Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem- sticks November 4, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:30 am
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As they approach

your relaxed droop stiffens

your body tightens

each cell constricting.

You’re too old for

oppositional defiance

yet you shiver with it.

“Myself!” I hear your

two year old self echoing

through the decades.  “No!”

But look,

this is a time of change,

and nothing changes without effort.

You have experts at your fingertips

and you refuse support and aid

because

Why, exactly?

You were so ready to fly,

and you’ve gone so far,

but now you’re quivering beneath the nest

while the parents flap about squawking

about winter migration,

and that cat on the porch.

You heedlessly tuck you head

beneath your wing

to nap.

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poem- small October 11, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:27 am
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You were so very small

pulling your limbs inside yourself

wearing a vacant scowl,

trying to turn yourself inside out

to avoid notice,

when we were all there

for you.

So much trauma to hide from.

so many layers of armour.

Will we ever see you drop the ballast

so you can fly?

.

.

Probably a few too many metaphors here, but the sentiments hold true.  May have to work on this one a bit more.

 

poem-fathers October 5, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:23 pm
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I grew up

a pampered princess

a late life arrival, long desired.

I felt my father’s

fondness every day-

a travelling salesman

who never missed a moment

of my active life.

But you

lost your father

along the way, lost sight

of him over the barriers

your mother built between you.

What was it like to find him

as he was dying, knowing

he had never stopped

loving you, though you

were equally lost to him?

Once you found him,

he slipped into eternity.

As I watch you, so

polished at your work,

on this career high,

I wonder,

Are you still a lost boy?

Or did the chance to embrace him

at the end of his life,

to know how proud he was of you,

help ease the sorrow

as you set him free to fly?

I forgive you

for not meeting me for tea

And I wonder,

what kind of father

will you let yourself be?

.

.

(For S&D)

 

poem- blind January 11, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:34 am
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To a tiny toddling boy

you exclaimed his father’s stupidity

and explained to the

confused face that he was

mommy’s best friend.

No pressure

for his future wife,

that.

 

 

poem- mother December 28, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:22 am
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He said

his mother was dead,

because the gulf

between them

was wide with guilt

and jumping it

was beyond

their capability.

She said

her son was lost

because his choices

marooned him

on an island of his own making

and would not let

anyone in.

They said

their journeys

were in opposite directions

but eventually,

on the other side of the world,

they’re bound to intersect.

 

poem- choose pink December 7, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:11 pm
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“No, honey!” the mother said

reaching across that table and plucking

a crayon from her daughter’s hand.

“The sky isn’t pink.  Here,

use this blue crayon.”

The little girl blinked tears.

The teacher leaned over,

and studied the picture.

“What a beautiful sunset

you’ve drawn!” she said.

.

.

For Charlotte, who is teaching crafts at the art gallery, and is amazed at some parents.

 

poem- time tree August 11, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:20 pm
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The tree outside my bedroom window

was the diameter of my skinny child legs:

smooth skinned trunk,

sweet green leaves.

Now, I reach my mother arms

around rough bark,

scrape my wrists as

I stretch to touch

my finger tips together.

There’s summer sun in the scent

of poplar leaves.

I look into the window

searching for my youthful face

gazing out at the future.

 

 
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