Sometimes
your discomforts must be faced;
you must force yourself to offer kindness,
look directly at weakness,
sit,
listen,
show love,
whether you really feel it or not,
because it has been shown to you
and your humanity demands
reciprocity.
poem- sliced 2 October 2, 2015
I was numb,
but I felt the gentle line you drew
across my skin, blade slicing deep.
You stretched me open,
revealed my patched bones,
unscrewed the metal holding me together.
Oh, you sewed me back together,
taped over the black sutures,
and here I lie, propped up against realities,
hoping for the best.
.
.
.
It sounds so lovely and metaphorical, but it’s literal. 🙂 Successful surgery this week to remove the plates and screws that repaired my broken fibula last January. The screws were working out on their own and causing a fair bit of pain. Looking forward to returning to regular, pain-free mobility very soon!
poem- service October 1, 2015
A Rotary Invocation poem:
.
Service happens in laughter and friendship.
Service happens in quiet conviction.
Service happens with firm intention.
Service happens in growing kinship
to all humanity in attention.
to Service Above Self.
poem-twinkleless
Your lips are curled into a jack o’lantern smile
but there is no warmth in your face
because instead of flame behind your eyes,
there is a haunted house.
poem-promise September 29, 2015
Those childish promises
made with fervent belief
prove the power of intention:
Fealty sworn with hooked pinkies
in confident conviction.
poem-glow September 28, 2015
You rise, a blood red orb,
taunting star-gazers as you
cover your face behind a grey blanket.
poem-temptation September 27, 2015
Your chocolate eyes are caramel today
I want to savour your gaze,
feel its sweetness
against the bitter cocoa bite,
butterscotch touch upon my tongue
your vision devouring me in turn.
poem-chance September 26, 2015
I bought my chance,
pocketed the ticket and imagined.
Studied local real estate listings
picked out the house,
Sent the note to hubby with the link:
When we win, can I buy this?
He said, I’m surprised you like that fake rock wall.
I said, At 3.5 million the rock isn’t fake.
I still hadn’t figured out which room will be my office,
where I’ll install the dozen book cases.
But when the numbers came up
some guy in Brampton
had taken my 60 million pieces of a dream.
so all my planning was for naught;
I guess for now I’ll have to be content
with what I’ve got.
.
.
.
Hubby approved the location, despite the rock wall. Here’s the house that won’t be mine: http://www.realtor.ca/Residential/Single-Family/15507510/16233-Commonage-Road-Lake-Country-British-Columbia-V4V1A8 (Not very common, I must say!)
poem-washing
The dishwasher hums with cyclical rhythm
and somewhere your feet are pumping at the same cadence
returning to me.
Water sloshes around the sealed box, cleaning,
and somewhere you are salty with wet, sipping Gater-aid
to get through kilometer eighty.
The kitchen dishes are washing
your pedals are turning
and I am waiting for your salty kisses.
Shawn L. Bird 