Just read this. It’s good. It’s relevant. It makes me want to go sculpt some first lines!
poem-star dust
I wish upon you
like a star.
I find you–
a hot rock cooling
in the field, enveloped in
tendrils of mist.
I turn and tumble
you in my mind
Transform you into
a perfect talisman,
hold you in my pocket
roll you in my palm-
a star to wish upon
for stars are only
burning rocks,
and we are all
stardust.
I hang you
in the heavens
to glow.
I wish upon
the wonder
that is you.
.
poem- dream words July 22, 2013
“With a rustle of silks,”
she said into her memo
recorder,
as I was telling her
how I liked her phrase,
“caution plucked at his sleeve.”
Do other writers
consult their favourite authors
in their dreams?
.
.
“Caution plucked at his sleeve” is from chapter 83 in Diana Gabaldon’s A Breath of Snow and Ashes
Poem-making love July 21, 2013
I make you.
Word by word
I write you.
Stroke by stroke
I paint you.
View by view
I see you.
What I say
is what you are
So
I make you kind
I make you good
I make you loving
and so
you are.
.
.
This explores a similar concept to Patricia McGerr’s “Eight Cow Wife.” How you treat your spouse will reflect back on you. If you complain all the time, you’re going to be focusing on the negative until that’s all you can see. So don’t. Your focus creates your reality. Live the relationship you want to have.
Poem-soap July 20, 2013
Sitting on a soap bubble
floating in sunshine
reflected glare on the surface
of my seat
blinds me.
I rise on
the iridescent
clarity
of the emptiness
that is my only
safety
from the
inevitable
bursting
fall
Poem-Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003 July 19, 2013
This was my second entry on the theme of fire for the Burnaby Writers Society poetry contest. One more month until winners are announced. I played around with stanza parallelism here, sometimes using strict rhyme, sometimes consonance. I had never seen this done before, so I was impressed with how well it worked.
.
Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003
.
Fears.
A crimson hill glows above.
High from here, grey clouded skies
shower us in ghosts of pine needles
that dissolve at my touch
into powdered ashes,
while I load the van with memories.
.
Tears
Glisten, fill, flow out of,
My father’s grave, clouded eyes.
Cowering and aghast in pain, he huddles
and revolves as he’s nudged,
disempowered, ashen.
While I lead the man, his tremors ease.
.
.
This poem was linked to the Poetry Potluck on the theme of history and events. If you are visiting…
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More from the amazing spoken word poet Sarah Kay
A TED talk about writing poetry. Some beautiful examples.
http://www.ted.com/talks/sarah_kay_if_i_should_have_a_daughter.html
Poem- love letters between a fan and a light bulb
Following the model by Sarah Kay- Love letter between a toothbrush and a bicycle tire–
Here is a love poem between a light bulb and a paper fan, by me
.
.
With a flick of your curves,
you turn me on.
With the rhythm of that modest arc
flowing
to and fro
to and fro
to and fro
I glow with passion
hot
and round.
I long for you to
wrap your
accordion folds
around me.
Fanny,
you make me want
to channel my heat
to bake a cake
to celebrate
your slender curve,
your snapping
flapping
virve.
.
Oh bulby,
you light up my life.
Against you, I’m a
transparent frame.
I wish
I could really
open myself to you,
but bulb,
I must cool your incandescent ardor
because
if I get too close
I will burn.
You will leave me
scorched
and smoking.
Oh yes.
I can see right through you.
You’re not on fire;
our love is a
filament of your imagination.
I’ll wave a fond farewell
but be assured bulby,
you’ll leave an
after image.
Poem-another sign of love- a kilt story July 17, 2013
She gets these notions, ken?
Strange notions.
That because my great,
great,
great,
great,
great,
grandfather was a Scot
I need a kilt.
.
I won’t wear a kilt,
I said.
I am not connected to
my Scot’s heritage
I said.
That’s all right,
she said,
unloading
eight meters of fabric
and starting to pleat.
.
I won’t wear a kilt
I said.
What kind of belt buckle?
she asked.
So I picked the clan buckle
of my great
great etc
grandfather.
.
I won’t wear a kilt
I said.
Which pleat design?
she asked.
So I picked the pleat to the sett
(or so she tells me)
and she ironed
and ironed
and ironed
late into the night
and then she sewed
and sewed
and sewed
each stitch by hand
for night
after night.
.
I don’t want a kilt
I said.
She sewed
a linen shirt
and knit a lace jabot
and created sock flashes
and sock garters.
I ordered the socks and
the sporran from
Scotland
she said.
.
I really don’t want…
I said
Try this
she said
arranging a leather pocket
dangling from chains
around my waist.
No!
I squawked
It can’t go like that!
That’s like saying
X marks the spot!
She laughed
at my dismay.
.
Just try it all
she said,
arranging
ecoutrements.
I sighed
but did.
Walk up and down so I can see the swing,
she said.
Ooooooh,
she said
and led me back up the hall.
.
For our anniversary
she said
will you wear your kilt?
Yes,
I said
and did.
.
.
True story.
Outlander inspiration is clear.
Diana has a lot to answer for.
But most of it is good.
Verra good.
.
Here’s the proof:
and the more modern interpretation:
We should have taken some pictures from behind to show off…
(cough) the pleat to the sett.
It’s verra lovely.
<g>
Always remember “Happy Wife, Happy Life” or as Diana wrote him in the book plate for his copy of The Scottish Prisoner, “No one looks better than a man in a kilt.”
.
FYI- Here are a few of the posts written back while I was making the kilt with photos of the process:
https://shawnbird.com/2011/11/16/the-latest-obsessive-project/
https://shawnbird.com/2011/11/19/kilt-progress/
https://shawnbird.com/2011/12/06/all-done/
Note the dates- It’s been nearly 18 months since I finished. He’s worn it ONCE before today, back for that final drooling fitting. Plainly I caught him in a moment of weakness today. Or else he’s been reading Outlander again on his own. Good lad.
6 years later, here’s a lovely shot of the swing from behind! 🙂
MAGIC
Thinking of this as we watch Diana’s vision come to television. Story is magic, whether on the page or on the screen.
“Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.”
-Roald Dahl
and those of us who see magic all around us, will always be full of wonder.
Shawn L. Bird 