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Joseph E Bird

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Poetry

i hear the voice

i hear the voice
it’s yelling at me
i hear the voice
but i don’t agree
to argue is pointless
our words are in vain
i can’t understand
and you can’t explain
can we sit and be calm
and maybe break bread
i’ll listen again
perhaps i misread
and i hear the voice

i hear the voice
calling me to speak
i hear the voice
to say for the weak
is anger so righteous
that respect doesn’t matter
our cause is just
it’s yours we must shatter
walk with me now
let’s talk and be friends
to find the true answer
we must make amends
and i hear the voice

i hear the voice
telling me not to fear
i hear the voice
saying peace is still near
the strife of the world
is now and has been
and will be tomorrow
again and again
so let’s stand for the lost
and fight the good fight
but let’s do it together
for that is what’s right
and i hear the voice

i hear the voice
it’s soft like a dove
there’s no sound that i hear
does it come from above
i hear the voice
and you hear it too
let’s listen together
there is so much to do

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

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questions

Listen to the silence
and think nothing of it
Who was it?
What was said?

Letterings form
inconsequential sentences
For what purpose?
Why?

Words fade
from memory
Did you speak?
Did I hear?

Let those who
have ears
Was it a whisper?
Was it a shout?

Listen to the silence
and think nothing of it.

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

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Jazz Poetry

Every now and then I come across someone talking about the writing of Langston Hughes and I have been intrigued enough to add him to my list of authors to read. An African-American writer from the first half the 20th century, Wikipedia describes Hughes as a poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, and columnist, who occasionally found himself in the midst of controversy. The price of being a social activist, I guess.

So I was browsing through the local bookstore this afternoon and came across Selected Poems of Langston Hughes. I picked it up and turned to this poem, which I re-publish here at the risk of copyright infringement.

Bad Morning, by Langston Hughes

Here I sit
With my shoes mismated.
Lawdy-mercy!
I’s frustrated!

There’s more like that, light and unassuming. There’s writing about music, love and romance (love and romance, not necessarily the same thing), life’s annoyances and life’s tragedies, uplifting faith and disappointing lies.

But what makes it all so special is the way he tells it. Sure, there’s the outdated vernacular that might sound offensive to our enlightened(?) ears, but there’s an honesty to the writing, uncluttered with pretense, and a rhythm that is full of life, even in the midst of despair.

Still Here, by Langston Hughes

I’ve been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me, sun has baked me.
Looks like between ’em
They done tried to make me
Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’ –
But I don’t care!
I’m still here!

At the time they called it jazz poetry.  I can dig it.

2

Words for a winter’s evening.

Good work from The Shelton College Review.

First, Larry Ellis has this piece that I can hear Garrison Keillor reading on the Writer’s Almanac:

Blackbirds in Winter

Andy Spradling has this philosophical offering:

Body and Soul

Good work, gentlemen.

2

today there is peace

christmas-on-the-deck

today there is peace

well, not really
but today, more than any other day,
we want peace

we want the guns to go silent
the bombs to be dismantled
the swords to be sheathed
the fists to be loosened
the anger to be soothed
the hate to find understanding
the trespass to be forgiven
the pained to find comfort
the sick to be healed
the hungry to be fed
the thirsty to have drink
the forgotten to be remembered
the cast out to be gathered in
the lost to be found
the unloved to feel love
the tumult to find peace

today, more than any other day
we want peace

because
years ago a child was born
though not all believe
that he was the son of God
that he was born for redemption
that he was the Christ

though not all believe

today,
more than any other day
we pray for peace

copyright 2016, joseph e bird

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vanity

tell me what I don’t know
see which way the wind blow
spinnin like a gyro
playin with the vertigo
puttin on a big show
fakin like a puppet show
hear me up in idaho
this is it, here we go

it don’t matter what it is
it don’t matter if it true
listen what i say to you
dig my words, dig me, too

leavin on a jet plane
hoppin to the south of spain
sippin on the champagne
scared to try the cocaine
stayin home it so mundane
want to be like charlemagne
livin large, i can’t complain
it ain’t real, its all in vain

it don’t matter what it is
it don’t matter if it true
listen what i say to you
dig my words, dig me, too

tell me that you like my song
yo to me, i can’t be wrong
be my posse, be my throng
if you like, you sing along
ring the bell, bang the gong
dig it man, like tommie chong
fifteen likes and goin strong
make me feel like i belong

it don’t matter what it is
it don’t matter if it true
listen what i say to you
dig my words, dig me, too

copyright 2016, joseph e bird

7

boze naigle

another musical discovery, boze naigle, the alt hip hop artist on the west coast. this video is a low-key, black and white production to create that retro feel. and i like the casual use of the cue cards, just enough self-conscious to throw the timing off, like he really doesn’t care.  that’s the essence of boze.  cool urban poet.

nah. i’m just kidding about all that. it’s robert zimmerman, of course. 50 years ahead of his time.

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Poison Tree

Speaking of the Milk Carton Kids, I stumbled upon this little video about a little man in a little town. I can relate.  The chorus:

I’m a little man in a little town
It’s a little cold, I’m a little down
I get a little angry, a little bit each day
A little while longer, we’ll dig a little grave

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Blessings

A poem for Thanksgiving.

The bread is on the table, we gather ’round to share.
We offer thanks for all this food, with this our simple prayer.
We’ll dine in great abundance, much more than we deserve.
We’ll drink our tea and sip our wine; sweet dessert for us is served.
Do we know how much we’re blessed?
Do we really know?
Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Your love for us to show.

The kids are so rambunctious, the house is full of toys.
They run and laugh and sing and play, and fill our days with joy.
We sit and talk of days now passed, and those who’ve gone before.
Though missed and loved we’ll see them soon, upon that shining shore.
Do we know how much we’re blessed?
Do we really know?
Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Your love for us to show.

Our time is filled with worries, and struggles through the day.
We wonder how the world will turn, the strife will always weigh.
Should we speak or just stay quiet?  Which battle should we fight?
We know Your way is always true, as darkness fears the light.
Do we know how much we’re blessed?
Yes, I think we know.
You gave Your son to die for sin,
Your love for us to show.

copyright 2016, joseph e bird

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