Once,
I’d count down days to him.
My pounding would steal my breath at
the thought of him.
I observe my obsession from a distance
laughing at my absurdity,
thankful to have exorcised such ghosts.
.
Now,
thinking I’m seeing her soon
illuminates my being
with not-so-secret joy.
I acknowledge my obsession
in a collectitivity of compatriots
thankful for opportunities
to rub against greatness.
Every day
release some of the pressure,
let the steam of words blow
rising like mist
falling droplets of thought
caught.
You can make room for new
opportunities
ideas
possibilities
to pen
if you drain your brain
daily.
.
.
Lots of poetic devices in action here, as well as good advice. Thanks syl for the image!
Down the hall
voices–
murmurs words of whispered
conversations
I can’t quite hear.
The house is supposed to be
empty,
so I stalk the sound
searching for chatty intruders
their sibilant sussurance
strangely assured for the late hour
and their uninvited status.
In the bathroom,
it comes clear:
the toilet’s talking
to itself.
A hundred years ago these fields yielded
grief, fear, bodies, blood, and mud.
Now, wheat dries golden in the sun,
leaves wave in the breeze over crater scars,
While the earth returns bones and bombshells
to the surface: a century of slowly expulsing the detritus of war
extruding shrapnel from its pockmarked body with the new grass.
.
.
Watching the history channel, and amazed to learn that even today, Belgian farmers keep bins in their yards for unexploded shells they find, and the army comes by regularly to collect and destroy them. What a legacy a hundred years later! I’m just finishing Anne Perry’s World War One series which has made trench warfare very vivid.
Leaves wave
from tree tops
Some exhuberant,
amazed to greet the sky,
some, more lazily,
wave with sighs
I laughed a little
remembering you,
saw a glimpse of your smile
between two clouds,
felt the comfort only you could give,
wished you were here
for more than a
glimpse.
A jaunty hat catches eyes
inspires a smile.
A jaunty hat always tries
to beguile
but it’s too happy to seduce
its morals are not loose
That hat’s a joyful
welcome mat to fun.
See the twisting silence
weaving between them;
pursed lips, downcast eyes,
See their knot tighten
further together, closer apart.
It is dark here.
We have dug a den,
a hole to hide in.
Safe, secure, one entrance to guard
with snarling, snapping lunges.
Beyond the border we guard,
light illuminates.
We squint at silhouettes,
afraid of what lies behind.
The dark we know,
but light lures.
We’re raining
damp permeates bones
sky slides claustrophobically close
Grey day
Shawn L. Bird 