We walk the trails
and I hear the trees talk
creaking screeches
from beneath the bark.
Their sap song
celebrates spring.
We hear, wondering
what stories creaking sap sings
and wishing we grasped more meaning,
while thankful that at least
we sense their flowing feelings
about spring.
On the peaks, the snow is blinding white.
Where has it found the light to glow so brightly
beneath this cloud filled sky?
I need to find sun,
so I am an equally inspiring sight.
Once again
you come by dream
to spend some time with me.
This visit you brought your wife
and gave me wildly inappropriate gifts
that I accepted graciously,
thankful her choices were not mine.
And yet my heart
still stirred at your smile.
How strange, though parted by
time, miles, and reality,
in youthful memory, you still
do this to me.
At the neighbour’s, there are twenty-one robins
purposefully flittering and twittering.
Above, the sky is baby blue;
little cloud puffs waft across, like running tykes,
(hear their giggles?)
On trees, green buds peek from each branch.
Breathe in these beginnings.
I believe, this peaceful day
is what hope looks like.
Black night
sleep tight
creeping creature
thoughts feature
rampant racing
adrenaline pumping
thumping heart.
Black night
count sheep
crush the creeping thinking
shrink the thinking
block thinking
stop thinking
Black night
sleep tight
Yeah.
Right.
We could just call them nocturnal birds
The same bouncing soaring as swallows:
Dips,
Dives,
Digesting insects to equal their body weight.
Sleep away the day, just hanging out
Waiting for their night flight,
hand-sized chihuahuas in hang-gliders
amazing mosquito munching moves
Utility belts unnecessary to such cute, useful beasts.
Moon dancers wending wings
rising through summer skies.
This poem is wishful
. .wistful
Whistle fears into the dark
Spark hope
Scope out the dreams
that mean the most
Mark out those goals
Be wishful, even when wistful
and whistle whatever
brings joy into being
Sing hope
Be peace
Achieve what we need
Believe wholly
in hope.
.
.
.
I was leafing through my draft poetry notebook and found this one written in the fall. It seems a very appropriate poem for the first day of spring!
.
.
.
.
.
.
That was way too much
. cheesecake, Valentine.
This queasy belly surges
. with regret.
We may love chocolate, but
. a little is better than
. a lot.
Your love is sweet enough,
. perhaps.
So many criteria
for a deceptively simple task.
Light weight
. useful
. fun
. full to over-flowing with love
Small tokens are all I can
pack in a bag
Only miniscule metaphors for my
immeasurable gratitude.
What gift is enough?
Oh, what can
I bring?
.
.
.
This spring I’m off to do a couple of writing retreats and visiting friends and family from my times as a exchange student, yay those many years ago. Since I only travel with a carry-on, regardless of the length of the stay, I have limited room for all the gifts I want to bring. >>sigh<< I’m hoping my trip to the Fabric store will meet assorted needs. Wish me luck!
.
.
.
.
..
When Pluto was a planet
You cleared your neighbourhood
Scooped all the negativity
Flung it to far reaches
You spun in your orbit
So well rounded.
We wanted to come along
But your journey is long
and oh, so cold.
Where you are looking
impacts what you see.
I’m looking at you.
You’re not looking at me.
Now Pluto’s a dwarf planetoid
because it doesn’t bring friends
on its journey,
like staying along is what a
far out, cold planet wants.
Remember when Pluto was a planet
and there was a we.
Shawn L. Bird 