Back to basics
the spine taps into essentials.
Step on a crack,
break your mother’s back!
Which kid stomped?
I wonder.
Hot pad back
on the back.
Higher
then lower
Remaining upright
to write excites nerves.
I wish I were
back in bed.
poem- roiling April 4, 2017
My stomach is a stormy ocean
and I am an ocean liner,
furniture sliding left and right,
uncomfortably.
Captain stands firmly at the helm,
looking forward,
aiming for calm,
hoping the ship
does not betray his confidence.
poem- sit April 3, 2017
Isn’t it
lovely to just sit
some days
and watch the world go by,
just spying and rumination
without any kind of expectation.
Isn’t it
lovely to sit
for just a little bit.
poem- love letters March 23, 2017
They’re talking love letters
and I hold my tongue
but not my lips.
The tilting corners betray me.
The envelopes with your distinctive hand writing
my name like a caress
glued down like a kiss,
all our hopes and dreams scribbled onto foolscap
by a fool to a fool
giddy from hormones.
And now love letters
are notes on the counter:
“Turn on the crockpot at noon”
“Running errands. Back around 3.”
Messages that mean you still
love me.
poem- boots March 22, 2017
The boots are on.
Laced up tight.
Little Xs pulling things together
(Are those hugs or kisses?)
No matter.
When you’re giving winter the boot,
either
is a good message to wear.
![20170322_154305[1]](https://shawnbird.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/20170322_1543051.jpg?w=548&h=975)
Fluevog.com Miracles Logan boots from the “Narrative of the Grey Boot Quest” blog post.
I always feel slightly super powered when I wear these boots, though I can’t wear them if I’m running late for work since it takes 4 minutes per boot to lace them up! 🙂
poem-ghost hug March 16, 2017
I feel your ethereal pride
in my accomplishment
as firmly as I used to feel
your embrace.
poem-sweater March 13, 2017
I found your cardigan
and held it close
searching for the sensation of your arms.
I gathered up the folds
and held it to my nose
searching for the scent of you.
You’ve been gone too long.
Instead of holding memories
Now
it’s just a sweater
you once wore.
poem-choose honey, hon March 9, 2017
You think
if you swell your chest
and shout with a voice that covers others’
if you argue
every word from the teacher’s mouth
that somehow you can win.
Oh, but hon,
who really has the power?
Consequences grow with your defiance
and you’re the one who loses.
The class laughs,
but it’s at you, not with you.
Biliousness and lies do not lead to success.
Trust me,
honey catches the flies
of achievement and respect.
poem-toothpaste love March 6, 2017
This was your toothpaste.
The tube still holds the contours of your fist
the last squeeze you gave it.
I wrap my hand around
imagine your grip,
the skin on your hand like satin tissue
squeezing paste to scrub your teeth.
It is a long time before I can remove the lid
and squeeze the paste onto my own brush.
Remembering your hand
holding mine.
Shawn L. Bird 