Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- Mom May 10, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:05 am
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So many mothers:

mine with her great gardening gams

independent and active, just like always,

and I with my empty nest

working, writing, studying and more.

Busyness channeled in different directions,

but independent.

I always said, “I’m raising independent children,”

like my mom

I did my job.

Far away my children lead their independent lives

and only rarely feel the need to call home to update us

on the latest news.

Other mothers,

keep their chicks under their skirts,

want to be involved in every aspect of their lives,

with weekly dinners, frequent phone calls,

dependent interconnectiveness whatever their ages.

‘Not better,

not worse,

Just different’

like the exchange student mantra.

Family is the place you begin.

Family is where they have to take you in.

Family is many things

and there are many mothers.

 

poem- holding May 9, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:18 pm
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Your hands

grip your head,

hide your hurt,

hold that history

in your hands.

 

poem-perception is reality

Oh, I know the row you hoe

is dreary and full of woe!

or so you are inclined to think

but we are not defined by your narrow ink

We see you fear to be seen as less

You shout. you rave, you wave distress

It’s not about what we do, dear,

We are not the problem here.

We watch serene, your freak out scene.

We see your strengths, your skills, your care.

We know you’re kind and very fair.

You’re really great. Don’t be irate!

You perceive attacks where there are none.

There’s no one talking at your back.

You do not seek to clarify,

Oh, my, how you leap to conclusions

Each based simply on illusions.

I know perception makes reality

but I encourage you to find serenity

Ultimately, you can not be

great when you can’t see what true,

and when people are contentedly accepting you.

 

poem- in the dung heap May 8, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:45 am
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Your displeasure wafts off you like

the shimmering waves of a manure pile in July.

You reject optimism and trust.

You will let no sunshine disturb your dung beetles.

 

poem-generations May 7, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:21 pm

the apple falls

next to the trunk

and if it is not moved

it will re-seed in the same soil

 

poem- retirement project May 5, 2015

Filed under: fun,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:56 pm
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That old shell of a van

might make a fun project for you.

Just think, when it’s done

you can make out in the back with a hot chick,

or at least a chick with hot flashes.

.

 

poem-poetesses May 4, 2015

Filed under: OUTLANDERishness,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:58 pm
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A little nod to writer Diana Gabaldon and the scene in “Virgins” between Jamie and Ian (see the post a couple of days ago) which suddenly seem relevant!

.

They think

the words get in their heads and drive them mad

Those poetesses

let passionate words escape

and wind around the unsuspecting.

Mad poetesses:

bursting flowers

buzzing bees

desires dripping with rhyme and metaphor

What fornicating do they get up to?

It can’t just be words that fill them.

Can it?

.

.

Here’s the scene from “Virgins” referenced:

“I thought ye’d be up to your ears in whores and poetesses in Paris.”

“Poetesses?” Jamie was beginning to sound amused. “What makes ye think women write poetry? Or that a woman that writes poetry would be wanton?”

“Well, o’ course they are. Everybody kens that. The words get into their heads and drive them mad, and they go looking for the first man who—”

“Ye’ve bedded a poetess?” Jamie’s fist struck him lightly in the middle of the chest. “Does your mam ken that?”

“Dinna be telling my mam anything about poetesses,” Ian said firmly. “No, but Big Georges did, and he told everyone about her. A woman he met in Marseilles. He has a book of her poetry, and read some out.”

“Any good?”

“How would I ken? There was a good bit o’ swooning and swellin’ and bursting goin’ on, but it seemed to be to do wi’ flowers, mostly. There was a good wee bit about a bumblebee, though, doin’ the business wi’ a sunflower. Pokin’ it, I mean. With its snout.”

There was a momentary silence as Jamie absorbed the mental picture.

“Maybe it sounds better in French,” he said.

Diana Gabaldon “Virgins” in Dangerous Women George R R Martin, Gardner Dozois (eds)

 

poem- enticed May 3, 2015

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:00 am
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She leaves the wine bottle in the bottom desk drawer

undoes two buttons on her white blouse,

French cuffed, of course.  Lace peeks out.

Jeweled pendant lies between her breasts, the chain

offers a direction.

She stands, displacing gravity to expand the view.

Her black pumps click on the linoleum in the hall.

She pretends to talk on her cell phone,

pausing by his open door; her chest rises on a

tingling laugh she knows he won’t resist.

Her black pencil skirt covers the assets tightly,

in taunting style,

“See you later, then!” she tells her imaginary

phone companion,

as she strolls to the photo copier room,

trailing temptation behind her

without a backwards glance.

.

.

(A poem based on a new novel project).

 

poem- reciprocity May 2, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:48 am
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I whisper you

You whisper me

I murmur you

You murmur me

I chortle you

You chortle me

I extrapolate you

I expostulate you

I lose you

.

.

This is my 1900th post to the blog!

It’s been a busy 5 years!

 

poem- haunts May 1, 2015

Filed under: Poetry,Teaching,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:38 pm
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Haunted

Full days.

Wishing

Spinning

Devouring.

Turned inside out.

There was a rainbow.

.

.

This was a poetry exercise I created for my class today-

The prompts by line were

I am…

I have…

3 -ing verbs

I feel…

I wish…

 

I got some really interesting pieces!  First we did this as a class activity, rolling the paper over and trading with someone new for each line.  Then we shared the results.  Finally, they created their own from stratch.