Always wide eyed with wonder, prone to reveries and restless with an inexplicable yearning to create ever since he was a little boy, Jay wrote his first poem when he was six. He discovered the ore of his creative endeavors in the writings of his sister from which everything else originated, in attics filled with vanilla smelling old books, in savoring the classics and in intricate poems of Wordsworth and William Blake inlaid with rhyme…. His poems have snuck under editorial radars and appeared in global anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online journals. He also runs an idea shop called the Centre of Gravity, draws cartoons, directs animated short films and conceptualizes communication campaigns. All of which originate from the same artery of poetic longing that destiny charmed into his soul.
Thanksgiving never will I forget Hopping in the car for a very long ride to grandma’s house With heavy frost on the grass, glistening in the sun Singing songs and counting grain bins to pass the time Now the frost
They stand stiffly before his milky contrail thought of tittering, a fiction, flying across an evening sky once a giggle mash, now a distant funerary memory. Imagine it, a flounder flopping in deadly malodorous silence. Truth rips at his empty
Birds levitate and are airborne, Flapping wings soaring to the highest stratosphere, Flying into the blue yonder, Over snowcapped mountains, abutting the clouds, Flying, gliding, landing, so sublime Perching themselves in the tiny gap between other birds on a cable