The nest is empty
and without the chicks holding them together
some birds fly in different directions.
Job done.
So sad,
for others find the absence of young
brings far more joy in one another
than they could find while struggling
to satisfy the demands of youth.
The empty nest is the next gentle chapter
where romance can thrive again,
when laughing songs of
swooping lovers twitter through
the afternoon air and soft whispers
fill the nights.
Last night,
I wept over your broken body,
watching bloody pools expanding
beneath your feet.
Today,
you needed seven anti-anxiety pills
and still paced and cried,
your heart throbbing.
Were we dreaming side by side?
Did you see my vision?
Were you scared by day
from mother dreams
of death?
.
.
.
(The dog again. Sigh. Put him in the Gentle Leader halter after dinner and he calmed down. Might try that during the day tomorrow.)
He sleeps
breathing deeply,
heavily,
his back steaming
against hers.
She is wishing for his embrace,
longing for his arm across her breast,
his breath tangling in her hair.
She wishes.
He sighs with weighty somulance
then rolls away, settling on the far edge,
of the king sized bed.
His breath comes in rumbling groans and mutterings.
She sighs,
wishing for his embrace
but finding sleep’s instead.
“So what happened exactly?”
the students asked,
and I told them about the fall,
casts, surgery, plate, and screws.
“Ha!” one laughed, “That’s perfect for you!”
“Why?” I asked
“Because now
even your skeleton
has bling!”
.
.
True story.
I love my students.
🙂
Doing the taxes hurts my synapses.
All the receipts for exemptions
I will greet (sweet redemption!)
as brilliant sun, shining to my refund!
.
.
.
POETRY LESSON:
Playing with rhyme today.
Internal rhyme occurs two ways, either inside one line (taxes/synapses, greet/sweet) or inside two consecutive lines (receipts/greet).
End rhyme: exemption/redemption.
Imperfect rhyme: taxes/synapses, receipts/greet, sun/refund.
Feminine rhyme: exemption/redemption. (Rhyme over 2+ syllables, ’cause women are more complex, of course) 🙂
Masculine rhyme: greet/sweet. (Rhyme on a single syllable).
A moment of celebration
raise your hands, wave the palms
Palms together, clap your hands,
No palmistry to understand
when they raise you up
they’ll drop you down.
Get ready to sup and pray some.
Silver’s exchanged for a soul
just thirty little pieces.
The whole world pivots around
this moment of celebration,
before the coming devastation.
But after grief,
Relief. and
Peace.
.
.
A little Palm Sunday poem for you.
The music echoes through her bones
throbbing heart beat,
quivering quavers,
filling feet with rhythm.
Eyes scanning for possibilities,
Whose arms will encircle her?
Will he be the one to enfold her,
entwine their bodies,
make her sway
under his percussion?
She watches and wonders,
Shall she dance?
.
.
.
(Inspired by Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez tonight)
Little horns of sunshine
exclaiming on my table,
‘Daffodils mean spring!’
There was no way to stay.
Whatever choice was made
was bound to be wrong,
because this song we create
requires we pay again and again
for our harmonic
dissonance.
.
.
Still reading Jodi Picoult’s Mercy. Do you write poems for the characters you read about?
Do not leave him unsupervised,
For those flames in his eyes
are burning for the stranger
he’s been dreaming of.
Leave him unsupervised
to throw away your history.
If his eyes burn for her,
he doesn’t deserve your
unswerving devotion.
Reading Jodi Picoult’s novel Mercy. Feel like screaming, so I wrote a poem.
Shawn L. Bird 