Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- Worshipping anger April 15, 2019

Your pain bursts out the barrel of a gun

punches holes through community

explodes small town security.

Neutrality’s a liar.

And in world news:

Notre-Dame Cathedral is on fire.

.

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My own photo, detail around the main entrance of Notre-Dame. Paris, 2011.

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My own photo. Notre-Dame tower details. Paris. 2010

 

A poem should stand on its own merits, but I feel like a bit of clarification this time.  There was a shooting in my small, Canadian town yesterday.  Two people were shot in their church; one died. Our community has been reeling from this shock, and now another tragedy.  The loss of life. The loss of a building.  Can you compare the two?

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poem- tossing April 4, 2019

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:24 am
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I toss.

You race.

You leap.

You flip.

You pant.

You return

on a joy-fueled frenzy

for the fun of the chase.

To vicariously share your bliss,

I toss.

.

.

(Just in from a supremely athletic game of fetch- with a Chuckit Flying Squirrel. Now a happily exhausted poodle is at my feet.  I once saw a Ziggy cartoon that said he just wanted to go to dog heaven and toss balls for eternity. I sometimes feel like that is already my prime raison d’etre according to Kiltti!  How about you? Do you play a lot of fetch?).  

 

 

poem- him December 14, 2018

Yes, there is laughter;

I see it sparkling in those eyes,

twinkling in the crevices of his face.

I see it dancing,

in those jaunty steps,

off-kilter, long-legged ramblings.

I see it in the shaking shoulders,

heaving joy, hard embraces.

There is laughter through that body,

whether we hear it

or not.

 

 

poem- drifting December 10, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:09 am
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Snow flakes drift by,

washing the world white.

Cold drips down my neck,

scarf scratching,

steps slipping,

breath billows in small clouds,

miniature factories.

Trudge through the flakes

filling the sky,

painting a picture of

a world wiped clean.

 

 

 

poem- bad days November 29, 2018

When it’s a bad day,

the pain is there with waking.

Constriction or stabbing,

nausea or aching;

it fills the head until there is nothing in the world

but the hopeless frustration,

that I will never be well again.

When it’s a bad day,

there are no conversations,

no outings or errands,

only holding the head,

taking another pill,

and praying tomorrow will be

a better day.

 

poem- tricks November 18, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:45 am
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This time

I’m walking forward and you are beside me,

four paws padding along,

wet nose nudging my palm now and again,

assuring me you’re there.

This time

I waken to the whining cries

of someone small who is not you,

blessed and depressed.

Time tricks,

I see your silhouette,

hear a gentle woof on the wind,

look around knowing it’s not,

wishing it was.

Now, time

reminds me that life is a tapesty.

Joys are woven in the warp;

we weave grief in the weft,

dark streaks that might be tears,

alongside the lemon-bright thread of laughter.

This time,

I’m grateful to wrap myself tight

in the memories of you. Grateful

as I go about another day.

 

 

poem- vaguely November 15, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:50 pm
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It couldn’t quite be

as obvious as that?

Roped mysteries

hauled to lucidity,

tugged into reality.

Something is vaguely changed.

Weary watching,

sidelong looks,

what happens next?

 

 
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