Oh my!
Blue sky!
If only the promises could be true
that this is is just a preview.
Has spring finally arrived?
poem- eager November 16, 2017
I’m checking today
Again.
I checked yesterday
And the day before
And the day before that.
Each time,
I catch my breath,
before I click the key.
Open.
Enter.
Hopeful.
So far,
No news.
But
I’ll keep checking,
Until I
Know.
.
Oh!
poem- count down December 16, 2016
We’re counting down now.
Hour by hour.
Minute by minute.
Escape’s almost in our power.
poem- best laid plans September 2, 2016
Anticipation building.
Preparations made.
At the back of the mind
Really?
Surely there will come disappointment
instead of you?
poem-journey February 24, 2016
There is anticipation
in the preparation
equal to arriving
at the destination.
poem-waiting October 19, 2015
Maybe, they told me. Maybe.
For stretches, for weeks, it’s a same old day,
but my brain starts to hum whenever I remember,
Maybe, it tells me. Maybe today.
.
.
Oh! The anticipation! Will it be? Won’t it? It’s like waiting for lottery numbers to be drawn.
poem- now May 24, 2014
Now
I remember
what I wanted to ask.
I wonder if…
this
that
the other.
Right.
I had meant to ask
about that, hadn’t I?
But in the excitement
all the good questions
fell out of my head
leaving a joyful
explosion of
now.
.
.
.
.
.
This could mean anything, because of course it happens all the time, but specifically today, I had 3 questions wander through my brain that I’d meant to ask author Diana Gabaldon in the 90 minutes we were driving from the airport in Kelowna to Salmon Arm for Word on the Lake Writers’ Festival. Yesterday another one floated through. I suspect many more will show up in the weeks to come. Oh well. We’ll just have to have her back! 🙂
heart pounding contest entering September 9, 2012
My heart is pounding as if I’d just been running a race.
Was I?
No.
All I did was push “Send.”
I find it interesting, in a curiously analytical way, that one little finger drop, a quarter inch of movement, can cause such palpitations.
The last time I felt like this, I was dropping a manuscript into the mail.
And so I am again, I suppose.
A short story is off to a Big Contest.
Big as in: Famous judges. Serious cash.
This is the kind of contest that
has professionals entering:
the ‘in some circles rather famous’
kind of professionals.
I’m joining the game, and now begins the wait.
How close to their skill am I?
Will my entry wallow in the ‘not quite there’ pile
or shine in the ‘consider this’ pile?
I’ve done all that I can do.
It’s gone,
and my heart pounds a tattoo of farewell.
Now we wait
to see which possibility
unfolds.
Shawn L. Bird 