Shawn L. Bird

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

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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poem-nefarious November 13, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:54 pm
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For eighteen years,

each evening when I glance out my kitchen window,

I see my elderly neighbour

at work through his window.

Suddenly, this week,

his drapes are drawn.

What nefariousness is this?

What hidden adventures is this World War 2 spy

up to now, that require such secrecy?

The neighbourhood has become far

more interesting with this mystery.

 

poem-first snow November 9, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:11 pm
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Grey morning:

sky falls in fragile pieces

past my window,

lies,

white clouds upon the ground.

This morning

I can touch the sky.

Cold comfort.

 

poem-forgiveness November 4, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:45 am
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This is forgiveness.

Left alone, forgotten, until you

became a dessicated husk.

Discovered, remorse poured on you,

and you rested, recovering,

absorbing all you needed to heal.

One year.

Regret poured onto you.

Two years.

Faith surrounded you.

Three years

You offered a single bloom to give us hope.

Another year.

Patience.  Trust.

This is what time and forgiveness bring:

full flowering!

Ah, the anticipation of your full celebration

makes me dizzy.

.

.

20181104_103441[1].

True story. Took my Christmas Cactus outside to enjoy some summer sun (2014?). Forgot it there.  Come fall, it was a wizened shell.  It’s taken years to recover, but it HAS! What a metaphor for tragedy in our lives and the patience we need with our recovery.

 

 

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-thou dost protest too much November 1, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:13 pm
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Each act ahead comes

from what’s behind.

We are all walking wounded

trailing bandages

that tangle us,

tie us,

trip us

into our future.

Wear a blind fold:

we cannot look into a mirror to see the pain

etched across our faces.

See the bandages?

Trip over them

leaving the bar.

Scream yourself hoarse,

stamp your feet.

Shout “I’m fine, fine, FINE!” *

Ah. Methinks,

The lady doth protest too much.*

.

.

(*Allusions: In Louise Penny’s wonderful Inspector Gamache books, Ruth Zardo has written a book of poetry where FINE is an acroynym for F*cked up, Insecure, Neurotic, Egotistical. I’d say that applies here, too. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much” is from the play within a play in Shakespeare’s Hamlet).

 

poem- prep July 14, 2018

Beneath a cloudless blue sky

I feel the storm coming,

black clouds gathering.

Could they reflect black shirts?

I ponder,

seriously,

if I should be building false walls

to hide those who will be escaping tyranny.

I wonder,

if I am far enough from a border to avoid

occupation.

A century ago,

they didn’t understand the signs,

but now we do.

Those who read are the first removed

when the evil rises.

Do all those kids who demanded,

“Why do we have to learn this?”

remember that their teachers said,

“So you’ll see the signs.”

“So it will never happen again.”

“Remember, they elected Hitler;

“they heiled and fell for his lies,

“because they wanted to believe their superiority,

“wanted a scapegoat for their troubles.”

There can be no excuses.

Shall I buy bricks or drywall?

Where will I construct false bottoms?

Where will we hide in the resulting rubble,

when the jack boots stomp through?

Another cristelnacht, this time in New York?

The hammock swings its consolation:

It can’t happen here.

It won’t happen here.

How many said those words a century

ago?

How many grew to knowing the meaning

of fear?

 

 
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