After you’ve been gone and my heart’s been sore
I’m delighted to listen to the music of your snore.
poem-far January 20, 2016
You’re too far.
It doesn’t matter that it’s only a day.
I feel bereft without my back up.
Knowing you’re at my back
is my security,
against myself.
Don’t be far
for long.
poem-vacant January 19, 2016
How strange
that this space that was always filled by you
is vacant now.
Some time,
I don’t know when,
you stopped paying rent and disappeared.
Now the corner where you lived
has fallen into disrepair
and when I look for what used to be
I see only
moldy fragments in the space
that was yours.
poem- what went January 18, 2016
What went before
What went between
What went around
What went above
What went contrived
What went controlled
What went inspired
What went
where?
quote-Cornelia Funke on good books January 17, 2016
“Isn’t it odd how much fatter a book gets when you’ve read it several times?” Mo had said…”As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells…and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower…both strange and familiar.”
– Cornelia Funke in Inkspell
poem-because
I’m fond of flowers
bought because
today is worth celebrating;
they are lovely,
and you are captivating.
Unexpected joy does
blossom for hours.
poem-blue January 16, 2016
Outside, in the twilight
the world is black and blue,
like a sun bleached wrapper,
yellows and reds leached away.
Just an old wrapper,
a ghost of its former brightness,
as is this day, lightness fading
blue.
quote from Jenny Hubbard January 15, 2016
In the book, And We Stay by Jenny Hubbard, protagonist Emily is sorting out the world by writing poetry and reading Emily Dickinson. The book is full of poetry and is written with a very poetic tone. Here is a particularly beautiful passage:
So sew. Either way you spell it, on its own, the word looks wrong. Emily could write a poem about it, about how sew needs a subject, an object. About how a girl needs a duty to lock her in place. So if she sits at a desk, scrawls words on paper, are the words as lonely as she, or do they sow seeds into a soul across time, across centuries? Was Emily Dickinson ever able to thread the words together in such a way that she was beyond the need for stitches?
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poem-today
Grief today
is not like yesterday’s;
today it’s a ball, lodged deep in the throat,
instead of yesterday’s hovering cloud.
Tomorrow grief may be rain washing away every thought,
or the laughter of melancholy memories or perhaps
I won’t be able to keep tears at bay.
It’s impossible to say.
Grief is complicated,
that way.
poem- grey day January 14, 2016
January is filmed
in black and white,
soft focus filter,
lots of white space.
Mist grows until
it fills the screen,
ready for the credits
to roll by.
Shawn L. Bird 