Take that moment of your greatest pain
and channel it into power.
Stare down the darkness and bend it to your will.
Use it to transform words
into a hydro station of energy
that transforms worlds.
poem- story making May 13, 2016
I did not realize
I was writing a story
when I took your words
and wove them into fantasy
so compelling
I believed you were real.
poem- possible May 11, 2016
There are possibilities in front of you
Opportunities unbounded
By anything
but your determination.
Nothing will happen if you attempt nothing
But something can happen if you do some
Thing–
Any
Thing–
To embrace what might be
Possible.
poem-failing May 8, 2016
New griefs
Still alive
but failing
dropping pieces of yourself
behind you
abilities drip away
and we face a new you
seemingly oblivious to
this reality
poem-realities May 4, 2016
It’s hard to love you
when you shred me,
slice my skin on the sharp tips
of those needle teeth.
It’s hard to love you
when you track mud,
make puddles, and leave
stinking pellets behind you.
It’s hard to love you
but your eyes twinkle,
and your tail wags
and you keep trying to climb into my lap
It’s hard to love you
but the hard things are worthwhile.
I’m building a love story
with training and time.
poem-dark April 27, 2016
I’m weary of tunnels.
Closing in around me,
narrowing the future
to a pinpoint of possibility
ahead of the foreboding train.
poem- flourishing April 22, 2016
Last year,
we met to discuss how we were flourishing,
what made this place so wonderful,
so welcoming,
so special.
This year,
I read your words about us,
and my body weeps at what has become
of our once wonderful
welcoming,
special
place.
Tension in my shoulders.
Stomach churning.
Nails bitten.
Eyes clouded.
Head throbbing.
Make do with less until there is nothing left.
Remake what was precious and original
into tiny boxes that shove our innovation
into boring cookie cutters
and the only flourish is from the arm
cutting us to fit.
poem- buns April 18, 2016
I can! I will!
Independent spirit meets reality.
Baking after the brain injury
the cinnamon buns are tasty commas
rolling spirals a surprising impossibility.
Perhaps everything is
not
as it was.
Poem- babies April 17, 2016
Twenty-nine years ago today
I held a baby in my arms,
after 9 months of nurturing her
under my heart. Reading everything on
growing the best baby, checking off the nutritional
requirements every day,
doing my best to be the best mom.
Dreaming about her future, who she might be.
Today, I hold a baby in my lap,
a black ball of fluff that wags its tail at me.
I studied its pedigree and now,
I watch training videos and imagine the fun we’ll have.
I might be a better puppy mommy?
We’ll see.
.
.
.
😉
Shawn L. Bird 