I regret
giving you
the last
ice cream
treat.
poem- after June 25, 2014
After he came to her bed
she threw out her make up,
grew her hair over her face,
and zipped up a blubber suit.
After he came to her bed
she faded into a gossamer ghost,
hidden in plain sight.
poem- greedy June 24, 2014
I want
sun on your shoulders
breeze in your hair
speed in your feet
you with
me.
harp tune-Suo Gan
Here is Suo Gân, a Welsh lullaby, arranged by me and dedicated to David Prosser of the Barsetshire Diaries.
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My paternal great-grandmother was Margaret Owen, born in Holyhead, Wales. She was married to Thomas Mosses of London, England. About the only time the two appear to have been together is on their marriage certificate. According to many years of census data, Margaret was alone from the time of the marriage onward. My grandfather was David Owen Mosses. I wonder if single mother Margaret ever sang this lullaby to young David?
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(And if you happen to be a Mosses from Liverpool or London, I’d love to hear from you).
poem-darkness June 23, 2014
The porch swing rocks
beneath a speckled sky.
Mosquito hums fill the air;
black wings swoop overhead
in invisible rustlings,
swallowing music.
micropoem- illicit scent June 22, 2014
The perfume from
these stolen peonies
seems extra sweet.
.
.
.
(Lest you think I stalk the neighbourhood, masked, with scissors in hand looking for floral victims: the peonies in question were bending onto my driveway from a peony bush in a bed so overgrown I don’t think the neighbours even know the bush is there!).
poem- demon hunting
You don’t believe in God
but you know demons,
up close and personally.
The ever present haunting,
sometimes out of sight
but never far,
is a billowing storm cloud,
black and ominous,
waiting to pour down upon you
waiting to wash out your roads
waiting to carry you away
too rife with hopelessness
to thrash against it.
A demon rides your shoulder,
its claws clinging to your skin,
its fury held at bay by
an umbrella of medicaments,
a pharmaceutical shelter
from the storm,
inadequate against a
demon’s tempest.
poem-laughter
You toddle over,
your two tooth grin wide.
When tapped
upon your button nose
you burst with
belly laughs.
.
.
I met Iona today. Iona is little, and doesn’t speak yet, but she oozes personality!
poem-sun June 20, 2014
The mahogany marbling
of my arms betrays
my desire to remain indoors,
out of the burning glare.
Strange times, when
we are forced under sun.
Instead supervising exams
we direct lost tourists
to the Info Centre
(Google, your map is wrong,
like this government).
So many metaphors
and all day in the sun
to appreciate them.
.
Shawn L. Bird 
allegory of the rich man and his gardener June 21, 2014
Tags: allegory, BC, BCTF, Christy Clark, education, funding, government, Liberal, strike, teachers
An allegory:
Chris has the most beautiful garden in the city. He has a gardener who has been working on it for years, carefully cultivating special plants, and creating special features that are the envy of people who come from all over the world to admire the garden. The gardener is paid a fair salary for his expertise and years of training, so he is happy.
Years pass. The gardener hasn’t had a raise in years, and things are getting more expensive. Gas for his car now costs double what it did when he started working.
Chris asks the gardener to put in a fancy water feature, and several fruit trees. “I’ll cover the bill when rents are paid,” he says. That’s fine, the gardener makes a good wage, and he loves the garden.
Chris goes around to his tenants to collect the rents. To the small houses, he says, “The view improved now the neighbour’s tree is down. You owe more.”
To the really huge houses, he says, “Never mind. You don’t have to pay your rent.”
Then he pays all his bills, but because he didn’t make the big houses pay their rent, he doesn’t have enough to pay the gardener all he’s owed.
Chris tells the gardener he still expects the fancy water feature and the fruit trees, as well as the lawn to be mowed, the beds weeded, and the shrubs pruned.
The gardener loves his garden: the new water feature is going to be stunning when he’s finished with it, and the fruit trees are amazing, blooming gloriously, but some fungus is creeping onto the petals, and then insects are bothering the fruit. He can’t quite figure out how to stop that, but he’s read about a great fungicide that should work. He just needs to test to see exactly what the problem is.
“I don’t have any extra money for this!” Chris declares. “I pay you enough! Your demands are ridiculous!”
The gardener wants his garden to be perfect, so he does his best, working in the evenings and bringing things from home. He can’t afford to subsidize the proper fertilizer, tests, and fungicide, and when the mower runs out of gas, he can’t get more fuel since he no longer can afford a car himself, so he can’t drive to get some. He asks for an increase in his wages, and a budget that covers the demands Chris as made.
“This is not in line with what other gardeners are paid!” Chris shouts, though the gardener knows he is not asking for anything more than every other gardener in the city gets for the same kind of garden.
He begs Chris to please provide him with the budget necessary to do what he’s been asked, but Chris glowers and tells the gardener he’s being greedy and lazy.
The gardener tries repeatedly, feeling guilty about the way the fruit trees are dying, and he is frustrated because he knows if he could just get the proper funding for what is required, he could produce the kind of show garden Chris he wants.
With so much work, no extra staff, no supplies and not enough money to buy them, the garden inevitably falls into ruin.
“What a terrible gardener!” Chris says. “I’m going to take back pay because he’s not working hard enough!”
“What a terrible gardener!” his golf club cronies in their rent free big houses agree, adding. “It’s so hard to get good help cheaply any more.” Then they shout, “FORE!” as their golf ball sails over the artificial turf and the plastic flowers of their golf course.
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In case you missed it:
Chris is Premier Christy Clark, the garden is the education system, and the gardener is the teachers.
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