Shawn L. Bird

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

magnetic poem- Or Maybe 42? September 6, 2022

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:45 am
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Or Maybe 42? Magnetic poem. (c) Shawn L. Bird

I have a lot of magnetic poetry kits. I really do need to play with them more. Do you have words on your fridge? What poem is there?

Title: Or maybe 42?

Text reads:
man
you manipulate my world
you judge
this purple dress
ugly
You need people.
discover delicate delirious plot
live by iron sea
ancient forest enormous lake
search the empty vision.
sit chant whisper
explore answer to life
it is easy:
make beautiful moments
dream happy eternity
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(PS. Do you get the allusion in the title and how it relates to the poem?)

 

poem-Of elephant and blind men July 20, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:55 pm
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While you are shouting you’re right.

Check

who else is.

There’s always

more to

know.

 

poem-letter from the war office November 25, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:19 am
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The first message is a head’s up.

Someone in the building has tested Covid positive and is off to quarantine.

“You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is potential that you were in contact with someone while they were contagious. Carry on until then.”

Potential: having or showing the capacity to become or develop into something in the future.

You know, like how two people in a building have the potential to pass one another, greet one another, use the same facilities, sit in the same chairs, use the same keyboards, sit next to one another at lunch, even though you don’t know them and they don’t know you. You’d identify them how?

I think the more accurate message would be “You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is likelihood that you were in sustained contact with someone while they were contagious.”

Let’s be real. Potential is everywhere. Give us the hope of less likelihood!

Several hundred people wait in our masks with bated breath, wondering who will be the ‘lucky’ winner of a lottery worthy of Shirley Jackson.

Pandemic adventures as we attempt to surf the second wave.

 

poem-pity November 23, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:22 am
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Like Red Rose Tea:

only in Canada?

confused identity.

Reindeer

are just caribou.

Who knew?

 

poem-so like us January 31, 2020

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:42 am
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Remember

the necklace you gave me.

Four golden strands I wanted to love

for your sake.

Every time I wore it,

it turned into a tangled disaster,

wrapped up in itself.

So like us.

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poem- Minus 26 degrees January 13, 2020

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:18 am
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The moon lingers in blue sky,

listening to Styrofoam™ squeaking boots

on crispy, cold snow.

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(ignore ads added by WordPress)

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poem- That Year October 30, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:43 am
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She loves you

Diamonds in the air

Twinkling in

Street lights’ silence.

Just a snow shovel’s scraping

In the distance.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Leaf buds, bursting hope.

Unfolding pastel visions

Relief.

She loves you

Summer green

Heat hovers in the air

Living breathing furnace.

And you know that can’t be bad.

Golden light illuminates scarlet visions.

I will never say you’re beautiful

I’ll be your friend forever.

Yeah, yeah, yeah

 

poem- being Charlie Brown November 19, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:05 pm
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The football is set, with enthusiastic support,

This is going to be such a great help!

But instead of the football being held at the perfect angle for the kick that sends it through the goal posts,

Lucy has snatched it up again.  She shrugs.

You wanted to kick for THIS game?

Oh no! The game you get to kick for is three months from now!

Just hold your foot up until then, will you?

 

poem-thou dost protest too much November 1, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:13 pm
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Each act ahead comes

from what’s behind.

We are all walking wounded

trailing bandages

that tangle us,

tie us,

trip us

into our future.

Wear a blind fold:

we cannot look into a mirror to see the pain

etched across our faces.

See the bandages?

Trip over them

leaving the bar.

Scream yourself hoarse,

stamp your feet.

Shout “I’m fine, fine, FINE!” *

Ah. Methinks,

The lady doth protest too much.*

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(*Allusions: In Louise Penny’s wonderful Inspector Gamache books, Ruth Zardo has written a book of poetry where FINE is an acroynym for F*cked up, Insecure, Neurotic, Egotistical. I’d say that applies here, too. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much” is from the play within a play in Shakespeare’s Hamlet).

 

poem-flying February 8, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:41 pm
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Fleance dreams of flight,

soaring on outstretching wings

into a moonlit night,

No day trips for him, he’s heard things

about flying too near the sun.

Day is for escape, for climbing,

Peaks ascending, journeys begun,

At sunset (it’s all about the timing)

he leaps into red glowing,

falls on moon rise

spreads his wings, catches winds flowing

embraces skies,

Wonders at all he does espy

and murmurs “Fly, Good Fleance! Fly!”

 

 
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