Right there, at that one irritating spot
a crick in the back
digs
poem- sticks
As they approach
your relaxed droop stiffens
your body tightens
each cell constricting.
You’re too old for
oppositional defiance
yet you shiver with it.
“Myself!” I hear your
two year old self echoing
through the decades. “No!”
But look,
this is a time of change,
and nothing changes without effort.
You have experts at your fingertips
and you refuse support and aid
because
Why, exactly?
You were so ready to fly,
and you’ve gone so far,
but now you’re quivering beneath the nest
while the parents flap about squawking
about winter migration,
and that cat on the porch.
You heedlessly tuck you head
beneath your wing
to nap.
poem- diving November 3, 2014
I’m diving,
slicing water,
breathless,
drowning.
I’m racing,
building speed,
breathless,
crashing.
I’m going,
aiming high
breathless,
exploding.
.
.
This sounds like something terrible is unfolding, but all is well, just having a busy, breathless kind of day! 🙂
poem- Ulterior Motives continued
They cluster about
like vampires,
smiling sycophants,
their eyes glowing
with delight,
basking in your presence.
Their good intentions
would suck you dry,
if you gave them half
a chance.
.
You smile,
all charm and pleasantries,
while internally, you mock
their saccharin sweetness
and puerile pandering.
You accept their homage,
nod nobly
and never let it seep
into your psyche.
poem-ulterior motives November 2, 2014
They cluster about
like vampires,
smiling sycophants,
their eyes glowing
with delight,
basking in your presence.
Their good intentions
would suck you dry,
if you gave them half
a chance.
.
.
File under: Things I Learn from Watching the Greats in Action
poem- together
His scowl bounces off the walls
and she knows what kind of bounce he needs
but their inconvenient visitor
incites invible depression
so there is no undressing
for decompressing
As Ben Franklin would say,
“Fish and visitors stink
after three days.”
poem- were November 1, 2014
It was woven
like light
dappling between the leaves
of our maple tree,
your voice, soft in memory,
searching for the heart of me.
It was woven
like lithe
subtleties between the grease
of our maigre feast,
your voice, lost in murmurings
purging forth our history.
It was woven
like life
sampling between the griefs
of our marble stele
your voice, wafts in every
yearning it exhorts of me.
.
.
I may be stretching your vocabulary with this one! Here’s some help:
maigre- religious diet without the flesh or juice of animals
stele- pillar, marker, tombstone (pron. like STEEL-y)
poem-Elizabeth October 31, 2014
Today
Your Snow White beauty
Is cut with a sharp edge of
Street smarts.
You’ve seen
Too much.
Tomorrow
Will the visions
Scar your face with darkness,
Cigarette creases
And add black anger to your eyes,
Aging you with
Exponential bitterness?
Or will your words
Poured out upon a page
Erase the stresses
And sculpt your beauty
Into timelessness?
poem-colour October 29, 2014
“I appreciate
how you’re always
so colourful,” my colleague said,
echoing words I’ve heard before
Sometimes I feel
like a rainbow
in a gray scale world.
Or the one colourized character
in a black and white film.
Someone has
brighten dreary days,
and add vividness to boring views.
It could be you,
but it’s me.
.
Shawn L. Bird 