Shawn L. Bird

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

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.

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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?

 

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)

 

 
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