Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-between the lines March 16, 2015

Honey,

quit hunting between the lines

for secret messages!

The pondering that ravages your mind

is funny.

Sometimes a like is just a like,

it’s not a matter of spite

a declaration of might,

suggestion you’re right,

it’s just a like.

‘Nice words.  I heard them.’

‘Well phrased.  This stays with me.’

‘You posted.  Yay!’

Quit running with the attitude

that everything’s about you.

Relax.  Let live.  Don’t stress.

I don’t care if you’re wearing pants or dress.

If you look like Hans but feel like Sue.

I’m not gunning after you!

Do what you want to do.

But don’t read between my lines

and imagine that in my rhymes

I’m referring to you.

(Though this one time,

it’s true,

I do).

.

.

(Sometimes I get weird email.  I should just ignore it, but sometimes it’s inspiring.  What can I say?)

 

poem-curve March 13, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:07 pm
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In the bedroom mirror

curves swerve

from shoulder to ankle

arcing circle

fertility curling her.

In the rearview mirror

an undulating landscape

curves swerve

from hills to plain,

clouds bubbling

with the fertile promise of rain.

 

poem- offensive March 8, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:39 pm
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I am offended by this object.

In my messy,

but perfectly coordinated, kitchen

you have filled the clear soap dispenser

with acid yellow dish detergent,

instead of clear or white

as is the aesthetic choice.

It glares at me:

caution colour

screaming incongruity.

It hurts my eyes;

it seers my sensibility.

But you are proud

of your helpfulness,

and this is your house, too.

Perhaps if I squint,

it will be invisible?

.

.

⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓ ⇓

This piece works with the theme SHARING SPACE on today’s http://www.shawnbird.com/poetic-diversity-project

Please consider sharing a poem or a link on this theme and help me with my grad school course!

 

poem-anxious sovereignty March 4, 2015

You and I are independent souls.

I move through the house;

You rest comfortably in contented sovereignty.

You do not need to dog my heels

to glorify each moment at my side

or expect me to worship at your feet.

You ignore me for hours,

sleeping in peaceful, self-sufficiency.

We are independent souls,

until the moment I step outside the door,

and calamity explodes in barks and whines.

It pants, scratches, and pees displeasure

at this, your desperate circumstance,

wailing at the injustice of loneliness,

vomiting up fathomless grief.

For the hours I am present, I do not exist;

for the hour I am absent, I make your world

a cavernous void.

Dog ironies

amid anxieties.

,

,

OJ is not doing well since Dusty went to the Rainbow Bridge.   We’ve tried swaddling as per Thundershirt.  We’ve got the Rescue Remedy.  He’s in his safe, contained space.  We fill the Kong with goodness.  Still the dog thinks the world is ending when I walk out the door.  Got any other suggestions?  Except a new dog companion.  Hubby imagines a dog-free household in our near future.  (I’m allergic to cats, so that’s not an option either).

 

poem-new March 1, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:56 am
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The birds return

set sights on sites and sing

in fervor with that mating thing

You take to the road

push pedals for a hundred k

while I wait for petals,

seek something to say

and all of these are just the way

we mark each new spring.

Me.  You.  New.

too.

.

.

POETS! You are cordially invited to contribute an original poem or link to https://shawnbird.com/poetic-diversity-project/ Today’s exploration- POEMS OF PLACE.  Please feel free to comment instead, about your environment and how it contributes to your writing.

 

poem-proximity February 23, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:48 pm
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Once,

next to my hair salon of choice,

there was an amazing jewelry store.

Before an appointment,

I’d peruse the sparkling wares,

and occasionally I’d be captivated,

to leave a great percentage

of my pay cheque there,

in exchange for lasting, glistening baubles.

Now,

next to my hair salon of choice,

these is an amazing chocolate store.

Before an appointment,

I peruse the creamy, sweet wares,

and always I am captivated,

to leave a small percentage

of my pay cheque there,

in exchange for momentary ecstasy on my tongue.

 

poem- ache February 20, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:34 am
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This sight

makes my eyes ache.

My sighs

make my I’s ache

I

ache

 

 

poem-spell February 6, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:26 pm
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Magic dances on your finger tips;

You transform the day.

Enchantment unwinds in glistening threads

and tangles between us.

Your spell has ensnared me,

but I’ll never tell that the gleam in my eyes

came from a cauldron of your promises.

 

poem-incised February 5, 2015

You find the perfect spot

for maximum irritation

you rip apart the incision

determined to arrest healing.

I long to rip you off,

toss you away,

have air and water and space

surround me,

to heal the gash

and help to find my footing again.

.

.

.

Dedicated to my Aircast® which has a air tube glued right at my incision line.  This is a painful irritation!  Yeah, yeah.  So I’m being literal.  Nothing is stopping you from taking it figuratively.  That’s what poetry is all about!  🙂

 

poem-old dog February 4, 2015

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:31 pm
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You groan in your bed

shifting to find a comfortable spot.

You struggle to rise on those

sore back legs.

You fall over avoiding

chair legs.

You ignore your dinner

as if eating is too much effort.

You don’t hear people when

they come to the door.

You go out to toilet,

but poop as you come in.

You strain to see me

through clouded eyes.

But you wag your tail

when you recognise me

and bring me a toy to tug.

You follow me whenever I move,

just wanting to be with me.

You make me stare down

hard decisions.

dear old dog.

.

.

.

2015 is not my favourite year.  

Dusty Dog’s 17th birthday is in August, but I don’t think he’s going to see it.