Here,
listening to the loons,
with you,
is a precious moment
of forever.
.
poem-lake love July 19, 2014
Here,
listening to the loons,
with you,
is a precious moment
of forever.
.
poem- triage
Are you breathing?
Are you beating?
Are you bleeding?
Are you broken?
.
Breathless
Heart pounding
Blood surging
In pieces
.
Do they
hospitalize
for
Love?
poem-dropping July 18, 2014
Two hundred
ninety-
eight
souls
rise
as
two
hundred
ninety-
eight
bodies
fall
from
the
sky.
.
.
.
Malaysian Airliner shot down over the Ukraine. Another tragedy.
poem-handsome July 17, 2014
G r e e n e y e s,
h o l d m y h e a r t
t i g h t l y a g a i n s t y o u r s ;
l e t t h e i r c o m b i n e d r h y t h m
~ s y n c o p a t e d m e m o r i e s ~
d a n c e i n o u r
e m b r a c e .
.
.
.
Happy Anniversary, handsome. Sam Heughan has nothing on you.
awesome site- Maddie on Stuff
I have discovered a really lovely website of charming dog photos. Photographer Theron Humphreys photographs Maddie the Coon Hound in all sorts of places. She’s a very easy going dog, and his photos have a delightful whimsy about them. Enjoy!
Oh! Maddie and Theron also have book!
poem-Dusty July 16, 2014
Little brown
Dusty dog
shadow at my
feet
Your blind eyes no
longer help you pick a ball out of the air
leaping four times your height
cookies tossed at your mouth
now bounce off your nose.
Your sore hips
aren’t stable enough
for you to beg
or dance
or roll over
any more.
But still you follow
whenever I leave the room
attached to my ankle
just to be beside me,
my little brown
love
shadow.
.
.
.
When this little brown poodle pup came to live with us, his name was MacBeth. As a family we debated whether to call him Dusty (after the Dusty Strings harps, since he’d be the only Dusty I could afford) or Shadow. He became Dusty, but he was always Shadow.
poem-stitching
So long ago
sewing tiny pearl beads
around a gauzy net
to form a bridal halo
stitching dreams together.
Drops of crimson
from pricked fingers
drip upon the silk flower crown
white for purity
red for courage
blood for
hope.
.
.
.
Anniversary approaching. You can see the veil in question on an older post here.
poem-drowning July 15, 2014
Word came
that the ship was lost:
No survivors.
Her beloved
perished amid a storm
In her dreams
she sees him
swimming
swimming
swimming
swimming
swimming
swimming
swimming
sinking
sinking
sinking
drifting
drifting
drifting
on her
tears.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I suppose this could be about Echo in the Bone by Diana Gabaldon, but in fact, it came from listening to The Lost Wife by Alyson Richman. It also reminds me of a family story.
My grandfather was a ship captain on the St. Lawrence Seaway. One day, a knock came on the door, and my grandmother was told gravely that his ship had sunk, and he was lost. This would no doubt have been far more traumatic, had grandpa not been sitting in the living room at the time.
poem-trysts
In quiet corners
obsession lingers
eyes stuck tight
while passion flames.
Wrapped in arms,
stroked, caressed,
paper thin
each moment savoured
with lingering longings
until with sighs,
the last
page is turned.
.
.
.
(Always so sad when a great book comes to an end)
Shawn L. Bird 