The litany of what could be
is not as important as
what is now.
What was before
is not as important as
what is now.
For now is all
you ever have.
poem- addresses November 21, 2014
Cards
letters
Envelopes
Christmas stickers
Festive tradition
The only one left
now there’s no tree
no lights,
no dinner,
no presents.
Just the thing
that matters most:
warm hearts across the miles.
poem- flying November 20, 2014
Sometimes,
my CPU revs up
like an airplane,
races down the run way;
my typing thuds unexpected spaces,
but my words take off
and fly around the world.
.
.
.
(old computer, noisy fan. It does sound like a revving plane!)
poem-going November 18, 2014
You’re going and now I think
of all the things that could have been
and all the things that should have been
and all the things that would have been
if only you’d been forthcoming
before you left.
poem-welcome November 17, 2014
You came on evening light
uttered soft greetings,
“Tell my tale,” you whispered,
and so begins
another
adventure.
.
.
.
This weekend, as I was drifting off to sleep (see yesterday’s poem), I was introduced to Dustin who wanted to tell me the story of his life with Lydia. I had not intended to start a new novel (if that’s what this is) before finishing the projects already on my plate, but Dustin was pretty insistent. So, instead of doing what I planned today on my Sunday off, I lent my fingers to Dustin. I have no idea where this will lead, but it looks like it will be an interesting journey.
poem-writers’ bed November 16, 2014
The poetry is loud tonight,
smashing and crashing through
synapses of my neocortex,
drowning the bovine bellows
of my bedmate.
Short stories are shouting.
Poetry is proclaiming itself.
Words are wailing.
They are insistent
in the seams between sleep,
and will not quieten
until I write them down.
.
.
(This is post 1717 on the blog. It was very loudly proclaiming itself when I tried to go to bed last night, and would not stop until I got out my little book kept beside the bed, turned on the little book light, and wrote down the essentials). Do you have this problem, too?
poem- sweeping November 15, 2014
The sky lady
is sweeping
dust plumes at
her lazy husband.
They billow all around him,
but still he snoozes
on his blue easy chair.
poem-invitation November 14, 2014
Fifty times a day
she invites you
to connect.
“Honey, look at this!”
she says, forwarding an email.
“How was work?”
she asks, leaving her desk.
“Do you have ideas for dinner?”
she ponders in the kitchen.
Every time you grunt,
ignore her,
snarl, or shrug,
you are erasing what matters
most to you.
Every time you smile,
consider, give some time,
answer courteously, and
squeeze her warmly,
you’re drawing a
portrait of your happiness.
.
.
This poem is based on this article about an interesting study on relationships!
poem- silent November 13, 2014
You sit
silently
staring at your lap.
Your face
reflects sorrows
you will not describe.
Silence
is your
only safe
place.
Shawn L. Bird 