Today’s trial.
leads to
today’s trail.
Try.
poem-ostrich day March 4, 2016
I am overwhelmed
by my responsibilities
and the weight of my grief
that creeps up unexpectedly
to undermine my clarity
to bury me with memories
and underscore my sense of loss.
I’ll hide myself from Helios: find
some sand to stick my head beneath.
poem-optimism March 1, 2016
Each year a goose takes roost in
the osprey nest platform above the mill.
I suppose penthouse accommodations entice.
The view is lovely there,
and surely she feels superior to her kin
nesting waterfront (though their
recreational opportunities are greater).
Each year, after a month of goose occupancy,
the ospreys return.
I do not know the depth of the tragedy.
Do the evicted geese simply suffer homelessness,
or do they endure the grief of infanticide, as well?
Sometimes our lofty aspirations
are our undoing.
Our hubris is our hamartia,
but each year, in early spring, there’s a goose
in the osprey nest.
.
.
.
.
Remember your Shakespeare lessons? Hamartia is the ‘fatal flaw’ of your personality that leads to your downfall (most commonly in literary tragedies). Hubris is an excess of pride.
poem-trained February 25, 2016
Eyes forward
Seeing what he wants to see.
Ears closed to cries or criticism.
Fill out the forms
Check the boxes.
Everyone must fit somewhere,
conformity is the only rule.
Follow the tracks.
poem-far November 22, 2015
As snow creeps down the mountain
I thread through the maze and take to the skies.
I’m only leaving you for a few days,
but my sighs reflect how bereft it is
to be on my own, far from the one who
makes my heart beat.
Far from you.
poem- butterflies October 31, 2015
She remembers long ago
when she’d catch his glances like butterflies,
flitting, fleeting, flickering glimpses,
darting from above a smile
of surreptitious wistfulness.
She’d swallow his longing
so the fluttering was within her,
and gaze back,
captivated, until they
trembled together
in the net.
poem-curled October 30, 2015
You are landscape:
hills curled around valleys,
shoulder arced over head
thighs a rounded panorama.
You are pushed up against darkness,
it puddles beneath your breasts,
but waken, beauty.
Light lingers on your glistening skin;
dawn caresses your body,
an invitation to fall in love with day.
.
.
I’m admiring the art on my wall again. This poem is written about this drawing: https://shawnbird.com/2015/02/21/poem-the-light-returns/ How thankful I am for Elaine’s skills. The artist in me greets the artist in thee! Namaste.
poem-distrust October 17, 2015
There was something.
There was something in that bombastic laugh
that set a tingle up my spine,
something not quite right that climbed out from behind your eyes,
incised the benefit of the doubt.
There was something that kept me holding back
long before your strange attack.
Perhaps my intuition,
just knew it wasn’t safe to trust?
poem- pickle poetry October 13, 2015
Your jar of pickled poems–
cheek puckering poetry,
sour smiles behind glass–
makes me laugh.
.
.
.
My students handed in their poetry collections today. Among them is a jar with poems written on green pickle shaped papers. 🙂 Bethany wins cutest poetry project. Too bad it wasn’t a contest. (Hmm. Maybe next year?!)
Shawn L. Bird 