Two horses, white and bay
stand companionably
munching their lunches.
Atop the bay,
upon each vertebrae,
perches a bitty bird,
observing the world:
A small flock aligned
along an equine
telephone line.
The white mare, back bare,
munches, and muses
on popularity’s
winners and losers.
.
.
Coming home from work the other day, I looked into a field and was amused to see this sight. I wish I’d had my camera with me, but since I didn’t, here’s a picture made from words for you. 😉
You are a poem
that only angels know.
You move with the ocean’s pulse
waves kissing the shore
twice a day,
touching sky,
swelling with promise.
You are a poem
only the angels know,
but I am listening
for your words
on the wind,
reaching to catch
the rhythm,
in the rolling tide,
stretching to hear
the angels whisper.
You are a poem
I long to know.
Summer comes
on breaths of
scent drenched air.
Blossoms,
beaches,
and vibrant beauty
enticing an
inhaled happiness,
beckoning the season of
freedom.
You look at my
half-empty glass
shake your head,
insert a straw,
blow in laughter and love,
and make my happiness
bubble up until it
overflows.
your breath
drifts across my nostrils
soft as dandelion dreams,
floats past my ears
whispering mystic riddles,
touches my lips
with promised kisses,
lingers like laughter
o’er our tomorrow.
.
.
Pondering workshop advice from Garry Gottfriedson at Word on the Lake. “Love poems should use soft sounds,” and “never mention the word love…”
I’m coming home
From far flung flings
and flailing things
like starfish arms, gripping rock, torn by tide.
.
I’m coming home
to truth tuned tightly
and played upon my harp
like melodies that echo in the wind
from unplucked strings.
.
I’m coming home
in isolated indigo tiptoeing
in Indian moccasins, like flocks I’ve seen
in creeping dreams.
.
I’m coming home
only you will know me
dancing past in dazzling light
and carried on the breeze
but you will know
when I am home.
It’s not truth,
but danger.
Not what is real,
but what’s perceived.
The excluding
exclamations
of laughter
contrasted by
bored eye brows
and sighs.
An amused knife
slicing through
her security.
© Shawn L. Bird
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Being a free verse, there is no strict rhyme or rhythm pattern in this one, but you’ll see lots of examples here of consonance, assonance, and alliteration. Notice in particular the pattern of growling of the /r/s, the explosive /ex/s and the sighing /s/s which reflect the narrative persona’s emotional experience.
There is a circle pattern with the 6 sections (not quite stanzas, not being separated) being strongly consonant /r/, then assonant /e/, then alliterative /ex/, and then reversing: alliterative /b/, assonant /i/, and finally consonant /r/ again. How does this pattern reflect the persona’s emotional state?
You are welcome to use this poem in your class room, crediting the author. I’d also be pleased to see a comment indicating where and when you did. Thanks.
Shawn L. Bird 