Wild Fowl
It lay there on the ground, this meaty
red plumaged bird, hit by shot-gun
pellets and still alive looking at me
with a steady gaze expecting nothing.
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. “
Words spoken by a TV evangelist who
was fond of prostitutes and was found
out, but they were also an echo of a time
when faith came easy and was untested.
With a stone I ended a broken winged
life, The bird lost its light, white eyelids,
the silence that bound us together was
broken by nature… so noisy in spring.
Don’t Give Up…
… because I am.
Punching In
I could write you a long, long letter, but I
wouldn’t know where to begin and I
wouldn’t know how to end, so
instead I won’t write any letter at all.
Still I look, every day, for some word
from you, anything at all, the smallest hint,
anything I could possibly stretch and contort and construe . . .
It’s a sad, ridiculous way to waste my time, it’s true, but
it’s something I feel I’m obliged to do —
like walking down to the factory every morning
and punching my time card, even though
I don’t work there anymore; haven’t for over six years.
Monday Morning
When I opened the kitchen door the fridge
had an attack of the shakes then feel into
dejected stillness which bayed in my ears.
To break this force of nothingness I spoke
and sounded like a wounded duck and
the beer bottle held in a clammy hand fell
with a foamy splash on the floor; wordless
fear…why me?
The fridge rattled again but there was
nothing of worth on its shelves other than
bacon, eggs, cheese…Stop, I feel sick.
Turned on the tap and fat maggots dripped
into my glass, that too ended on the floor;
fled, outside people starred at me because
I was dressed in a red bathrobe with Hotel
Astor stamped on the back.
The White Mare
the incoming tide made an island out of
the sand bank where I sat, king for a day
made a crown of coarse grass
but since I only ruled over a few crabs, who
bit my finger when I shook their claws, I
renounced my crown and swam ashore
sanitation workers, in blued overalls and
logo, heckled me since I was not like them
and they made fun of my crown
on an incoming wave a white mare came
bareback I mounted and gently the horse
trotted amongst the awestruck workers
Help Her?
Will you help her understand herself?
Talk her through what goes on in her life?
Give her meds and help her out?
Or take her away and isolate her?
Will you help her understand herself?
She needs to be cared for
She can’t help the way she is
She didn’t choose to be this way
Or did she?
She doesn’t know for sure
So will you help her understand herself?
[x] Danielle Joy [x]
[c] April 27, 2004
Our Discontent
The day after the first morning
alone in a flat
of discontent
I looked out and saw a butterfly
with rainbow dust on its wings;
I let it in and it circled around
till we both were inside
a kaleidoscope and first night alone
when I could hear you breathing beside me
and could feel the warmth of your
thigh against mine…and I knew it was a dream;
was easier to bear.
Within The Circle
Around the burned down stable, near
the oak that was struck by lightening,
there is a silence within the stillness.
I can hear screams of stabled mules
running in circles trampling each other
into a bloody mass and falling beams.
within the circle sheltered by whispering
leaves I can hear rattling of chains and
the forest afar sings of endless sorrow.
This Day
This day is filled with black and white
This day is deep like the hole in its soul
This day is beginning like a new-born child
This day is cold like the air on a winter’s day
This day is lost, counting from one to two
This day is long, so tired and weak
This day is good, with people smiling at you
This day is bad, so sad and stressed out.
This day hates you, it hates me too
This day likes to be shiny, not grey and blue
This day hates losing and being without
This day likes choosing and having no doubt
This day didn’t know that it would die
This day isn’t the same if you lie
This day can’t control whether it’s rainy or bright
This day doesn’t think ti should be without light.
This day is inspired
This day is expired
This day is so close, but yet
This day is as far as it can get
This day is now or never
This day is right
This day is wrong,
Nobody knows
This day is gone.
[x] Danielle Joy [x]
[c] April 27, 2004
Beans
The devil sat in my car I tried
to keep him in; traffic control
an officer opened the door, but
quickly slammed it shut, alas,
too late the devil escaped in a
haze leaving behind the pong
of rotten eggs.
