Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-fixing December 3, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:32 pm
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It’s not obvious

that the fix is helping.

The image is blurry and bulges strangely.

What faith is required when the cure

feels worse than the injury!

.

.

My vision therapy glasses have arrived. Yikes. Not sure how I’m going to manage with months of this! How can something that makes my head hurt so much actually help in the long term? Fingers crossed!

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poem-gains and losses November 28, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:32 am
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How hard the fight for gains,

wading through mire,

battling the blurred words,

crumbling beneath the crushing pressure.

Surrender.

Another day, perhaps a gain

of minutes of wellness.

Don’t over-do when the body is able

to accommodate desire to do more than

an errand or two before succumbing.

Daily battles.

How goes the war?

I cannot fathom a positive outcome any more.

 

 

poem-a few words more November 26, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:53 pm
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A few words more

fingers flicking over keys.

A few words more

a story unwinds

A few words more

before my head explodes

Small successes form

between the creases in my brows.

I will write a few words more,

to force recovery, word by

blurry, painful word.

 

poem-squish November 2, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:18 pm
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The band around the head

compresses.

Waves,

lost ideas,

press in,

squish out.

Opportunities extruded

and left behind.

.

.

(Expect more than a few concussion related poems this month)

 

poem-new day again November 20, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:19 pm
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Every day you approach the computer

“What are we doing again?”  I show you where to see the assignment.  I review the expectations, the objectives, the criteria.

“Oh!  Okay!  I get it!” you say, and set to work.

The next day, we do it again.

Today you stare at me with blank, hollow eyes.

“I don’t get it,” you say.

Everyone else is busily working.  You’ve been absent.  When you come, you have to study for a test in another subject.  Or see the counselor.  Or help your friend.  In fourteen hours of research time, you’ve been here for eight.  Do you have anything to show for the time?  Others have the list of the websites they consulted, pages of notes, excitement over how they’ll turn research into a presentation next week.

You have confusion.

The same confusion from the first day. Repeated again.  Some days we can help you.  Some days you are confident and productive.

But nothing stays in your memory more than an hour.

Other days you are sullen and oppositional, because you’re sure  you’ve never seen this before, and you’re angry about it.

“This is stupid.”

What more can I do? I ask.  They tell me your parents refuse to have you tested.  They don’t want you to have a label, so we don’t know if this is a cognitive impairment, learning disability, or the results of drug use or a sports injury.  A label comes with funding to give you the additional support you plainly need.  Keep repeating expectations.  Keep explaining the criteria.  I agree.  This is stupid.

The course is almost over and you return each day to week one,  living a personal Groundhog Day loop,

and no one knows how to pull you out.

 

 
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