This pain is a discordant symphony.
Percussion throbs a bass in the bone.
Piccolo dances of sensation up and down the leg.
Trumpet blasts explode out from the ankle.
Bassoon wails all along the incision site.
Kettle drum beats defiantly deep in the ankle bone. Dum. Dum. Dum.
Oboe whines a strident screech, vibrating muscle.
Cello squeezes, squeezes, squeezes low notes of agony.
Oh pain, go away; return my body to harmony.
Whatever is tied up in this gift
unwrap it joyfully.
Pull out difficulty, challenge, and struggle;
laugh at the lessons you’re learning.
Celebrate what has been and what will be
Celebrate what is now and what will be
Celebrate you.
Celebrate me.
Celebrate
what
will
be.
Each day is a gift
New for you to
Celebrate.
She’s reached the end of her rope
and she’s swinging hard,
pumping her legs for maximum height,
fury fueling her flight.
She’s aiming for the edge
she’s leaping into space
and she’s grabbing on the way down.
When she lands,
she’s crushing injustice beneath her feet.
and throwing up her hands,
in victory.
.
.
Been editing tonight. Just getting to the end of the story, when the downtrodden heroine seizes power… 😉
Anew
you are printed,
packaged
addressed,
journeying to a distant place
unfolding before distant eyes
to be judged
and found worthy
or not.
In time,
you may find
a measure of fame
or fortune between
the pages of some book
but for now
you are just
another manuscript
off in the mail.
.
.
(Sending off a short story to a local ‘prestigious’ writing contest. The story was short listed a couple of months ago in a contest worth twice the prize money, so who knows? These things are so subjective.)
In time
oft heard
silent memories
mingle in the mist
In time
oft mentioned
mysteries dance
upon your tongue.
In time
oft discovered
dreams twist destinies
toward truth.
In time
oft wished
entwined desires
develop into twin
devastations.
This morning unfurling itself
I have awoken surly.
The low clouds match my mood
The sky is surly, too.
.
Inside the house,
the Christmas mess mocks
in its surly aftermath.
.
The snow plow
dragging itself through the city
scrapes with surly determination.
.
My surly swirl of grumpiness
has me in good company,
it seems.
Winter solstice,
mist cloaked,
evokes kisses.
image copyright CRAIG PULSIFER PHOTOGRAPHY craigpulsifer.com Used with permission.
Image courtesy of Craig Pulsifer. Used with permission.
Please visit www.craigpulsifer.com to see his amazing photography.
(My dad lives in the building, the roof of which you see at the bottom of the frame) 😉
It’s not small.
It overwhelms.
Unending paper piles
proliferate in the night.
A day’s work
becomes a week’s.
Somewhere under there
is order,
but it will take more
excavation.
.
.
.
I’ve been cleaning and re-organizing my office space. Made some progress after a week, but it’s not there yet. Arg.
What task do you have that seems to expand when you’re not looking?
She was wrapped up in herself
and he had a bad rap
But they were enraptured
and joys they unwrapped.
,
,
Some wordplay this afternoon, just for you!
I am sure
I told them
We are sure
Yes, we are young
We told them.
Yes, it’s been fast,
But the college is small
and we get to know people
quickly. We’ve seen each other
ten hours a day for months.
We didn’t tell them
about the ice cold walks,
holding mittened hands,
the tears,
the dreams.
We held those to ourselves.
Well, they said,
If you’re sure.
So we said I do
and I do, too
And we leapt off
a precipice
together.
.
.
.
This is the 30th anniversary of the day I met my dear man. By the summer we were married, and still are
falling.
Shawn L. Bird 