Guest instructor
releases class without permission
Students delighted to wander the halls
bounce balls
study their phones
while the supervisor
looks around the class room,
alone.
poem- uh? excuse me? May 30, 2015
This is a trifle awkward
um
I’m really sorry to bother you
cough
but it’s kind of important
uh
that you do what you were hired to do.
so
if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it
ah
if you would follow through?
.
.
.
Canadian approach to slow contractors, agents, students, etc. lol Why are we so gentle?
(Okay- weird thing- just reading this as it’s published and noticed every second long line rhymes. That was a complete accident. lol )
poem- swing May 27, 2015
In the photograph, you are on a swing in city park,
the yellow paint on the support bar is worn and flaking,
you grip the chain, suspended on the tiny rubber seat
your tall man body mashed.
You’re smirking so wide your dimple dances with the light in your eyes
Our first French kiss lingered in the air,
as our future flashed fireworks over your head.
.
.
This photo sits on my desk, and makes me smile every day.
poem-rapid write May 21, 2015
Your pens are scratching
Timer ticking
Ten minutes of writing
frantic
fervent
instant effort
fired up
The buzzer sounds
and you have created
something that did not exist
ten minutes before.
.
.
In my classes students do daily timed writes to get the brains used to engaging quickly and just writing loosely. I give them prompts to use or not: lines from songs, Rory Story Cubes, a photo. It’s amazing to see how they develop writing muscles. I check these as complete, but don’t grade them. They’re about process because you learn to write by writing. 🙂
poem- startle May 18, 2015
No sneaking
No whispers
No clandestine act
Engine patters
Garage door rumbles
Back door slams
Yet a happy greeting yields hours of anxieties.
Something is not working here.
poem-critique May 17, 2015
I love the simplicity
of this collection,
but it’s
bordering on saccharine
almost
syrup on my waffles,
but not
quite.
.
.
(I had an official poetry critique by a famous writer/poet today. I have never had my poetry critiqued by anyone ‘in the biz.’ This is the summary of the observations on the 20 or so love poems submitted. 😉 Apparently I should aim to be a *bit* edgier. I think this is quite wonderful, actually).
poem-bone bling March 30, 2015
“So what happened exactly?”
the students asked,
and I told them about the fall,
casts, surgery, plate, and screws.
“Ha!” one laughed, “That’s perfect for you!”
“Why?” I asked
“Because now
even your skeleton
has bling!”
.
.
True story.
I love my students.
🙂
poem- the look March 21, 2015
I didn’t mean to do it.
The clerk was trying to teach me to do something for myself
but I had neither time nor inclination.
I just wanted a book, and if the one I had requested from the other campus wasn’t there,
it didn’t matter where it was in the system
or whether it was coming.
Today I could pick it up, not tomorrow or later.
It wasn’t here, so I just wanted to sign out the book in my hand.
When she tried to explain what I should do to trace the path of the missing book
explain the complex library system, invite me to log into a computer off to the side,
I gave her the look.
I didn’t mean to, but I did.
She froze and her sentence stuttered to a halt,
eyes gaping at me.
She passed my book over the scanner, gulping.
I apologized for not being teachable.
I don’t know where I developed the look,
I don’t realize I’m doing it until I see the reaction.
I don’t know what I’m doing precisely
that conveys such intense disinterest and disapproval
but it does.
At least I didn’t have to sit for ten minutes
for a lecture and computer consultation, like she wanted.
Three minutes in the university library was long enough
when I am hobbling with a cane
and irritated with accessibility.
poem-proximity February 23, 2015
Once,
next to my hair salon of choice,
there was an amazing jewelry store.
Before an appointment,
I’d peruse the sparkling wares,
and occasionally I’d be captivated,
to leave a great percentage
of my pay cheque there,
in exchange for lasting, glistening baubles.
Now,
next to my hair salon of choice,
these is an amazing chocolate store.
Before an appointment,
I peruse the creamy, sweet wares,
and always I am captivated,
to leave a small percentage
of my pay cheque there,
in exchange for momentary ecstasy on my tongue.
poem- waiting February 11, 2015
2:50 a.m.
I’m getting to bed at a decent hour for once
(well, decent for me).
I let out the dogs.
One’s back in a minute, tail wagging,
as he heads to his bowl for a quick snack.
No sign of dog two.
I whistle.
I call.
Were I bi-pedal, I would put on boots
go in the back yard and bring him in,
but I’m mono-pedal and the office chair
isn’t up for a snowy back yard
never mind the slope I’d never get up.
So I’m waiting.
and waiting
and waiting.
This dog does this a lot
at 3 a.m.
Never at 1 a.m.
or 4 a.m.
What’s that about?
At 3:30, I shut out all the lights
and decide he can sleep on the porch.
until hubby get’s up at 5:00.
Then I see a ghostly shape on the other side of the glass door.
Oh, hello. You’re back already? Grrr.
I steer him down the hall, and he hops up on my bed
with wet, dirty feet. I growl, and smack his butt.
I pick up dog one, who has dry feet, is about to die,
and pees promptly when I put him out and then returns to the door.
In the dark, dog two lies on the dog pillow and I hear cats yowling.
In my bedroom.
In his belly.
Mewling, and yowling, and squeaking, and meowing.
He shifts uncomfortably.
His stomach gurgles and growls.
He can have breakfast later.
I’m going to sleep with the good dog
at my feet.
.
.
(No. He didn’t really eat cats, despite what it sounded like).
Shawn L. Bird 