Before the war
bluejays were just bluejays,
then the missiles arrived.
CNN displayed the mounting death count
until it too was obliterated.
Scorched bodies tumbled listlessly,
down deserted streets.
Some took to the sewage systems,
down there in the narrow dark,
rats were frolicking,
paws were pitter-pattering,
and they whirred and cackled
just like Bluejays.
blue jays perch on wire
waiting for their chance to eat
staying out of harms way
Ok
Ok
Ok
Blue Jay
With your blue “wheedlewee” and “tooltool”,
Blueberry in beak
Blue sky in full peak
Tweet your blue wheedlewee and tooltool
Crows, bluejays and pigeons
talk this morning. Closest we come
to wilderness here. Autos screech
and sirens scream. Only 7 a.m.
My fat belly and possible cancer
worry me. With a few months
to live, I'd search the wilderness
for some wisdom I missed. Or
plain beauty of natural randomness.
Knowing that, why do I remain
in health? I must devote my
present to my future existence.
The bluejays complain long after
everyone else is silent.
Love and friendship need the body
and society. You belong, you want
to belong, three days in wilderness
and you gladly return to
lovers' arms and plumbing.
But one day you die. And this
is the ideal independence you sought.
This death is the pristine aloneness,
the untouched wilderness and
freedom from necessity! And
it is certain. You do not save
for it. You do not worry that
you may miss your opportunity.