Some days
I can’t get close enough
to you.
I want to wrap
your skin around me
and hear our hearts
beat, blood bound,
against each other.
poem- night music
I was the lone
talentless one
in a room of musicians.
As each took his place,
at his instrument
I turned on the cassette
recorder, determined
to capture the moment.
I collapsed onto
the couch, in
blurry eyed reverie
as the music tangled
in my brain, filled the
basement, bounced
off the ceiling tiles.
The pianist glanced
into my starry eyes
and grinned.
The others teased
between their strings,
but words fell away
in the fog of my euphoria.
His lips curled upwards
on one side
as his eyes twinkled at mine.
When he packed to go
I rewound the tape.
I heard the
mangled mess of a
damaged tape.
Devastated, I
blinked through
tearful eyes.
Everyone laughed,
but he draped an
arm around my shoulders
and guided me up the stairs.
As his ride arrived
he whispered,
“Don’t worry.
I’ll make you
more music.”
And
he
did.
.
.
.
(Is it any wonder I wrote a book about this? lol Tonight, I had a flashback. Thought I’d share.)
poem-good company August 24, 2014
In this time
I can watch a TV show
and share thoughts
impressions
giggles
and sighs
with others watching
simultaneously
all across the country.
Humming Twitter feed
makes for good
company.
Unlike chickens.
.
.
#OutlanderCAN #kiltit This poem references a famous line from the first really intimate conversation between Jamie and Claire
“When I woke, I was trussed up in the wagon wi’ the chickens, jolting down the road to Fort William.”
“I see, I said quietly, “I’m sorry. It must have been terrible for you.”
“Oh, aye. Chickens are verra poor company, especially on a long journey.”
Diana Gabaldon. Outlander Toronto: Seal Books. p. 90
poem- once more
If I could
see you once again
I’d hold you tightly,
memorize the sensation
of your arms,
inhale the scent of your hair,
squeeze my love into your bones,
and pray the moment
does not end.
poem- love is August 23, 2014
You are riding 140 km
on your bicycle this morning.
Upon your return
I have promised to have
fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies
waiting for you.
.
.
How’s this for timing? Hubby comes up the stairs, stumbling a bit after pedalling 142.5 km, just as I pulled the first cookie sheet out of the oven. He was a happy man.
poem-squirrel rant
That squirrel
is ranting like a
furious squeaky toy.
Ten minutes of
castigating harangue
from the willow tree
and no audience but me.
Sometimes
it’s not about a solution;
it’s just about
being heard.
poem-shapely August 22, 2014
I was a line
a squiggly line
a wiggly line
that grew
and grew
into a sphere:
a bubble floating
a tire rolling
I bent elliptically
under pressure,
curves contained
in shapely strain.
Poem- Love is a comfortable coat
An oldie, but a goodie! From 2010
I want to wrap you around me like a coat.
I want to pull up the hood and huddle closer
to keep out cold realities.
I want to button in the warm assurance
of your body tight against me.
I want to cuddle into the closeness
of your heart next to mine,
and the comfort and contentedness
of being wrapped in your love.
poem- disappear August 21, 2014
.
I want to
disappear
into tomorrow
to explore
Imaginary
corridors across
your incendiary
borders
into
somewhere better
than your
artificial
reality.
.
.
In response to the Monday Meme photo prompt
poem-crow on a hot tin roof
There’s a crow
on the hot tin roof
of our shed,
tap dancing
and glancing around
the yard
in search of applause.
The dogs catch his eye
but turn away,
well acquainted
with the vain ways
of crows.
Shawn L. Bird 