You see
Spun around in circles
Blurred recollections
Foxes running
Apple trees
I see
You were sunshine
I was rain
I was a mask
You burned through
Confused Newton
No gravity.
poem-ungated January 30, 2018
This way is ungated.
No barrier.
Crawl along hedgerows
wade through wheat fields.
The cows don’t care to cross the cattle guard.
Continue along the way,
eventually, I’ll come to you.
This poem is ungated,
too.
poem- push on January 28, 2018
We labour in monotonous isolation
Words falling onto pages
magic spells
new worlds
It might be good.
It might be worth sharing.
It might just be,
what it needs to be for us
to set our demons free.
Isolation and monotony,
and then someone
you respect
says
“Such lovely prose!”
or “beautifully wrought characters”
or “Loved it!”
and you think there’s hope
for your imaginary friends
and your imaginary world
and your imaginary dreams.
Labouring becomes inspired
by encouraging analyses.
poem-touch January 21, 2018
This gripping agony
squeezes me thoroughly.
All that exists are those few
square inches,
shrieking at me.
I see the ripples of this pain
on my brows, crossing vision.
The world has shrunk into a tiny piece
of me.
poem-dancing with myself January 12, 2018
I walk into music
pick up a beat,
meld my steps,
add a sashay, a little sway,
swing those hips,
tilt the lips,
I urge you from your seat,
dance out of the scene
find our rhythm,
Carry on.
poem- belittled January 10, 2018
Short temper erupts
Tiny trouble surrounds
Small smiles: faked.
Insidious misogeny ignored
We knew.
#MeToo told us nothing new.
Those men want us to
Be little.
But something’s brewing.
It’s going to be big.
poem-boxes January 9, 2018
Boxed up
memories, wrapped carefully
in torn tissue paper,
worn over years.
Boxed up
histories, revisited annually-
unwrapping melancholy,
tying it on a tree.
quote- writers January 5, 2018
“Writers are different,” said Waldegrave. “I’ve never met one who was any good who wasn’t screwy.”
~Robert Galbraith (aka J. K. Rowling) in The Silkworm.
Uh oh!
poem-new January 1, 2018
And here begins
another new calendar,
Yesterday just the same,
but everything new, they say.
No hurt to take today
to contemplate,
what has been,
what is,
what may be.
No hurt to take today,
to ruminate,
to declare
that this twelve months
will bring unprecedented
opportunities,
successes beyond expectation,
joys that cause hearts to sparkle,
health in abundance.
This twelve months
will bring contentment
and satisfaction
appreciation,
and celebration.
poem- gifts December 25, 2017
It’s not the boxes,
the wait for the mail,
some dream little thing.
All that’s wanted
is you:
the slice of your heart,
the being known
by you,
being loved
by you,
being held
by you.
There is no greater gift;
your genuine love
is all that’s wanted
beneath the tree
this Christmas.
Shawn L. Bird 