I am awoken (What now?!)
by roaring outside
rasping, growling, rushing creature.
Oh, damn, I think, as I return to sleep.
The plow.
poem-behind the masks December 11, 2020
in the story I read
every family was the same
and every person took off their mask
of sameness at the end of the day.
.
in the story we’re living
every family’s struggle’s different
we put on our masks each day
to save each other
poem-digging a trench December 9, 2020
This is not the year
for adventurous rambling
for party-down fun
for braving new experiences
for exploring new ideas
This is the year
for settling in
for warming up
for holding close
for safe hidey holes from which
to weather the barrage.
poem- like ducks December 7, 2020
On the outside:
calm, controlled, confident.
Beneath the surface:
quivering, quaking, confused.
How many stress-based illnesses
tension fueled troubles
surface in our bodies and minds?
How hard do we fight
to carry on?
NEW RELEASE! December 5, 2020
Sort of!
A few months ago, the rights to Murdering Mr. Edwards reverted back to me, and Lintusen Press will be publishing a second edition with a new cover, with art by the amazing Nikolette Jones, who illustrates the Nikki Knox books.
There are print, ebook, and AUDIO BOOK versions coming in the next week or 2!
The audio book is narrated by me and the brilliant Chris Humphreys (aka historical fiction author C. C. Humphreys) Chris is a trained Shakespearean actor who brings wonderful character to the voices of the male characters’ chapters! I narrate the female characters’ chapters.
December 15 is the big day by which the book should be available in all formats. Watch for it!
What do you think of the new look? (I see different computers doing interesting things with the colour scheme. The background is kind of a mint green. The lettering and silhouette are a dark purple.
poem-heavy December 4, 2020
What is this woodblock in my chest
beyond kilos and pounds to tons (or tonnes)?
Quivering, it vibrates my spine,
my foggy head,
all’s aching weight,
anguish and dread.
poem-ribbon December 3, 2020
Tonight’s sunset
is a thin strip of pink ribbon
in a vast blue sky
.
One wispy cloud
reflects the fading sun:
a sliver of bright beauty
to stab devouring darkness.
poem- pandemic life December 2, 2020
It is a wearisome year
Each new day weighs heavier
than yesterday.
Poem- choking December 1, 2020
Tonight amid the Christmas decorations
grief is hanging on our tree;
loss pummels
hopefulness.
Sadness hollows out my chest,
crushes my shoulders,
lodges in my throat.
Longing overwhelms.
There is no comfort
here, only more memories
of what is gone
who is gone
when is gone
where is gone.
Tonight is too much to bear,
so I’ll climb into bed and
trust tomorrow brings
solace and that much lauded
peace of the season.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
poem- 10 hours later November 30, 2020
fuzzy tongue fumbles around words
brain, caught in clouds, reaches for fleeing thoughts
feet stumble, avoid tumbling
body rocking, skin tingling
when the doctor says, ‘these pills will be out of your system
in four or five hours,’ here is double time paradox,
tenacious effect.
Shawn L. Bird 