You’ve been waiting,
watching,
wondering,
but now
it’s time to act.
Stop planning,
scheming,
dreaming,
and do.
Face the task.
Make it happen.
Decide as you go along.
It’s time,
now.
poem- blood February 5, 2014
She smells the metallic tang
iron
copper
inhales the essence
life
death
dreams the future
rock
paper
scissors
blood.
.
poem- aubade February 4, 2014
Your limbs
spill from silken sheets
shimmering in the glimmer
of morning squeezing between
window slats,
striping you like a convict,
but I am your prisoner.
Your lips
curl as you murmur,
conversing with lovers
in your dreams,
Your hips
burrow deeply
on the rhythm of your sighs
and I long to lie beside you,
lingering in the light,
but as dawn drives day
so must I away.
.
.
An aubade is a French leaving poem. It’s the opposite of a serenade, and is the song of a lover leaving his beloved in the morning. I’d never heard of the form before, and on the same day, I discovered it by accident (when I looked up a French lingerie company by the name and the definition came up) I found an aubade in the WordPress poetry feed. Quite a coincidence! Here is my first one. I should add, that I am unlikely to ever write one from experience, since generally I’m going to bed at dawn, while my husband is getting up! 😉
poem-who knew? February 3, 2014
Who knew
when love first entangled
that rapture yields both
blessing and anguish?
Anticipated joy
dashed by disability,
disease, dread,
death.
Watching beloved baby
suffer
and the love that begat
all the suffering
lies so tangled
in anguish
that it’s difficult to
find it at all.
poem- wall whispers February 2, 2014
Listen
to whispers,
stories in the wall.
Poems found,
Titles titillate,
tease, and
tantalize.
Writing on the wall
whispers
through the room.
.
.
.
Last weekend I started wallpapering my dining room with pages from a book. I was given a copy of Diana Gabaldon’s Drums of Autumn last fall. I already have a copy, and the gift had a broken binding, so I pondered ways to use it for practical purpose. Today I’m putting the finishing touches on. Most of the wall layout is fairly straight-forward, but I had 9 extra inches that I centred, and there I’ve been playing. I’ve included copies of autographs we have in other Diana Gabaldon books (copied onto a blank page of the book to match perfectly). I’ve cut graphic bits from Part divisions and used them decoratively. I’ve taken chapter titles and made them into little poems. I’m really liking my very unique wall!
This is a close up on a ‘poem section’ made with section and chapter titles:
Je t’aime
beaucoup
passionnément
pas de tout.
Blame
Forgiveness
The toss of a coin.
Here are the dedications (John’s is actually in the copy of The Scottish Prisoner and says “For John- No one looks better than a man in a kilt!” Mine is in The Exile and says, “To Shawn, Wonderful to meet you in person!”):
Here’s a step back at the wall. The diamond medallions spaced across the top were from dividing pages:
haiku-hiding January 31, 2014
Fence around our snowy
yard, bound by snow laden trees
Somewhere a white dog.
.
.
He’s hiding in plain sight. Where are you OJ?! Good thing he always comes when I whistle for him!
poem- gifts January 30, 2014
It’s a moment
a tiny time gift
break for a breath
a rest,
closed eyes.
Empty space
on this snowy day
to fill as you will
or
not.
found poem- Tribute to Pete Seeger January 29, 2014
This is a found poem, using lines from a variety of Pete Seeger songs, in tribute to a troubador whose tunes were fuel to action:
.
I hear the music ringing
There is a season
Where have all the flowers gone
They all look just the same
How can I keep from singing?
A time for peace
And kind understanding
A time for every purpose under Heaven
God bless the grass that grows through the crack
‘Cause that’s what life’s all about
Treat them with patience
How can I keep from singing?
my world is there
A time for love
Long time passing
When I say always I mean forever
I promise you I’ll never say good-bye
learn to laugh
My life flows on in endless song
How can I keep from singing?
poem- I am sky January 28, 2014
I
am sky
You
are an
ocean view
We are
a forest
of trees.
Sigh
blue
sea.
I.
You
We.
poem- asking January 27, 2014
She was young,
but she had a dream
to cut herself free
from the stigma of family
substance abuse,
poverty, and
hopelessness,
if only someone would give her scissors
and show her how to use them.
A teacher said,
“You can do it!”
So she applied for a training course,
wondering how she’d pay for the tool kit
or pay for the rent to live in another town.
“We’ll write letters!” said the teacher.
“It’ll work out!”
Community groups responded to her letters
and her impressive resume of volunteer activities
with cheques in hand.
“You’ve helped this community.
We want to help you achieve this dream.”
The billet said, “Would you work off
your room and board in chores?”
And suddenly the impossible
was happening.
Shining new scissors sliced her past away
and cut open hope
for her future.
.
.
.
True story. Apprenticeship programs offer kids real skills and credits for professional training and high school credit. Some times there are barriers for kids to take advantage of the opportunity, but where there is a will, there is a way. The school is there to help kids achieve their dreams, after all. Thanks to the service clubs who make a difference, quietly meeting needs in their communities: Lions, Rotary, Royal Canadian Legion, Elks, Kinsmen, Oddfellows, and the like. Today is a particularly good day in my world.
Shawn L. Bird 