In the bedroom mirror
curves swerve
from shoulder to ankle
arcing circle
fertility curling her.
In the rearview mirror
an undulating landscape
curves swerve
from hills to plain,
clouds bubbling
with the fertile promise of rain.
poem- offensive March 8, 2015
I am offended by this object.
In my messy,
but perfectly coordinated, kitchen
you have filled the clear soap dispenser
with acid yellow dish detergent,
instead of clear or white
as is the aesthetic choice.
It glares at me:
caution colour
screaming incongruity.
It hurts my eyes;
it seers my sensibility.
But you are proud
of your helpfulness,
and this is your house, too.
Perhaps if I squint,
it will be invisible?
.
.
⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓
This piece works with the theme SHARING SPACE on today’s http://www.shawnbird.com/poetic-diversity-project
Please consider sharing a poem or a link on this theme and help me with my grad school course!
poem-anxious sovereignty March 4, 2015
You and I are independent souls.
I move through the house;
You rest comfortably in contented sovereignty.
You do not need to dog my heels
to glorify each moment at my side
or expect me to worship at your feet.
You ignore me for hours,
sleeping in peaceful, self-sufficiency.
We are independent souls,
until the moment I step outside the door,
and calamity explodes in barks and whines.
It pants, scratches, and pees displeasure
at this, your desperate circumstance,
wailing at the injustice of loneliness,
vomiting up fathomless grief.
For the hours I am present, I do not exist;
for the hour I am absent, I make your world
a cavernous void.
Dog ironies
amid anxieties.
,
,
OJ is not doing well since Dusty went to the Rainbow Bridge. We’ve tried swaddling as per Thundershirt. We’ve got the Rescue Remedy. He’s in his safe, contained space. We fill the Kong with goodness. Still the dog thinks the world is ending when I walk out the door. Got any other suggestions? Except a new dog companion. Hubby imagines a dog-free household in our near future. (I’m allergic to cats, so that’s not an option either).
poem-new March 1, 2015
The birds return
set sights on sites and sing
in fervor with that mating thing
You take to the road
push pedals for a hundred k
while I wait for petals,
seek something to say
and all of these are just the way
we mark each new spring.
Me. You. New.
too.
.
.
POETS! You are cordially invited to contribute an original poem or link to https://shawnbird.com/poetic-diversity-project/ Today’s exploration- POEMS OF PLACE. Please feel free to comment instead, about your environment and how it contributes to your writing.
poem-proximity February 23, 2015
Once,
next to my hair salon of choice,
there was an amazing jewelry store.
Before an appointment,
I’d peruse the sparkling wares,
and occasionally I’d be captivated,
to leave a great percentage
of my pay cheque there,
in exchange for lasting, glistening baubles.
Now,
next to my hair salon of choice,
these is an amazing chocolate store.
Before an appointment,
I peruse the creamy, sweet wares,
and always I am captivated,
to leave a small percentage
of my pay cheque there,
in exchange for momentary ecstasy on my tongue.
poem-spell February 6, 2015
Magic dances on your finger tips;
You transform the day.
Enchantment unwinds in glistening threads
and tangles between us.
Your spell has ensnared me,
but I’ll never tell that the gleam in my eyes
came from a cauldron of your promises.
poem-incised February 5, 2015
You find the perfect spot
for maximum irritation
you rip apart the incision
determined to arrest healing.
I long to rip you off,
toss you away,
have air and water and space
surround me,
to heal the gash
and help to find my footing again.
.
.
.
Dedicated to my Aircast® which has a air tube glued right at my incision line. This is a painful irritation! Yeah, yeah. So I’m being literal. Nothing is stopping you from taking it figuratively. That’s what poetry is all about! 🙂
poem-hollow January 31, 2015
Her belly is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been excavated
and spun into emptiness.
.
Her head is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been desolated
and spun into heaviness.
.
Her life is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been devastated
and spun into enviousness.
.
Her hope was hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been extricated,
and spins into readiness
poem- canine scheming January 29, 2015
In the hallway
between kitchen and bedrooms
the chef knife catches the light.
Which poodle is plotting
nefarious exploits?
Should we be locking
bedroom doors at night?
Shawn L. Bird 