You rode your high horse
to water, but you couldn’t make it drink.
You beat that horse
until its flesh was pulverized
and the putrid rot rose in a stench,
repulsing people you wanted to impress.
Still you keep beating
that equine cadaver,
imagining the rattle of its rib bones
is dressage music
for your one trick pony.
The skinny old lady,
grey hair twisted into a bun,
leathery skin, artfully wrinkled,
roars around her yard
in her bikini top,
mowing in the rain.
She slashed him.
.
Pain scratched and yowled around his brain,
longing for palliation.
He saw compassion and affection in your eyes
wrapped his hands across your neck and
in the explosion of agonized ecstasy,
you choked down his hurt.
.
She twitched her fingers.
.
With his backward gaze,
he saw anguish curling lithely behind your eyes.
You saw his pitying relief, even as his pain
purred so loudly in your head
it blocked the words
he should have said.
.
.
.
This one is for Amber
Two years later, and it’s the same story! It’s ridiculous how the provincial government is trying to create an environment that foments the exact kind of rebellion we see in Order of the Phoenix.
British Columbia’s Bill 22 shares a number of disturbing similarities with some of the Educational Decrees made by Dolores Umbridge, Hogwart’s Inquisitor. The proclamations in J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix were so absurd that they added a grim humour to the book. Massive disregard for the skills of the staff and the intelligence of students led to militant rebellion. This is natural: free people must oppose tyranny. The Ministry of Magic thought they were being reasonable and improving education. The students and staff knew otherwise. They knew the government was completely out of touch when they claimed to know what was best for the students. When we see how fact is following fiction here in BC, we see what lies ahead of us. Voldemort will be defeated.
A link to the BC Legislature’s Bill 22 “The Education Improvement Act” (Yes, really, that’s what…
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If I loved you more
it would ooze out of my pores
explode from my brain,
sizzle on my skin.
If I loved you more
you would never leave my side
I would wrap around your limbs
palpate your heart in my hands.
I could not love you more
for I am sloshing with love,
full to bursting,
obsessed,
with you.
You wear
every trauma
in the lines of your face,
in your scarred cheek,
and absent teeth.
You wear
each bad decision
in your jaundiced sclera
in the milky irises.
You wear
laughter in the crinkles
around your eyes,
and dignity
in your smile.
Now
I remember
what I wanted to ask.
I wonder if…
this
that
the other.
Right.
I had meant to ask
about that, hadn’t I?
But in the excitement
all the good questions
fell out of my head
leaving a joyful
explosion of
now.
.
.
.
.
.
This could mean anything, because of course it happens all the time, but specifically today, I had 3 questions wander through my brain that I’d meant to ask author Diana Gabaldon in the 90 minutes we were driving from the airport in Kelowna to Salmon Arm for Word on the Lake Writers’ Festival. Yesterday another one floated through. I suspect many more will show up in the weeks to come. Oh well. We’ll just have to have her back! 🙂
Your brown eyes
watch me with an intensity
of adoration that makes my heart glow.
Whenever I come home,
you greet me at the door,
quivering in delight.
You follow me throughout the house
set your head across my knees,
gaze longingly into my eyes.
I scratch your ears and you sigh,
with a satisfaction that trembles
up your spine.
“Such a good boy,” I say,
and your tail thumps
in lazy agreement.
.
The tiny vessel
zips around the floating logs
pushing them here and there.
Sorting them.
Guiding them to the mill piles.
Leading them to lumbering destiny.
And you,
zip around me
pushing me into order
sorting out my messes
guiding me to better decisions
leading into our future.
Is it better
to write one poem
each day
for 365 days,
or to spend
365 days
writing
one poem?
Shawn L. Bird 