Again
an A
beside your name.
Nine boxes for nine days.
Six A’s.
You, with that great brain,
want A’s
on your transcript
not your attendance record.
What is happening in your world
that keeps you from learning?
Ties shackles to your potential
for excellence? Your health is fine.
Oh, dear girl,
What can we do
to advocate for you?
Such quick fixes
stick with us.
Duct tape, while great,
for emergency execution
cannot create lasting
solutions.
Love is not love
if it alters when alteration finds
It is an ever fixed mark, said Shakespeare.
Constancy is a quality of mind
that removes sparks of fear.
Love is love
when the word can be relied
upon and expressions of affection
will be supplied, for
faithfulness in word and deed
is the essence of true love’s need.
Our broken heart
has not mended;
the hole of your absence
will never fill.
But crushed and anguished
though it is,
there is room for love
still.
So we open to new
affections even
while we’re missing you.
We welcome new joy
and celebrate your memory,
as we remember you
in reverie.
The elements of style
vogue style
guy style,
jazz style
It’s amazing,
outlandish!
But which style will be yours?
.
.
The potential puppy needs a kennel name with the word ‘style’ in it. This is proving rather challenging! I’m brainstormed about 80 names so far. The trick is trying to make kennel name and call name relate somehow, and ideally, relate to Outlander. 😉
Baby
you’re far away.
Maybe
you’ll come home with me.
Maybe
it will be.
Baby
I just wanna say
if someday you’re here with me
You’ll be my only baby
and I’ll love you
unconditionally.
.
.
(There might be a poodle puppy in my near future. He needed a poem. Maybe his poem should have been “One of these things is not like the others” because like me, he stands out in the group! Guess which one?) 😉
You open up before me
a gulf of possibility
things I never considered
complications I did not foresee.
You open up before me
a black hole of opportunity
devouring expectations
creating alternative realities
of what my future might be.
.
.
(“Thanks, Des,” she says
dripping with irony.)
Will I choose you?
Or you?
Or will I choose at all?
Am I ready for this work
of nurturing potential?
My world is wound tightly
with possibility,
fighting emotionality with
rationality.
Tears appear;
truth pools in her eyes.
She looks out the window, scenery unseen,
one droplet, breaking free, tracks a slow progress across
cheek,
chin,
neck.
Another makes the parallel journey.
She turns her face, while she waits, wishes,
then slowly grows the knowledge
that what is
will be.
She weeps out the weakness.
While there may be grief,
acceptance brings resilience.
Resilience
is the power of belief
and relief.
I’m sure the vulture sitting there beside the deer
is eager to devour his meal,
launch red head first into the feast,
but he’s just sitting beside the prize,
to shy to dine ‘neath
prying eyes flying by on the highway,
hoping with futility for privacy to eat his meat.
.
.
This was the first vulture we’ve ever seen in the wild. It looked like this one.
Shawn L. Bird 