This isn’t silence
This is you
thinking
cogs whirring
thoughts stirring
trolling the bottom
of the ocean
for the solution
to your dilemma,
resolving the conflict
with yourself.
quote- knowing
In chapter 15 of Diana Gabaldon’s Written in My Own Heart’s Blood, Jenny says of Jamie,
.
“Ye ken how he is…always explaining you to yourself.”
.
This line made me chuckle. My husband is just like this, though he also very frequently explains himself. 😉 Kind of scary how observant he is.
“
poem-pleating June 10, 2014
Time has pleats.
While years may stretch them out.
They enfold when old friends
meet after years,
touching as if only
hours have passed.
The Pun Exchange, Featuring Shawn L. Bird June 9, 2014
I’m re-blogging a post about myself on another blog. Is that terribly narcissistic of me? This was an entertaining exchange! 🙂
Shawn L. Bird is a poet, a novelist, and an educator. Here is my artist’s conception of her, but I do not do her justice, and I hope you visit her site to find that that is true.
Recently Shawn posted an “Unfinished Canadian Joke” about a beaver crossing the road, thus:
On the side of the highway:
a body of thick fur and flat leathery tail.
Why did the beaver cross the road?
I guess we’ll never know.
I commented, thus:
Because with Beavers it’s one dam thing after another.
She replied, thus:
You should lodge a complaint.
And from then on it went like this:
Gary: I tried, but my tail fell flat.
Shawn: Keep gnawing at it, and I’m sure it’ll work out.
Gary: Is that incisor information?
Shawn: Dam right! Stick to it!
Gary: Would that I could, but I can’t afford to be chewsy. [sad…
View original post 200 more words
poem-seen
There is a gentleness
and a comfort you’re wearing now,
so unlike the anger
and anguish that was your shield.
We’ve seen you change
from besieged warrior to
confident ruler of your world.
We have seen
and we are glad.
poem- quiet June 8, 2014
The house rests.
Five bodies drift on dreams.
One sits, enshrined in song,
strums softly
on strings:
a living lullaby.
poem- peacock poets June 7, 2014
She writes in peacock blue ink
Turquoise words like an equatorial sea–
exotic and dramatic–
vivid colour for vivid dreams,
beyond pedantic black or
boring blue
so dark it’s a black wannabe.
In gatherings of youthful poets
peacock ink predominates.
While pedants declare it’s
a colour coded affectation,
peacock poets know
ink encapsulating sky and sea
makes mere words ethereal–
their metaphor of fundamental creativity.
poem- family outing June 6, 2014
Mama and Papa Quail,
wearing identically jaunty hats,
are trying to contain
two dozen very excited,
fuzzy brown ping-pong balls.
.
.
.
.
(and they were ADORABLE as they churned about the grass!)
poem-smells like teen spirit
In response to my comment
she gives me a look
like I am covered with manure
and am suggesting she join me
wallowing in a pig pen.
Nose flared, forehead creased,
like she has scented
something foul, she raises a brow
and turns away with a scowl,
still here in body, but not in spirit,
while her friends chatter and giggle
pleasantly with me.
poem- unfinished Canadian joke June 5, 2014
On the side of the highway:
a body of thick fur and flat leathery tail.
Why did the beaver cross the road?
I guess we’ll never know.
Shawn L. Bird 