of sand
    that stretch along the coastline
    of this our Southern land
    where ocean waves kiss beaches
    pristine in all their wonder
    they circumnavigate this Isle
    we've come to call Down Under.

    December is the colour
    of cathedrals in the sky
    where rocks and cliffs are ochre
    since millennia gone by
    where dreamtime animals in ancient art
    tell stories of their land
    and where traditional owners left their marks
    with imprints of their hands.

    December is the colour
    of the most amazing shades of blue
    where far horizons meet waterways
    in every single hue
    and though the summer rains fall gently
    storms rage fiercely in their might
    but blue reclaims its rightful place
    beneath a sun that shines its light.

    December is the colour
    of convection waves of heat
    where ribbons of tarmac shimmer
    down every road and street
    as swimming pools and waterholes
    offer cool relief from hottest days
    and the Pacific Ocean embraces those
    who swim beneath its waves.

    December is the colour
    of zinc cream upon your skin
    of pink galahs and lorikeets
    and watermelon dripping down your chin
    it's cricket games on Sundays
    and Christmas lights upon display
    it's a multicultural melting pot
    painted our own unique Australian way.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 5w

    Dim

    Hold on tight
    don't make a sound
    breathe in the dust
    stay close to ground

    breathe in the dust
    don't make a sound.

    Curl up quiet
    you're almost there
    breathe in the dust
    do not despair

    breathe in the dust
    you're almost there.

    Footsteps come
    they stop outside
    breathe in the dust
    from where you hide

    breathe in the dust
    they stop outside.

    A church bell rings
    it makes you cry
    breathe in the dust
    he'll pass you by

    breathe in the dust
    it makes you cry.

    Minutes pass
    your heart it races
    breathe in the dust
    and think of places

    breathe in the dust
    your heart it races.

    He calls your name
    don't say a word
    breathe in the dust
    you won't be heard

    breathe in the dust
    don't say a word.

    The footsteps leave
    the coast is clear
    breathe in the dust
    you still have fear

    breathe in the dust
    the coast is clear.

    You can come out now
    from where you lay
    breathe in the dust
    and make your way

    breathe in the dust
    from where you lay.

    A caliginous life
    it's time to leave
    breathe in the dust
    and do not grieve

    breathe in the dust
    it's time to leave.

    Breathe out the dust.

    Just breathe.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

  • joybirdpoetry 5w

    #weekendc #writersbay #writersnetwork #miraquill. It's Sunday night again. Where did the weekend go?

    Mirage

    I conjured up
    a sky so blue
    no other colour existed
    save for the whiteness
    of cotton ball clouds drifting
    like ghost jellyfish
    blooming
    to the the far horizon.

    I conjured up
    an ocean shimmering
    like 24 carats of gold
    that had travelled millions
    of sunbeam miles
    to warm the Pacific Ocean
    lapping
    at golden grains of sand.

    And just like that
    like a Friday illusionist
    moving the hands
    to four o'clock
    the weekend appeared
    from a dreary day
    beckoning
    to step into the space

    where the blue of the sky
    met the blue of the ocean

    and where a soul can rejuvenate

    just. like. magic.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry

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    Mirage

    I conjured up
    a sky so blue
    no other colour existed
    save for the whiteness
    of cotton ball clouds drifting
    like ghost jellyfish
    blooming
    to the the far horizon.

    I conjured up
    an ocean shimmering
    like 24 carats of gold
    that had travelled millions
    of sunbeam miles
    to warm the Pacific Ocean
    lapping
    at golden grains of sand.

    And just like that
    like a Friday illusionist
    moving the hands
    to four o'clock
    the weekend appeared
    from a dreary day
    beckoning
    to step into the space

    where the blue of the sky
    met the blue of the ocean

    and where a soul can rejuvenate

    just. like. magic.

    Joy
    ©joybirdpoetry