Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-ghost stop August 9, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:44 pm
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In my old neighbourhood

I stop at a light-controlled intersection

that didn’t used to be,

On the corner

I see a glimmer of a younger me

in my safety patrol vest,

the stop sign at my back,

waiting for the whistle to spring to action

decades ago.

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poem- guessing May 2, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:11 pm
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I guess

I should remember

the curve of your cheek

the reach of your arms

the pitch of your voice.

I remember

the imprint of your fingers

against my thigh, rising scarlet.

I remember

the strident screech

that foretold your speeches

about the unfairness of life.

I remember

the flash of your eyes

the thud of the door

being poor.

I guess

I remember

you.

.

.

(FYI- written in persona)

 

poem- rockery January 29, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:52 am
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We played in the rockery

and you always skinned your knees

because adventure was so much better than caution,

and my mother wasn’t likely to smack you

for disturbing the hen and chicks blooming

in the crevices.

 

 

poem-promise September 29, 2015

Those childish promises

made with fervent belief

prove the power of intention:

Fealty sworn with hooked pinkies

in confident conviction.

 

poem- first September 23, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:03 am
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Happy birthday, you said

bending over to kiss my cheek.

And with my fluttering heart and flaming blush

I decided that was my first kiss,

that all the others did not count.

Because I wanted my first kiss to come from you,

my heart believed it had.

 

poem-echoes August 16, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:46 am
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I walk on roads I knew.

Familiar houses I name as I pass:

Janet’s house,

Marcie’s house,

Sandy’s house,

Cathy’s house,

Ayesha’s house,

Annette’s house.

I catch glimpses of them playing in their front yards

or waving from their windows,

Though they have not been children for decades.

Their spectral selves run along the sidewalks

and fill the twilight with lost laughter.

.

.

.

It’s eerie visiting in my old neighbourhood.  I can actually see my childhood friends out of the corners of my eyes, but when I look, they’ve vanished.  Have you had this experience?

 

poem- old street June 18, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:18 am
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The old man

who lived in

the corner house

with the red front stairs

always had

time to

listen.

 

 
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