Shawn L. Bird

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

Poem-Egger Pantoum December 9, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:10 pm
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In our school, the chef’s training kids make ‘eggers’ in the morning.  These are buns with fried egg, cheese, and a sausage patty.  They are a popular fast-food breakfast fare, but I hate them.  Fried eggs are nauseating to me, runny yolks make me want to vomit, the smell makes me nauseous.  So, to avoid calamity, I do not allow them in my class room. Kids have to eat them outside the room. There are huge windows between room and hall, so the class can watch the egger eater outside, like a sad puppy at the glass, waiting to come in.  

Today we learned about pantoum poems, and before they wrote their own, I guided a class written one.  This was what A block English 11 came up with, as one student was barred and then didn’t realise the door was unlocked, so he could just walk back in when he was done eating his egger.  There was lots of laughter, as we wrote it!  🙂  I love Poetry Fridays!

Egger Pantoum (A block’s)

I wanted into English class.

I wasn’t allowed in.

They laughed at me, en masse.

Eating eggers is a sin

 

I wasn’t allowed in;

I walked away.

Eating eggers is a sin.

What a great start to the day.

 

I walked away.

I wandered through the halls.

What a great start to the day,

Trapped within these walls.

 

I wandered through the halls.

I’m chewing very slowly

Trapped within these walls

Eating eggers, I’m unholy

 

I’m chewing very slowly;

Tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Eating eggers, I’m unholy,

The door won’t open for a week.

 

Tears are streaming down my cheeks.

They laughed at me, en masse!

The door won’t open for a week.

I wanted into English class!

 

poem- poem vs ink December 8, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:50 am
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A poem, found in the comments of NUDGE. By Shawn and Chris

.

Your mind, has to be much better.

You ‘re not getting shock treatment too?

Are you?

Not electro-shock, at least

They’re trying to make me look crazy.

Every time i go to the hospital

Strapped to a bed…

You may be fine, but

perhaps the drugs are crazy?

Drugs are how i am…

Where does one end and the other begin?

Is a place ahead

separate from that identity?

desired?

willed?

(Is this a poem?)

No,

drugs are part of the poem

Life is the poem;

drugs are just your ink.

 

poem-nudge December 6, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:45 pm
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Of course.

I will.

I say it.

I mean it.

But.

Squirrel!

Remind me,

I say.

I mean it.

Of course,

I will.

I mean it.

I will.

Oh, right,

I forgot.

.

.

.

Sometimes, our good intentions get lost in our busyness!  How many times have I told people to remind me what I’ve agreed to do for them, because I will likely forget, despite my willingness?  I’ve got a memory like a sieve, despite my best intentions.  Does this happen to you, too?  How awkward is it to make the nudging calls or send the nudging message?  Will you nudge, or do you presume the person really doesn’t want to do it?  I worry people think I don’t mean it when I ask them to remind me.  

 

 

poem- didn’t December 5, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:49 am
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I didn’t know

I didn’t know

I didn’t know

I didn’t want to know

I couldn’t know

I shouldn’t know

I wouldn’t know

I know

Know

I…

No.

 

poem- honey December 2, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:11 pm
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Sculpting honey?

Pointless.

Shapes dissolve in moments,

dissappear in the gleaming

sweetness of now–

much like

memories

of you.

 

poem- dusting December 1, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:28 am
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Falling from the sky

in perfect crystals,

dusting trees, fields, and me

with peace of the season.

.

Falling through the screen,

pixilated dots

dusting poetry

with peace of the season.

.

(Every year on Dec 1, it begins to snow on my blog.  It makes me ridiculously happy every time!  If you would like snow to fall in your blog, add it in your settings.)

 

 

poem-earnest November 28, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:41 pm
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She’s earnest

in all the best ways.

Plasters on that quivering smile

faces the crowd

does her best,

but her best

is not good enough.

Earnestness is not enough.

But I tried!

is not enough.

She needs to be committed

to earnest effort

toward excellence,

maybe for years,

and maybe even then

her earnest desire will not

be enough.

Desire must lead to skill

mingle with effort

sprinkle with luck

and maybe then

earnest will be

enough.

 

poem- scrubbed November 27, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:10 pm
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The elderly loved one

has a house, and

that house has a mouse

and another mouse

and another mouse.

A mouse family,

A mouse neighbourhood,

A mouse community,

A mouse town,

A mouse city.

 

It might be a welcome diversion–

Adorable fluffballs,

with round pink ears,

dangling tails, would be

delightful entertainment,

were their planners better

sanitary engineers.

Their dereliction

leads to mass eviction!

Bleach and scrubbing!

Now there’s interdiction,

sweet mousies who survive,

to you a benediction:

for happy life,

in another jurisdiction!

 

 

 

poem- squeak November 26, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:20 am
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Rustling in the walls

“There’s a party going on around here”

Scurrying feet

Confidence in numbers

Why hide anymore?

Rodent rave!

Objects become vermin cesspools

reaking sewers of

spoiled food.

Pestilential festival!

Families unveiled:

babies, cousins, great-grandparents

intergenerational bliss.

There have been too many creature comforts.

Exterminator is not as successful

as one would hope.

Carpets ripped up

Insulation pulled out

Clean. Clean. Clean

Bleach billows in the mist.

Can anyone lend a cat?

.

.

(Helping a relative clean up after an infestation.  Huge, very expensive, disgusting job!)

 

 

 

poem- computer woes November 24, 2017

 

You ask me for my email address

When given, much to my distress

You claim it’s already registered.

Why yes!  I tell machine, that’s me, for sure!

You ask me for  user name and password

But when I type them, you claim I’m invalid.

Oh, you passive aggressive machine,

You’re not acting like part of this team!

Inside the circuits of your brain

you’re plotting how to cause me pain.

I can hear your fan blade snicker,

as you plot to raise blood pressure.

Oh computer, use your power for good,

and work like the techies claim you should!

.

.

(Another day, another frustrating encounter with technology!)