Bald eagle
standing on turned over earth
Watching the cars go by on the highway
(or pretending to,
to give the small creatures
an illusion of safety).
Bald eagle
normally surveying
road and field from high above
is checking out a new perspective.
I wonder whether he prefers
dirt to sky?
The snow is melting!
I hear water tumbling like a waterfall
dripping into pool.
Cascading down my window blinds
puddling inside my door.
The snow is melting!
and I need a new roof.
.
.
.
Your toe nails
echo in the hall like
a cavalcade of snare drums.
Thundering timpanic tribulation
of tip tapping echoing through my brain,
draining me of peace.
Your toe nails
four times four feet times two
(two square roots of feet)
Are a private percussion section
depriving me of sleep.
.
.
.
I need to trim the dogs’ toe nails.
Arg.
Nearly 100 years old
Macular degeneration stolen sight
Ears failing
trapped in a blurry, muzzy world
When I am his age
will the genetics he passed along
place me in his world?
Will I be able to do what I love without sight or sound?
So I practice
typing this poem without my glasses.
Hoping for the best
like aging.
Confidence is not a wilted plant that can be brought back to life with a bit of water. It is a highly flammable object. Doubt sets it aflame and destroys in irreparably.
from Pianist in the Dark by Michèle Halberstadt (p. 30)
The lake is charcoal flannel serge
bound with an ermine edge
beneath a quilt batting sky.
.
.
.
I have a love/hate relationship with Anti-bullying Day. First, because anything that’s ‘anti-‘ or ‘not’ the brain skips the adverb, and latches onto the verb- so they’ll see ‘bullying day’ as revealed in this poem. I’d much rather the day promoted positive action than decrying negative action. Say what you want to see. Put those words out there: Be kind day! Smile at a new kid day! Bite your tongue before you speak day! etc.
Further to this, you might enjoy last year’s Pink shirt poem, which features Shane Koyzcan’s infamous “To This Day” poem/ youtube video
Winter
marching
heavily through spring.
Winter
march
away,
and take
all this falling snow
with you.
.
.
Heavy snow today, making the highway treacherous. Fun drive to work. We’re ready for less white and more warmth in the air!
Oh, belligerent woman
at the gas station.
You know you are wrong.
You see the arrows.
Instead of backing up
You drive forward,
and make obnoxious remarks.
The other ten of us
can follow directions.
One of these things is not
like the others.
You’re embarrassed.
I get that.
So apologize, and back up.
Don’t yell at me.
I’m going the right way.
I am an author, though.
So while you rant,
I have the satisfaction
of seeing the bomb
the terrorists have set
that you accidentally trigger
by going the wrong way.
As your car explodes in a fiery
conflagration,
the ten cars that are secure
in our rule following
are protected by our bubble of sanctity.
We smile contentedly
knowing karma is at work,
as the litter of your dissatisfied life
rains from the sky,
bouncing off of us and
our aligned automobiles.
As you back out,
muttering a chastened,
“Sorry,”
I am glad that imagination
trumps aggravation
every time.
.
.
It’s a popular saying, “Don’t mess with authors. They will put you in their novels, and kill you.” Today, I discovered the poetic equivalent. 😉
I should have
warned you about our bud.
She’s thorny
but she’s precious.
Touch her brusquely
and you’ll bleed from flesh
torn by her thorns.
They are sharp, but they protect
a precious bud.
Some day, if we tend her well
she will blossom into a glorious rose,
for now she is a thorny stalk
with a tentative bud,
doubtful of blooming.
She will need to be coaxed,
but someday, her unique beauty
will amaze you.
She will show the world
talent, insight, and vision.
She’ll be a complexity of
colour, scent, tenacity.
For now, she is a thorny stalk,
but we have faith
the guarded bud
will bloom
Shawn L. Bird 