If I could
see you once again
I’d hold you tightly,
memorize the sensation
of your arms,
inhale the scent of your hair,
squeeze my love into your bones,
and pray the moment
does not end.
poem- love is August 23, 2014
You are riding 140 km
on your bicycle this morning.
Upon your return
I have promised to have
fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies
waiting for you.
.
.
How’s this for timing? Hubby comes up the stairs, stumbling a bit after pedalling 142.5 km, just as I pulled the first cookie sheet out of the oven. He was a happy man.
poem-squirrel rant
That squirrel
is ranting like a
furious squeaky toy.
Ten minutes of
castigating harangue
from the willow tree
and no audience but me.
Sometimes
it’s not about a solution;
it’s just about
being heard.
poem-shapely August 22, 2014
I was a line
a squiggly line
a wiggly line
that grew
and grew
into a sphere:
a bubble floating
a tire rolling
I bent elliptically
under pressure,
curves contained
in shapely strain.
Poem- Love is a comfortable coat
An oldie, but a goodie! From 2010
I want to wrap you around me like a coat.
I want to pull up the hood and huddle closer
to keep out cold realities.
I want to button in the warm assurance
of your body tight against me.
I want to cuddle into the closeness
of your heart next to mine,
and the comfort and contentedness
of being wrapped in your love.
poem- disappear August 21, 2014
.
I want to
disappear
into tomorrow
to explore
Imaginary
corridors across
your incendiary
borders
into
somewhere better
than your
artificial
reality.
.
.
In response to the Monday Meme photo prompt
poem-crow on a hot tin roof
There’s a crow
on the hot tin roof
of our shed,
tap dancing
and glancing around
the yard
in search of applause.
The dogs catch his eye
but turn away,
well acquainted
with the vain ways
of crows.
poem- marble
From the rail siding
in Carrera I see
Michaelangelo’s
cold white mountain
sliced block by block.
What once created
La Pieta and David
now reduced to
slices of counter tops.
.
.
.
poem-window salvage August 20, 2014
The iridescent cellophane
of dragonfly wings
would make excellent
windows in an
insect cathedral.
The colony queen
could sip nectar
from the jeweled flagon
of dragonfly body
and make a benediction
to beauty and sacrifice.
poem-night light
All evening
the hills have been
illuminated by a
laser light show,
and now
the skies are
streaming;
white mist
hides the hills,
enfolding us
as the heavens
flash and crash
above.
Shawn L. Bird 