Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem-rolling February 1, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:06 pm
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I rolled into the room

delighted with engagement,

conversation,

company.

I rolled out of the room

on a high.

I rolled into the house

fell into my bed

and took fifteen hours

to recover from

intellectual curiosity.

.

.

Had my first big outing since I’ve been laid up with my broken ankle.  I was out 6 hours for medical appointment, grad school workshop, and transportation.  It was wonderful to talk to folks more erudite than my dogs, but apparently it was exhausting!  The ankle wasn’t thrilled, either.  I won’t be doing it again for a few weeks!

 

 

poem-hollow January 31, 2015

Her belly is hollow.

Once it was filled with him,

but she has been excavated

and spun into emptiness.

.

Her head is hollow.

Once it was filled with him,

but she has been desolated

and spun into heaviness.

.

Her life is hollow.

Once it was filled with him,

but she has been devastated

and spun into enviousness.

.

Her hope was hollow.

Once it was filled with him,

but she has been extricated,

and spins into readiness

 

poem-knitting January 30, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:41 pm
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I’m twisting yarn,

clicking knots together,

entwining future warmth

and comfort

 

poem- waking

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:06 am
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Your morning eyes

still full of night

fall on me

soft as sunrise.

 

poem- canine scheming January 29, 2015

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:10 pm
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In the hallway

between kitchen and bedrooms

the chef knife catches the light.

Which poodle is plotting

nefarious exploits?

Should we be locking

bedroom doors at night?

 

poem-dust January 28, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:46 pm
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The layers

speak of neglect

and distraction,

of time passing.

Traces of us

settle on ledges

and I am loath

to find a cloth

and wipe us off.

 

poem-mother January 27, 2015

Grade eight.

Horror.

Mother is her substitute teacher today.

“Do not

acknowledge

that you know me!” she hissed.

But when her name was called for

attendance, and teacher-mother

looked around for

whichever student would raise her hand,

she glowered,

unhappy

with anonymity.

 

 

poem-voyageur January 26, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:44 am
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So you packed your canoe,

left a good man,

gave away that puppy,

you’d given to

those good boys,

those sweet little boys,

and rowed off to find yourself

on a river of their tears.

I hope the discovery

proves worth it

in the end.

 

poem- found Jan25 January 25, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:52 am
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Pattern stitches

on demand

bordered diamonds

needles

hooks

open sesame

mind

body

spirit

try

.

.

.

This one was ‘found’ using words that I could see from where I was sitting on books, labels, and TV.

 

 

poem- weight January 24, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:39 am
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Grey weight

drags me down

velcro-ed to cement

hobbled like a donkey

held together

by hope.