"The Sparrow In My Head"
"The Sparrow in my Head"
There is a little sparrow in my head that likes to cause a mess.
It distracts me with its shrill screeching
that bounces against and vibrates my skull.
It flaps its tiny wings and causes a flurry in my head, like a feral hurricane.
It drills against my brain and causes pulsing migraines
and sometimes it nips at my eyeballs.
There is a little sparrow in my head
Shackled and caged behind bars of steel.
It is bruised,broken and battered
And its wings are clipped.
To set it free somebody will have to crack open my skull.
"It's not fair", cries the sparrow.
"Oh but it is fair", I reply,
"Just like, a head for a head,
a tail for a tail,
an eye for an eye,
and your freedom for mine."
The little sparrow gives a sad chirp and droops its wee head.
"Do not despair, little bird", I consol,
"One day you'll be able to fly,
high above, higher than the sky.
For just like in the circle of life,
the day your life begins,
is the day mine ends.
So chin up and wait some more,
just a little more time."
There is a little sparrow in my head that weeps tears of patience.
There is nothing else it can do.
~Me
*Inspired by Bluebird by Charles Bukowski*
More Posts from Useless12sstuff and Others
October is my empire. Terror is part of me. 一 Tamura Ryūichi
1. Alfonsina Storni, 2. Cy Twombly, 3. William Stanley Merwin, 4. Cy Twombly, 5. Virginia Woolf, 6. Jorge Albericio, 7. Gala Mukomolova, 8. Andrei Tarkovsky, 9. Czesław Miłosz, 10. Andrei Tarkovsky, 11. Thomas Wolfe, 12. Andrei Tarkovsky, 13. Louise Glück
Tired, ancient soul,
What secrets do those eyes hide
That you shelter so close to your chest
A chest that is bursting at the seams
With raw anguish,
But beautiful soul
Pain isn't meant to last
And neither is happiness
These fleeting emotions
Hold not tight to them
Because the only immortal here
Is You
~Me
SOMEONE TAGGED ME IN THIS AND I-
“The Strongest Of The Strange”
you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they are not.
those odd ones, not many
but from them come
the few good paintings
the few good symphonies
the few good books
and other works.
and from the best of
the strange ones perhaps
nothing.
they are their own
paintings
their own
books
their own
music
their own
work.
sometimes I think
I see them – say
a certain old
man sitting on a
certain bench
in a certain way
or
a quick face
going the other way
in a passing
automobile
or
there’s a certain motion
of the hands
of a bag-boy or a bag-girl
while packing supermarket groceries.
sometimes
it is even somebody
you have been
living with
for some time –
you will notice a
lightning quick
glance never seen
from them before.
sometimes
you will only note
their existance suddenly
in vivid recall
some months
some years
after they are
gone.
I remember
such a one –
he was about
20 years old
drunk at 10 a.m.
staring into a cracked
New Orleans mirror
facing dreaming
against the walls of
the world
where
did I
go?
~Charles Bukowski
“(Isn’t memory often about loneliness?)”
— David Bottoms, from “Black Horses,” Otherworld, Underworld, Prayer Porch (Copper Canyon Press, 2018)
"If you could see yourself through my eyes ,mom, you'd think that you embedded the diamond stars in the ink stained universe with your bare, calloused hands."
Sunset at sea (details), part II. Painter: Jeanne Rosier Smith.
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