Shawn L. Bird

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

Essay- When is a Basket Not a Basket? November 13, 2019

WHEN IS A BASKET NOT A BASKET?

© Shawn Bird November 13, 2019

Often, when we work side by side with someone, our learning comes not from the task occupying our hands, but with the stories that come along side.

On Indigenous Learning Professional Development Day, the creation of a lovely small pine needle basket was the least of what I took away.

The elder teaching our class told of gathering the pine needles.  How she wept to discover a clear cut where her favourite trees had been.  She told of saying a prayer during the gathering in respect to earth, and how when we were finished with our baskets, the needles left behind should not go to the garbage, as that impacts our own healing, but that they should be given back to earth, with thanks.

Quietly, at our table, she told our group that what one saw as a mistake, was not.  The elder who’d taught her when she was seventeen had explained they were  meant to be there.  I found a connection in that statement, “Oh!” I said, “Like I tell my English students: it’s about the process. There are going to be mistakes, and that’s good, because it’s part of the learning.”

Her eyes down on her basket flashed.  “English!” she exclaimed.  “I tried and I tried and I tried. But everything was always wrong, wrong, wrong.  Finally, I told them what they could do with their English!”

Then she glanced up, alarmed, concerned to have caused offense.  “Oh. But not like that!”

“I understand,” I said.  “Your stories are in your baskets. Not in English.”

She stitched her basket, silently.

And I saw.

I saw a school system that scarred her papers and her soul.  I saw a sense of never measuring up.  I saw frustration growing until giving up was the best decision to preserve self.

I saw how profound it was that she was in our building teaching us her talent and skill, sharing her art, her values, and her stories with us.

I saw that there are many others in my classroom who share her experience.

I am humbled and very grateful for her teaching.

A small pine needle basket on my shelf is full of new, poignant understandings.

 

Here is the Word Document version for easy printing.

.

pineneedlebasket

.

.

(Ignore any ads WordPress has added.  I do not endorse them).

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

 

poem-cell phone November 7, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:08 pm
Tags: , , , ,

That millstone

holding you back

begging your eyes

stealing your time.

Can you ignore

a tone or tingle?

Or do you tune out

teacher, text, or talk–

a zombie

tangled in wifi strands

wrapped around

a stone,

glassy eyes held faster

than data transfer speed.

 

poem- uh oh November 6, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:52 pm
Tags: , , ,

I am dissolving

melting

unraveling

falling

blinking

broken

ready

for

rest.

 

poem- thirsty November 4, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:04 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

It’s all just excuses,

you’d say.

Sure. Blame me like always.

Like her feelings are an attack

somehow.

Maybe there’s something

you could do,

to acknowledge hurt and pain,

instead of defenses,

show adoration again.

 

poem- piece November 3, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:58 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Look:

Light.

Listen:

Laughter.

Pause.

Savour:

New journey.

First step.

 

poem-not offended November 2, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:29 am
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Your words cannot offend.

I don’t depend on faulty interdiction.

Sometimes encouragement sounds like doubt.

Mona Lisa smile betrays my conviction:

Sure knowing I will transcend.

 

 

poem-time traveler November 1, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:10 am
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Boom box boy

bouncing to the smoke pit

announcing your existence-

loudly.

Stride on

Caught in a lost decade

I’m grateful as that music fades.

 

 

poem- That Year October 30, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:43 am
Tags: , , , , ,

She loves you

Diamonds in the air

Twinkling in

Street lights’ silence.

Just a snow shovel’s scraping

In the distance.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Leaf buds, bursting hope.

Unfolding pastel visions

Relief.

She loves you

Summer green

Heat hovers in the air

Living breathing furnace.

And you know that can’t be bad.

Golden light illuminates scarlet visions.

I will never say you’re beautiful

I’ll be your friend forever.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

 

SiWC workshop notes- Diana’s Managing a Mob October 28, 2019

Here are my notes from Diana Gabaldon’s Managing a Mob workshop:

Diana- Managing a mob

20191027_124025[1]

Diana Gabaldon SiWC 2019

 

poem-rise October 25, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:44 am
Tags: ,

Dust devil:

Gold, ochre, russet

curl in swirling surge,

fill the fifth floor window

in frenzied fandango.

.

(Like writers’ prayers)

 

@Surrey International Writing Conference.