Poems About Nothing so many poems go on and on about… nothing so many poems about fall’s tapestry and war, about blood’s blame, about the human act to hate commingling with love. more poems about the willow’s wisp, the aspen’s golden shower, the maple’s scarlet leavings all add up to an airy white puff from …
Rose It all starts with a human centric fairytale. A bland once upon a time in the beginning far far away Where men destroy each other in the pursuit of a singular misplaced rose. © SB Joy, 2023
Affair Work & Distractions are your truest loves. I’m the mistress an aquarian kept Gila monster proving your fondness for all things…. reptilian. © SB Joy, 2022
Fire Falling Multidisciplinary dysgraphic artist, poet, dishwasher, cook, cognitive dissident disallowing dog walkers and lovers from enjoying the simple act of stepping forward into love. The wag of a tail, the blush, the lick and kiss from a dog and his misappropriated ADHD multidisciplinary-poet -artist-dishwasher-cook’s imagination set to set you on fire with the simple …
Inky Love, an inky spidery blob With sticky spidery fingers Weaving it’s sticky intent To bundle me up With it’s sticky arachnid threads To have me for lunch. © SB Joy, 2022
Chosen I thought: how odd and delighted, That you claimed the chair next to mine. When there were fifteen fairer companions. © SB Joy, 2022
Before Leda was Greek, She was Irish The history of love started with pigtails, freckles and green eyes. Before man’s concern with the tragedy of clocks, down comforters and four hundred thread count sheets of Egyptian cotton dyed straw yellow. Before sky had the name blue, before chemistry, before, before… Love shamelessly danced naked on …
Speechless Words need to be said yet since birth I have had a dog’s collar wound tight around my neck, choking each syllable into a cough, sigh or gasp unable to say the word – love. Thus my churning intestines are tightly bound round, twisting my innards out, where there were no words, only sighs, …
Catch I’m a catch, if you’re fishing for a barracuda. © SB Joy, 2022
Cobbler What does the owner of “The Shoe Fixer” do all day long, in this world of disposable treads? Does he pretend to fly kites in Moscow, or play a friendly game of football on the blood stained stones of Tiananmen Square, trying to forget his Irene, with her lovely manicured feet and french manicured …
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