I do not know what to do
about your screams.
It seems you plunge
to unplumbable depths
and I do not know
how to swim.
The mists of melancholy
shroud the waters,
coat you in agony,
fog reason, and
I fear I am not lighthouse
enough to guide you home.
poem- crowded May 14, 2015
It’s crowded
in my head
No room for tunes
or truth festooned
across your bed
It’s crowded.
poem-arcs April 30, 2015
Arms are
the consolation
the comfort
the consideration
arranged around artifice.
Arcing constancy.
poem- perhaps April 26, 2015
Perhaps when
. you are dead
I will find a cache
. of hidden love letters,
. diaries,
. poetry
all proclaiming your passionate
. yearnings,
your adoration recorded
. day after day.
Moments captured on paper
. trapped filaments of bliss
. flashes of us through your eyes.
Perhaps
I will find a cache.
Perhaps
. not.
poem- palms March 29, 2015
A moment of celebration
raise your hands, wave the palms
Palms together, clap your hands,
No palmistry to understand
when they raise you up
they’ll drop you down.
Get ready to sup and pray some.
Silver’s exchanged for a soul
just thirty little pieces.
The whole world pivots around
this moment of celebration,
before the coming devastation.
But after grief,
Relief. and
Peace.
.
.
A little Palm Sunday poem for you.
poem- betrayal March 26, 2015
Do not leave him unsupervised,
For those flames in his eyes
are burning for the stranger
he’s been dreaming of.
Leave him unsupervised
to throw away your history.
If his eyes burn for her,
he doesn’t deserve your
unswerving devotion.
Reading Jodi Picoult’s novel Mercy. Feel like screaming, so I wrote a poem.
poem- 3 things March 25, 2015
On her blog @SarahDoughty prompted:
Tell me a story covering three things:
- a promise
- why you write
- a passion
This was my response. Not exactly a story, but you know, brevity is an art! 🙂 What’s your response? Go check out her blog and leave a thought.
.
I do; I do
release the stories,
my dreams of you.
.
POETRY LESSON:
I feel like I need to take this moment to point out what is going on in this poem, because while there are only 3 lines and eleven words, they are woven tightly using a variety of poetic technique. First, while each line responds in order to Sarah’s 3 prompts, they also read as one sentence, so there are overlapping meanings. Secondly, there is a pattern of 4-3-4 words. Thirdly, repetition in the first line is quite emphatic, but provides a rhyme that tightens the ending with you.
Fourthly, I get seriously carried away with the sound devices assonance and consonance, binding each component of the words to their fellows. There are three vowels sounds repeated, the only out-lier is the ‘o’ in stories. e.g. I, I, my; do, do, you; release, stories, dreams; the, of. (Reminder: assonance is repetition of a vowel sound, NOT a letter). The consonant sounds also repeat with do, do, dreams; release, stories, dreams; release, stories, dreams; my dreams. The the and of are both *fricatives, and so while not exactly the same sound, the brain hears them as ‘close enough.’
Finally, that leaves only the ‘l’ is without a partner, except visually–because I,I,l look the same, don’t they? And of course, the lonely o from stories, visually matches the o’s in do. In other words, every component of each word is tied somehow to the rest of the poem. Absolutely everything fits like a tight puzzle.
Did I do any of this intentionally? No, actually. I just responded to the prompt, tidied it up until I liked it, and then when I copied it here, I noticed how tight it was.
*Fricatives in English are f,v, s (both s/z sounds), th (both θ and ð).
poem- burning March 23, 2015
The label on the bra
reads “Keep away from fire.”
Is this a warning against
flames of excessive passion,
self-immolation, or
metaphorical representations
of feminist independence?
.
poem-cracked March 20, 2015
I am cracked earth,
parched red clay
shrinking in the sun.
You are water,
not a flood
pouring over, but
a gentle, constant rain,
infiltrating slowly,
waking dormant seeds,
bringing blossoms,
to barren hopes,
remaking me.
poem-between the lines March 16, 2015
Honey,
quit hunting between the lines
for secret messages!
The pondering that ravages your mind
is funny.
Sometimes a like is just a like,
it’s not a matter of spite
a declaration of might,
suggestion you’re right,
it’s just a like.
‘Nice words. I heard them.’
‘Well phrased. This stays with me.’
‘You posted. Yay!’
Quit running with the attitude
that everything’s about you.
Relax. Let live. Don’t stress.
I don’t care if you’re wearing pants or dress.
If you look like Hans but feel like Sue.
I’m not gunning after you!
Do what you want to do.
But don’t read between my lines
and imagine that in my rhymes
I’m referring to you.
(Though this one time,
it’s true,
I do).
.
.
(Sometimes I get weird email. I should just ignore it, but sometimes it’s inspiring. What can I say?)
Shawn L. Bird 