Her smile
has spinnerets,
shoots invisible strands
that stick to your eyes,
wrap around your groin,
pull you inextricably tighter,
wind you in a gossamer shroud
ready to devour you
in sucking gulps,
and leave you an empty husk.
poem- 3 powers
Three powers
of the ancient bards:
to rouse the listener to joyful laughter,
to desolate the listener to sorrowful tears,
to comfort the listener to peaceful sleep.
Three powers
of the harper.
Three powers
of the wordsmith.
Three powers
I seek.
.
.
poem- hidden October 18, 2014
In the hidden folds
a tiny desire rests,
A covert longing,
unacknowledged.
You sense it’s there
a tiny, unseen lump,
caught in the fibres
of your life.
You ignore it,
though you feel it
nudging
incessantly.
You keep it secret.
Until finally
you must pick at it,
stretch threads apart,
catch a corner,
then pulling,
and pulling,
and pulling,
like a silk scarf
from a magician’s wand,
more,
more,
more,
until the room is filled
with the vivid kaleidoscope of colour
the billowing
reality of your unspoken dreams
coming true.
poem-sliding
Gentle sliding
Pearl draped tenderness
Rocking horse
heaven.
.
.
.
Another #Outlander inspired poem…
(ep 7 is rather inspiring)
poem-what if October 16, 2014
What if
just for today
you dared to do
that thing you fear?
What if
just for today
whenever you
wanted to say no,
you opened yourself
to yes?
What if
today was the day
when everything
changed?
poem-dancing October 15, 2014
It’s quivering
twisting
trembling in anticipation
waiting in a
golden gown
to tumble
and dance
with the wind.
anecdote-overheard in the classroom
“I know this guy
who chopped off all his fingers in a blender.”
What? Was he intoxicated? drunk? high?
“Nope.”
You’re kidding. Why would he do that?
“Well, you know, he wanted to prove he could touch
the middle of the chopping part without getting hurt.”
But he couldn’t, apparently.
Shrug. “I guess not.”
Huh.
“Yeah. People from Calgary are stupid.”
.
.
.
Sometimes, I am very afraid for the youth of today.
poem-cool October 14, 2014
Oh, back row,
You’re so cool.
Won’t do your school work.
Hang out at the smoke pit.
Drunk all weekend.
You’re
so
cool.
The front row
gets its work done,
laughs with friends,
finds healthy fun.
They will graduate,
get into college
and employ you
at minimum wage.
It’s never cool
to peak in
high school.
poem-ghosts October 13, 2014
Of course ghosts are real
Haven’t you felt them
swirling about you
like leaves in the wind?
Memories that haunt
spinning through your head
with joys and sorrows
that have no place in
tomorrow.
Shawn L. Bird 