In time
oft heard
silent memories
mingle in the mist
In time
oft mentioned
mysteries dance
upon your tongue.
In time
oft discovered
dreams twist destinies
toward truth.
In time
oft wished
entwined desires
develop into twin
devastations.
poem-surly December 26, 2014
This morning unfurling itself
I have awoken surly.
The low clouds match my mood
The sky is surly, too.
.
Inside the house,
the Christmas mess mocks
in its surly aftermath.
.
The snow plow
dragging itself through the city
scrapes with surly determination.
.
My surly swirl of grumpiness
has me in good company,
it seems.
Poem- solstice December 21, 2014
Winter solstice,
mist cloaked,
evokes kisses.
image copyright CRAIG PULSIFER PHOTOGRAPHY craigpulsifer.com Used with permission.
Image courtesy of Craig Pulsifer. Used with permission.
Please visit www.craigpulsifer.com to see his amazing photography.
(My dad lives in the building, the roof of which you see at the bottom of the frame) 😉
poem-small December 7, 2014
It’s not small.
It overwhelms.
Unending paper piles
proliferate in the night.
A day’s work
becomes a week’s.
Somewhere under there
is order,
but it will take more
excavation.
.
.
.
I’ve been cleaning and re-organizing my office space. Made some progress after a week, but it’s not there yet. Arg.
What task do you have that seems to expand when you’re not looking?
poem-wrapped December 5, 2014
She was wrapped up in herself
and he had a bad rap
But they were enraptured
and joys they unwrapped.
,
,
Some wordplay this afternoon, just for you!
poem-crept December 2, 2014
Quiet crept
through rustling leaves,
soft snowfall.
Quiet crept
through murmurs heard
under our hearts.
Quiet crept
through gentle touches
sweet sighs.
Quiet crept
through me
to you.
poem-writers’ bed November 16, 2014
The poetry is loud tonight,
smashing and crashing through
synapses of my neocortex,
drowning the bovine bellows
of my bedmate.
Short stories are shouting.
Poetry is proclaiming itself.
Words are wailing.
They are insistent
in the seams between sleep,
and will not quieten
until I write them down.
.
.
(This is post 1717 on the blog. It was very loudly proclaiming itself when I tried to go to bed last night, and would not stop until I got out my little book kept beside the bed, turned on the little book light, and wrote down the essentials). Do you have this problem, too?
poem-kindle November 10, 2014
Under your skin
you’re kindling dreams.
Letting just enough
hope gleam through the ash.
Your head says,
“You can’t.
It won’t be,”
But the kindling dreams
wonder,
“Why
not
me?”
poem- ghosts November 9, 2014
You were
exorcized
letter by letter,
word by word,
phrase by phrase,
sentence by sentence,
paragraph by paragraph,
page by page,
chapter by chapter.
Now you are
merely a spectre
who peeks around corners
whispers at my ear
hums for my remembrance.
My only benediction
on the lost boy
from long ago
is the bittersweet smile
and the faraway glimmer
in my eyes.
Shawn L. Bird 