Mashed potatoes are a delicacy
when a tooth has been pulled,
the jaw is tender,
and one hasn’t eaten in 15 hours.
poem- wiggy January 12, 2016
How is it that I have any hair on my head,
When I just cut enough off of the vacuum beater bar
to make a wig?
poem- whispered
Whatever she wishes
fictitious fantasies unfold,
so long as she keeps the secrets.
Shhh.
poem- a trifle January 11, 2016
A trifle is an insignificant thing
but not so when set within a trifle bowl
filled to the brim with
custard, cake, whipped cream
and pudding or gelatin
Any of which is itself complete
but oxymoronically a trifle is not trifling feast.
poem-stacked January 10, 2016
8 screws
6 boards
8 pins
wind, wind, wind, wind
wind, wind, wind, wind
push, push, push push
push, push, push, push
shelves stacked
and now book, book, book
Why did it take so long
to buy a book shelf, and clear these
stacks off the floor?
poem-moment January 9, 2016
That was it.
You felt it, hovering,
the possibility of change.
You knew you only had to take a step
and life would never be the same.
You felt the moment filled with possibility
and stepped back urgently,
to familiar
mediocrity.
poem-wear January 8, 2016
Remember how you’d mock him
tell us his weaknesses, laugh about him.
Remember how you voiced your petty irritations
in every letter or conversation?
He would never utter a word against you,
as you wore him down, year after year.
Water on stone. Cutting through bedrock.
And now she writes constant words of joy in him,
gushes over him like a waterfall,
and he pools around her with pleasure.
It’s a relief to see his happiness, someone appreciating him.
I watch and wonder whether you wish you’d chosen
better words, or whether you savour being alone?
.
.
.
I could have written this about so many people I know or know of. It’s such a common pattern. One sows seeds of one’s own destruction.
poem-naming January 7, 2016
In throes of passion
he never screams her name
and she wonders whether
he is ravishing secret loves
in his mind.
poem-unbelievable January 6, 2016
How amazing it is
that you are in my world.
You are the definition of
incredible and I
am blessed to know you.
poem-used to be January 5, 2016
There they used to climb the hill
to escape their parents, and that was
a place of firsts.
First kisses.
First cigarettes.
First adventures.
If only all our hills were so full
of glorious promise.
.
.
.
Had a visit to the local museum with a class. We learned all sorts of tidbits!
Shawn L. Bird 