I know
you’re broken.
I see the fracture lines
behind your eyes
I feel the seepage
leaking from the crack in your soul.
I have
needle, thread
glue
and hope.
I’ll share.
poem- kill the critic
Kill the critic:
let him drown in the
flow of your words.
Kill the critic:
let him sear in the
molten eruption
from the core of you.
Kill the critic:
let him smother
gasping against the tide
of your creativity,
.grasping at the emptiness
that was your insecurities.
Kill the critic:
be free.
.
.
NB: I do not advocate murder of anything but the inner voice that tells you that you’re inadequate. Your inner critic has no business in your writing head-space. You can’t edit a blank page.
poem- gathering October 22, 2013
She gathers words
Pulls them to her
Guides them along
Embraces them
Squeezes them
Entices them to dance
with her.
They spin together
in a furious
jubilation a
celebration an
ecstasy of gyration
She lets go
and words fly
spraying her soul
to the edges
of the universe.
poem- Adrian October 20, 2013
Adrian, muscles rippling
and glistening from summer sun,
as the girls grip
their nails in their fists, wishing.
Adrian, head emerging from car engine
wringing greasy hands,
and grinning a greeting,
reaching for his shirt,
as the girls glide in, sniffing;
whiffing at pheromones
that hint of moaning, groaning
atonement.
Good girls watching as
Adrian gets ready
for Bible study.
poem-Avril?
Avril!
They shouted your name with a joyous fanfare
as the curtain rose on cue
but you were not there,
the stage was bare.
In a sliced second, he stared
and then the curtain dropped and
he fell into a story
as if he hadn’t called you,
We saw the flurry back stage
as you flew into position,
a tap on his shoulder and he
pointed at the stage and shouted again,
Avril!
In place of empty space you raced into song
tracing along the path without a care
to cheering throngs of youthful fans
who’d earned the fare.
.
Sometimes, we shout our expectation
and to our frustration our stage is bare
there under the glare of our desperation.
Turn and tell a story, deflect the unexpected
but when we look back,
it’s simple celebration.
poem-autumn seduction October 15, 2013
While water washes shore
on a moon misted morning,
summer surrenders
to golden kisses
and scarlet sighs.
.
.
(I am finding my commute above Shuswap Lake to be very inspiring! At some point I will have to stop to take some photos for you. It is positively GLORIOUS! In the meantime, this photo in words will have to do).
poem- farewell rose October 9, 2013
The leaves grow brown and fall
but between petals drenched with rain
blossoms still smell of summer sweetness.
poem- poem breath October 6, 2013
I breathe in a poem
inhaling words and images
savouring the rhythm, colour, and aroma
flowing through lungs, heart, veins,
capilliaries and arteries.
I exhale the moment
and the poem,
it goes
free.
poem- this was me October 5, 2013
This was me:
curls briefly permanent,
my pen poised on your promises
recording adoration,
lists of lingering longings,
the angst of my adolescence,
my imaginary reality,
of dreams carved from your
calls and letters.
Feeling freely at fifteen,
that was me.
..
I had written a lot of poetry for and about a boy I admired, and for his 18th birthday, I compiled them all into a book, in calligraphy, each was recorded in a blank red ‘leather’ book. In the top left photo you see the calligraphy pen I used. In the top right you see the book itself on my lap. The photo on the bottom left ended up as the ‘author photo’ in the book.
These portraits were taken by a young woman who worked for my mom. Her name was Lindy, and she was from Nova Scotia. I often wonder what she has done since returned to the East Coast.
In the bottom right you can see a bit of the 4″ wedge canvas Candies I wore to death that summer. Always a shoe girl. I loved those suspender jeans (by Pulse, my favourite brand). They’re probably still in a box around here somewhere, waiting for me to be 106 lbs again. Oh, those innocent teen years when I was still a brunette! 😉
PS. The more I think about this, the more I’m sure I lied in this poem. I got that perm after a dare from Mark, whom I met the summer I was 16, so this must have been the spring / summer that I was 17. Hmm. With necessary poetic licence, I’m going to keep the ‘fifteen’ in there. But you’ll know it’s not factual, okay?
poem- you in a crowd October 3, 2013
I see you
in the distance
across a roomful of heads,
tall and silent
watching them with a
pleasant blankness-
a smile that turns your mouth
but doesn’t light your eyes.
You stand above
conversation,
listening without interest,
putting in the time
required for politeness.
My eyes call to you
and you turn,
one eyebrow raises a greeting
and your lips rise with it,
I see the flash of gladness,
as you incline your head
and step toward my love.
Shawn L. Bird 