Shawn L. Bird

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

Poem: You’re Dead (pt. 2) May 5, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:25 pm
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You’re dead.

My head

a   kharmic  muddle

I mull upon

morality,

your despair,

a pall

wrapped ’round

mortality.

You’re dead.

.
(Still trying to wrap my head around the murder/suicide last week of a kid I knew and worried about).
 

Poem: You’re dead May 4, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:14 pm
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You’re dead.

You’ve bled

a carmine puddle

that pooled and

dripped down

the road,

drained

under my door

and into

my head.

 

Trust time May 3, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:31 am
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It gets better.

Whatever pressure

is crushing you,

whatever frustrations

are tearing you apart,

will end.

Permanent solutions

to temporary problems

are a waste

of who you could be.

Don’t take drastic actions

when patience could prevail

and provide purpose

for the brilliant future

you deserve.

Whatever burdens you,

buries you,

bullies you,

will end.

Call for help

It’s here.

Hold hope in your hands.

Give your future a chance.

Trust time to release you

from pain,

not death.

.

.

In an exercise of hope, I wrote this in present tense, though it is a letter to a brilliant young man who once sat in my class room, and sadly did not trust time: so much potential, crushed by despair, frustration and anger.  I am mourning the loss of his shadowed light in our world.  It only needed time for it to shine brilliantly, but he did not wait to see.

 

 

Fluevog addict? May 2, 2013

Filed under: anecdotes,fun,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:55 am
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Apparently,

someone arrived at my blog

yesterday, having used

the search term

“Fluevog addict.”

Ouch.

 That seems a little harsh.

Addict?

Really?

Couldn’t we just say

“aficionato?”

or “connoisseur?”

Addict?

Come on now.

That’s definitely over-stating.

Seriously.

.

Um.

Did I tell you?

To celebrate my Master’s placement

I have Prepared Hi Steadies coming ?

Steady (Yellow)

Aren’t they gorgeous?

Way cheaper than a party to celebrate,

and I get to enjoy them for ages!

years!

Rather than a single evening.

That’s not addiction.

That’s just…

happiness.

😉

Oh, and

John Fluevog thinks I’m awesome!

So there.

.

(Well fine, he probably thinks you’re awesome, too)

.

.

.

PS>

Fluevog liked this poem so much, that they sent me a mug!  Yay!  🙂  They know how to feed their addic…  >>cough<< …fans.  Many thanks to Preet at the Vancouver Granville Fluevog store, who takes good care of me, AND sends me presents!  (If you look closely, you can see that the mug says “Juan Fluevog”  I think that’s hilarious.  Vog humour.  HA!)

ShawnVogmugsip

 

Incorrigible canine May 1, 2013

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:15 pm
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Hot water tap turned with a toe,

A fairy tale is unfolding

In my brain, page by page.

Dusty Dog is curled into a ball

Hubby snoring through the wall

A suspicious rustling

heard down the hall.

“OJ?  Are you getting into trouble?” I call

to my incorrigible canine,

plainly awoken from his nap on the couch.

He clicks nearer, ’til he’s

outside the bathroom door.

“Were you getting into something?” I ask softly.

Slow feet start to move away.

“You need to stay out of trouble. Go to your bed, OJ.”

I say in a firm whisper.

Click click

Two steps toward the living room.

“OJ.”

Pause.

“OJ.  That’s the wrong way.

Go to bed.”  Spoken so silently that

sleeping husband will not hear.

Oh, so, slowly OJ turns

And strolls, almost like it was his idea,

Into his room.

I hear him jump onto his bedroom futon.

Good bad dog.

I turn the page in my book,

and add more hot water with my toes.

Dusty sleeps the blessed sleep of the innocent

on his own bed towel, dreaming dog dreams.

Later, warmly water logged,

I investigate the disaster,

Dusty at my feet.

My purse on a chair, formerly zippered closed

Has been opened and disembowelled.

I pull out the camera to photograph

The scene of the crime.

OJ wanders down the hall,

hopeful.

He meets my eyes.

“OJ.  This is bad.” I tell him, shaking my head.

“Very bad.”

He looks at the floor.

“You need to be back in your room before I get angry with you.”

He soulfully studies me, sighs

then takes the circle route,

through the kitchen,

Back to his room.

Such a bad, good dog.

.

DSCN0261

.

That black/gold cloth bag is an organizer.  Each compartment is usually full of something- pens, makeup, business cards, shopping bags, keys, flashlight, notebook, etc.  so things can be transferred easily between purses.  The bag was a mess, the organizer as you see.

If you click on the Category POODLES >>> on the right>>> you can read more of OJ’s adventures.  He is an incorrigible counter surfer, and food scrounger.  He opens packages (he loves ziplock bags, even if there is nothing edible in them).  He likes to investigate my purse, whenever I am foolish enough to leave it within his reach.  After I yelled at him for eating through linings (on my brand new, expensive bag!) he has not once eaten through another lining, but carefully manipulates the zippers, sometimes a series of zippers, and occasionally buckles in order to explore.  I have no idea how.  Poodles are considered the second most intelligent dogs (second only to Border collies), and it’s because of their phenomenal problem solving abilities.  OJ plays dumb and lazy much of the time, but he has some amazing skills.  (I call these “bad talents” and there is a blog series about them.)

Do you have an incorrigible canine character at your house?

.

Dusty Dog and the oh so innocent looking incorrigible OJ:

Dusty and OJ

Dusty and OJ

 

death to the follicles April 29, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:54 pm
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The glistening of sunlight upon the pate,

is not so much a follicular challenge

as it serves to demonstrate

a follicular abdication

as the hormones re-arrange

to prove the superior state

of follicular proration,

that razors duplicate.

.

.

I casually mentioned a ‘follicular challenge’ to a man who responded that it wasn’t so much a challenge as an abdication, and thus, a poem was born… 😉  For what it’s worth, I highly endorse the natural state over wigs and surgeries.  Shine that pate with confidence, and damn the ads that prey on insecurities!

 

next part: stars April 27, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:48 am
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A prompt from http://julieisrael.wordpress.com/2013/04/27/write-the-next-line-using-the-word-part/  The first line is provided and the next line must include ‘part’ in some form.

.

The hours erased the stars and day peeled apart from night

I sang the moon, and partial to your heart

You danced us dawn, partners tripping through the light.

 

like you April 26, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
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I wrote letters to poets

Sandburg, Dickinson, Twain,

Shelley, Petrarca, Yeats or Keats,

it was always the same.

“Thank you for your words.

“I like what you  say.

“Your message was heard.”

Each time someone’d said

“You can’t send a note

for those poets are dead;

it’s been years since they wrote!”

.

On the blog roll are poets

who live and who breathe

and I can write them notes

and some encouragement leave.

“I like that you’re writing

“I like that you’re here

“I like that you’re sighting

on truths without fear.

“Thank you for your words.

“I like what you  say.

“Your message was heard;

I’ll be back here one day!”

 

ouch

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:59 am
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head in vice

waves of fire engulf me,

then ebb, and I’m left drenched

boiling in my skin

head in vice

.

.

I’m home sick today.  This is why.  😦  These debilitating waves have been coming all morning.  It’s horrible.  I was in bed until noon, when the need for pain killer forced me to move.  It is not pretty.  I hope you’re having a much better day!

 

Found poem- from the WordPress blog roll April 24 2013 17.46-18.04 hours PDT April 24, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:30 pm
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(If you should see a line from your poem in this, please link to it in the comments!)  Each line is taken from a poem on the blog roll, in order, backwards in time.

.

I can’t sing you a sad song.

   patience for life’s lovers

      all these people,

         opened up,

              howl like children

                 for something different in these places.

Mermaids only dream

   our burning love.

I will not take

    first dandelions,

       each one a kiss

           weighing heavy on my heart.

Warm breath on my neck,

     I have burned.

I could write between the lines

     the many masks of the broken child:

        Rainbow sprays in the garden.

I love you still.

Lullaby sea

     has aged gracefully.

Time has taken

    the dewdrops of sadness

         awaiting damnation,

              silencing the crowds.

Blink of an eye,

     what was wholly irrelevent

            blossoms in the mind:

                  I never see you smiling.

Life makes us cynical,

      oddly balanced.

That impossible moment

      lights the trees,

           the sky looks like me.