.
I want to
disappear
into tomorrow
to explore
Imaginary
corridors across
your incendiary
borders
into
somewhere better
than your
artificial
reality.
.
.
In response to the Monday Meme photo prompt
poem-night light August 20, 2014
All evening
the hills have been
illuminated by a
laser light show,
and now
the skies are
streaming;
white mist
hides the hills,
enfolding us
as the heavens
flash and crash
above.
poem-jaundiced August 16, 2014
Your photo
sends me back thirty years.
In your place,
I see your old man:
his suspicious eye
pot belly
and bald head.
He was nearly eighty
and always angry.
You hardly look younger
with your belly and baldness,
and you’re wearing
his discontent
like an inherited suit.
It’s ageing you more
than your years are.
poem- drop August 14, 2014
The dogs collapse
in hot heaps.
Summer’s simmering
settles into evening
breeze, but
the sun drops
ever earlier,
and autumn calls.
poem- where August 13, 2014
When you went away
full of dreams and plans
we waved your plane off
and wondered how reality
could possibly live up to
your unreasonable expectations.
We let you go to find your way
and when nothing is
what you thought it’d be
We have faith that
you will figure out
the reason,
and create reasonable
reality
for yourself.
poem-broken August 5, 2014
We don’t appreciate
comfort
until the air conditioner
condenser breaks when it’s
40 degrees* out
because dog pee
corroded the evaporator coil.
The steaming
house is broken
and dogs get more expensive
every day.
.
.
*(that’s 104 if you speak Fahrenheit).
.
(good thing we love them, eh?)
poem-migraine August 3, 2014
Claws in the hall,
a staccato jack hammer,
burrow into my brain.
The A/C unit
roars and reverberates
in my skull.
Dull morning light
pierces through my eyelids
burning like a laser.
A storm roils
in my stomach washing up waves of
star studded agony.
Heat washes over, steam rises.
A freezing blizzard follows.
Desperately I seek
the peaceful
oblivion of sleep.
.
.
.
(Not having a good day!)
poem-stitches August 2, 2014
Gossamer strings
weaving between
emptiness,
the lace
slides
beneath needles
as I stitch air
into beauty.
poem-lily
The scent
wound around the room
burrowed up the nostrils
and drained out eyes.
Set away
from sensitive noses
the lily’s petals have fallen
and still its heavy scent
fills the heated air,
present in death,
like warm memories
of you.
poem-tangled August 1, 2014
You are a
panther of poesy
lithely elucidating
your erudition,
stalking grandiloquence,
vaulting verbiage in your
versification
until you are
a kitten tangled
in tautology.
Shawn L. Bird 