Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem-Newton’s first law of writing February 24, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:30 am
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It’s not about writer’s block

It’s about writer’s inertia

An object at rest, stays at rest;

A writer not writing, remains not writing.

Something must get it moving.

An object in motion, stays in motion;

A writer writing, remains writing,

Unless an outside force acts upon it.

Seek the energy to start the motion

And stay in motion

So the book gets written.

.

.

Diana Gabaldon once said that she tries to write every day, because if she doesn’t,  an inertia develops and it’s hard to get to it.  I have found this true!  Since the frenzy of drafting two novels in November, it’s been hard to do more than outline recently.  I know that if I just get into the rhythm of the writing, it will propel itself, but the novel writing rhythm is proving elusive these days.   I’ve been having no trouble keeping up the blog though, providing a poem for your daily reading.  That’s better than nothing!

 

poem-reading at the Cracked Pot February 22, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:53 pm
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At The Cracked Pot

three crack pots,

(story pouring

word winders)

read.

Audience fights

coffee makers,

straining ears

to hear,

relaxes with smiles

at trials below amid the coal,

at parking problems,

at teen trouble.

The writers who read have only words

with which to weave a moment

to give a gift, to share

with those gracious ears

filling the chairs.

.

.

Allusion to The Cracked Pot Coffee Emporium in Vernon, which hosted writers Patricia Donahue, Howard Brown, and me this afternoon.  A packed house strained their ears, and it was a lovely time!

 

poem-zero

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:08 am
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It’s not a knot.

It’s naught.

 

poem-charmed life February 20, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:05 pm
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Food in the belly

Roof overhead

Someone to love

Someone who loves back

Meaningful work

Good health

Funds for fun

Joyful heart

Laughter

Grateful

Grateful

Grateful.

 

poem-put it away February 19, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:52 pm
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Put it away

It’s past the time

for you to escape

the fear

the hoping

the wish

that it will change.

It won’t.

The drinking

The shouting

The hitting

The habit.

It’s routine.

Routines don’t change.

That dream

That picket fence

That reflection in your rosy shades

will never be reality.

The reflection behind your shades

will always be blue and black.

Walk away

Put away

that dream

and claim

life.

 

 

 

 

poem- Sochi shivers February 18, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:04 pm
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Snow falling outside the window

Snow falling on the venues at Sochi

While I watch winter,

I dream of hot water:

Olympic bath time.

(They don’t offer a medal for shivering

and that’s my best winter activity).

 

poem- wishes February 17, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:18 pm
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The togetherness

stretched between

man-cave and girl-zone,

in dutiful words

and sharing kisses on the stairs.

The silences

listen for the echoes

of footfalls

and wonder

what togetherness

means.

 

poem- parents and child February 16, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:52 pm
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What you wanted to be

Everything you wanted to see

Was it you who lied?

Or was it me?

What dreams did you hide

in the tears you cried?

Was it you who lied?

Or was it me?

When your mother sighed

When your father denied

When you tried to foresee

Was it you who lied?

or was it me?

Were we lacking in pride?

Why could you not confide?

We simply could not see

so was it you who lied?

or was it me?

 

poem- listening February 15, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:48 pm

Gather closely

ask the questions

hear the stories

translate

interpret

synthesize

listen

 

poem- card store holidays February 14, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:10 am
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Florists

and card stores

declare a forced affair:

“Purchase a card and dozen roses

or your affections are suspect!”

I prefer

memories carved

each morning from

all the days before

in a collection of kisses

stretching back through

years of anniversaries

Memories of Mister and Missus.

(Though notes are nice,

and I like roses, on sale).