At four hundred pounds
she filled every room
I am beautiful!
I am amazing!
I am entertaining!
I will help you succeed!
They didn’t question
her self-control
her ugly words
her petty cruelties
her avarice
They accepted every word
and made it true.
poem- lessons October 25, 2013
When my dad went to school
he knew the Brother would beat him.
The ruler would rap down across
his small knuckles
once for every spelling mistake.
He knew he’d always make a mistake.
He knew he’d be beaten.
It didn’t make him study,
it just made him drag his feet
on the way to school,
meant education was painful
meant inadequacy
and brutality
were part of every day.
It didn’t make him speed up
that he’d be whipped
for tardiness
either.
During lessons,
he watched boys fly
across the room
propelled by the fury
of the Christian Brothers
who didn’t understand
much about children,
faith
kindness
or the golden rule.
Dad kept his head down,
nursed sore
knuckles and learned
how not to treat children.
.
.
Happy Birthday to my dad, who celebrates his 99th birthday today!
One more year until the official greeting from the Queen!
PS. Dad attended parochial school in Montreal in the 1920s.
poem- bubbles October 24, 2013
You’re simmering
on a low boil,
bubbles sitting on the
bottom of the pan,
popping to the surface
in occasional bursts
of aggravation.
I don’t know
whether to turn
up the heat,
or turn you off.
poem-gifts October 23, 2013
She held out
her insecurities
cupped in her hands
and asked him
for reassurance,
but he just looked down
his nose at her
silent
.
He had no
kind word
to give,
no kind heart.
.
And so she stood
face upturned in
silent misery
and held tight to
the gift
of isolation.
poem- gathering October 22, 2013
She gathers words
Pulls them to her
Guides them along
Embraces them
Squeezes them
Entices them to dance
with her.
They spin together
in a furious
jubilation a
celebration an
ecstasy of gyration
She lets go
and words fly
spraying her soul
to the edges
of the universe.
poem- leaping
Little symbols of death
endings
passing of time
gold and scarlet
carcasses
of summer
raked into a pyre
that grows
and grows.
But the voice of death calls
to the child in all
to live with leaping joy
and laughter
mocking loss.
Rolling in the death of summer
welcoming what comes
next.
MondayMeme-walk carefully October 21, 2013
Here is a photo meme for you!
“On the edge”
This photo is compliments of Prairie Knutsen from A.Bigger.Picture,Photography. I have some very talented former students, and this young photographer has delightfully interesting and innovative photos!
.
Your assignment:
1. create a poem, story, or article based on this photo.
2. Post it on your blog.
3. Cut and paste the photo onto your post (leaving the Monday Meme text).
4. Put a link to your post in the comments to this post below so we can visit your blog.
I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with! (I will leave a comment on your blog post itself, rather than posting in response to your link here).
.
poem- Adrian October 20, 2013
Adrian, muscles rippling
and glistening from summer sun,
as the girls grip
their nails in their fists, wishing.
Adrian, head emerging from car engine
wringing greasy hands,
and grinning a greeting,
reaching for his shirt,
as the girls glide in, sniffing;
whiffing at pheromones
that hint of moaning, groaning
atonement.
Good girls watching as
Adrian gets ready
for Bible study.
poem-Avril?
Avril!
They shouted your name with a joyous fanfare
as the curtain rose on cue
but you were not there,
the stage was bare.
In a sliced second, he stared
and then the curtain dropped and
he fell into a story
as if he hadn’t called you,
We saw the flurry back stage
as you flew into position,
a tap on his shoulder and he
pointed at the stage and shouted again,
Avril!
In place of empty space you raced into song
tracing along the path without a care
to cheering throngs of youthful fans
who’d earned the fare.
.
Sometimes, we shout our expectation
and to our frustration our stage is bare
there under the glare of our desperation.
Turn and tell a story, deflect the unexpected
but when we look back,
it’s simple celebration.
poem-Twenty thousand October 19, 2013
Twenty thousand voices cheer
in celebration of lives changed
in celebration of possibility
in celebration of a future
created by
Twenty thousand young
philanthropists
Shawn L. Bird 