Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- story girl April 14, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:21 pm
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The narration of your life

reads like a psychological thriller:

danger around every corner,

tension ramped to pain,

each character a potential villain

set to betray you,

and you’ve been betrayed, I know.

You’ve built your fortress

high and wide

and peek over cautiously

in your dark camouflage,

searching for the enemy

ready to defend

the small safety zone

you’ve carved for yourself.

You will survive,

because the protagonist

must overcome.

On the power of your words,

your resilience will rise

above the tormented tragedy

of your history

and you will embrace the destiny

that awaits your discovery.

I believe in your joyfully

mundane denouement.

 

 

 

poem- day off April 13, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:00 pm
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Reclining, sipping tea,

computer on the knees

Lounging in my jammies,

needing nothing more than

catching up on reading

and my writing chores,

whiling the day away

seems really swell

until someone rings

the damn door bell.

 

 

 

poem- mourning April 11, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:47 pm
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This morning

the rain washed road

has become a

worm mortuary.

 

 

poem-duck advice April 10, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:40 am
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Duck:

observe the legato ease of

geese relaxing in their Vs,

or eagles, reaching out their sides

to slice the skies,

even the tiny wren flies

from tree to tree efficiently,

but you,

you flap

over-happily

like a rattlepated,

frenzied drunk,

Duck.

 

poem- when did I become a poet? April 6, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:44 pm
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When did I become a poet?

Was I not born a poem

Washed into the world on sorrow & pain

Spun thru desire?

Do poems require words

or only bodies?

Each life is a poem

unfolding without words

that every lover reads

and feels deep in the soul.

Every mother is a poet,

birthing baby poetry.

For

We are born as poems.

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in lieu of the Golden Shovel poem I meant to post from yesterday’s NaPoWriMo prompt.  I’m still not finding a poem I want to use as the inner poem.  I wonder if a stanza of another poem will suffice?  Otherwise I’m looking at mile long poems!

 

poem- mosquito poems April 2, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:17 am
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I lie

Poems buzzing

about my head

Like mosquitoes.

I wait

For them to land,

Pinch them carefully,

Drop them into a

preserving jar of ink,

seal them between

leaves and binding.

I lie,

Free to seek

the peace

of sleep.

 

poem-gastric catastrophe April 1, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:08 pm
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The dog

comes inside,

his belly

mewling like he’s swallowed

a litter of kittens

and their yowling mama.

Is it indigestion,

or did that temptress on the fence

finally fall

into his waiting  jowls?

 

poem- waiting for grey whales March 25, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:24 pm
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On shore watching

patiently waiting

for grey whales.

Scanning grey-blue sky

into grey-blue horizon

on grey-blue ocean

searching for a grey puff of breath

a fluke, sign of a whale amid the grey tipped waves.

Staring.

Scanning.

Watching.

Impatiently waiting for grey whales

in the blue-grey ocean

before the blue-grey horizon

under the blue-grey sky.

Staring.

Scanning.

Watching.

Waiting for grey whales

makes me

blue.

.

I’ve wanted to see whales since I read this book as a kid. 3rd trip to the coast during the grey whale migration, and still no sighting.

 

April 13, 2014.  Diana Gabaldon trivia:  Fred Phleger, author of the above book, was a professor at Scripps Institution of Oceanography from 1951 to 1977.  Diana earned her MS in Marine Biology at Scripps in 1975.

 

poem- perspective March 24, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,Rotary — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:22 pm
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Most ferns unfold their fronds

beneath the trees in shady glades.

Along the winding roads

in the Olympic peninsula

ferns view a new perspective,

rooting into the moss

that wraps and drapes the trees.

Instead of remaining on forest floor the fern explore

the sights and sounds high above ground

the wind blown coast

the ocean salt.

Some ferns take advantage of a willing host

to see more of the world.

Their lives may be shorter

and less spread out,

but their perspective is expansive

without a doubt.

.

.

I was astounded to see what I’d call a Boston fern growing all along the roads, from the mossy trunks of all sorts of trees between Forks and Port Angeles* in Washington State.  Huge ones were beneath the trees on the shady side of the road, but on the west side of the road, where the moss was thickest on the trees, the same ferns were growing from out of the moss all the way up the trunks. I didn’t see huge established ferns, just single fronds unfurled on the trees, but dozens on each tree.  It kind of reminded me of being an exchange student, taking root in a new location, and seeing the world from a different view. 🙂  

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*This is the road that Edward Cullen takes at ridiculous speeds in his Volvo in the Twilight books. Personally, I don’t think even someone with supernatural powers should be driving faster than 60 miles/hr on that road! 😉

 

poem-spring gift March 22, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:52 am
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On the end of each

rhododendron stem:

A tightly wrapped

promise

of blossom.