Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-ocean tears-valtameren kyyneleet July 16, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:48 am

Sydämeni lentää meren yli.

Käteni ulottuvat valtameren yli.

Täyttävät välimatkaa, omat kyyneleet.

Voi, mitä olemme menettäneet.

Nyt purjehtii taakse auringon.

The Youtube version.

Yesterday, a warm and generous man sailed off this earth: my 4th host father from my time as a Rotary Youth Exchange Student in Finland.  He’d waged a long battle with cancer, and now he may rest.  

Here’s the translation:

My heart flies across the sea.

My arms reach across an ocean.

My tears fill the space between us.

Oh, what we have lost,

now sailing beyond the sun.

 

 

 

poem- leavings July 15, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:29 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Reaching inside the chair

.     deep in the cushions

.     I am sliced by a workman’s

.     lost staple pack

.     sharp edges up.

.     It tears my flesh,

.     leaves my blood on the leather.

Sometimes, behind us

.     we leave words

.     meant for construction.

Sometimes,

.     our leavings

.     bite.

 

 

 

poem- Hwy 19: missed connection July 14, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:38 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

You sit,

back against the Merge sign

inviting convergence

.              connection.

I see,

the next  sign, No Hitchhiking.

Pick up is illegal.

I drive by.

 

poem-The Poetry Retreat is Over July 9, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:05 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The Poetry Retreat is Over

I am the last to leave.

The GPS battery is dead;

I don’t know where to go from here.

 

poem- My daughter says July 8, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:55 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

My daughter says

.   my hair’s too long;

.   it drags my formerly too round face

.   down.

My daughter says

.   my car’s too girlish;

.   pastel seats and butterflies

.   are frivolous.

My daughter says

.   my voice is too strident;

.   her ears are are hurt

.    by their happy cadence.

To my daughter I say

.    life’s too short to be

.    a fuddy-duddy*

.    before you’re thirty.

.

.

*fuddy-duddy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuddy-duddy

 

Confessions July 7, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:05 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am at a poetry retreat, and I have just realized I haven’t posted any new poetry in ages!  Here is one that was prompted by discussion around the table last night.


 

Men are afraid that women will laugh at them.

Women are afraid that men will kill them

~ Margaret Atwood

Confession:

Inside

she is laughing

at his wizened, flapping sword

Ever appreciative

it is not slashing, slicing, dividing

head from heart.

Confession:

Impalement is not a virtue in itself

ecstacy can take or leave it.

Confession:

She desires his desire,

not his possession.

 

poem-through June 21, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:21 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I’m through

with being split in two

three

four.

No more trying to be

too many of me.

Finally,

the best is there is to shine,

when troubled is the rare and not the rule,

where expecting excellence

is rewarded,

not met with whines.

Once, I’d have wept to leave this team,

but now it seems we’ve seen the best

and sweeping up the mess

is all that’s left.

It makes it easier to say good bye

When a dream is dangled before your eyes,

and so you reach, because like me,

sometimes you’re surprised by victory.

Now I can be

just one me,

doing what’s my specialty.

 

 

poem-reality

Eventually

Reality has to intervene.

You’re not destined for the NHL

Or the corps de ballet

Your voice will not sell

A million records.

Simon sends you packing.

 

Reality can suck.

But if playing hockey

Brings you happiness

Why stop just because you’ll never hoist the Stanley Cup?

Dance like nobody’s watching

Sing until you’re smiling.

 

Don’t let reality rob you of the joy

Of the activity itself.

The rush of a beautiful pass and goal.

The beauty of a perfectly formed pirouette.

The harmony than hums in your ear.

Celebrate those moments for ten thousand hours.

 

They say ten thousand hours yields excellence.

Perhaps you’ll need twenty.

Or thirty.

Embrace the joy.

Share in a community of like minds.

Perhaps after forty thousand hours

Your reality will change

And if it doesn’t,

At least you’ll nurture your soul.

Like reality,

Success has many faces.

 

quote- creations June 15, 2017

Filed under: Poetry,Quotations — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
Tags: , , , , , ,

 “Creations are creatures, and they have lives of their own.”

Louise Penny.  The Nature of the Beast.

I’m reading this Inspector Gamache novel, and Ruth made this comment about a play.  The line after indicates that the play was the playwright.  It seems both powerful and succinctly true.  When we create something, it comes from us, often reflect deep truths about us, but it also becomes itself.  It speaks to those who view/read/listen/watch with its own voice (filtered through or reflecting their voice).  I am often fascinated to hear what readers have taken from my work.  Sometimes they find things I put there, but often they find things that are completely different, and just as valid.  Once the book or poem left my hands, it became its own entity.  It’s an interesting experience.  It reminds me of the first time an adult mentions they know your child- they’ve interacted with them in a way that is unconnected to you, and you realize they have their own independent lives.  Children are creations, too.  They’re equally part of us and completely themselves.  Ah. Creation is a complex thing!

From a writing point of view, what a perfectly crafted sentence for this character.  Ruth is a poet, and doesn’t the line sound like a poem?  Louise Penny is my hero.

 

poem-momentary June 14, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:28 am
Tags: , , , , , , ,

I’m walking away from this rain

The painful splashes digging out the flowerbeds

splattering on my head.

I’m walking away.

I’m walking toward the glow

The sun shining joy of divining

possibility.  Live ’til you’re dead

I know you know time folds

when old friends meet.

I’m walking toward the momentary

treat of seeing you.

Dreams in mind, I’m walking ahead.