The tree outside my bedroom window
was the diameter of my skinny child legs:
smooth skinned trunk,
sweet green leaves.
Now, I reach my mother arms
around rough bark,
scrape my wrists as
I stretch to touch
my finger tips together.
There’s summer sun in the scent
of poplar leaves.
I look into the window
searching for my youthful face
gazing out at the future.
I lost myself
searching for you.
I faded away
on filaments of fog;
I was ephemeral
but you were there
all along: a tall
strong fortress.
Grey walls
forbidding
forboding
forth coming
for nobody seen.
My cloud self
enwraps you,
enclosing us,
and we become
mystery.
Two horses, white and bay
stand companionably
munching their lunches.
Atop the bay,
upon each vertebrae,
perches a bitty bird,
observing the world:
A small flock aligned
along an equine
telephone line.
The white mare, back bare,
munches, and muses
on popularity’s
winners and losers.
.
.
Coming home from work the other day, I looked into a field and was amused to see this sight. I wish I’d had my camera with me, but since I didn’t, here’s a picture made from words for you. 😉
Summer comes
on breaths of
scent drenched air.
Blossoms,
beaches,
and vibrant beauty
enticing an
inhaled happiness,
beckoning the season of
freedom.
You look at my
half-empty glass
shake your head,
insert a straw,
blow in laughter and love,
and make my happiness
bubble up until it
overflows.
your breath
drifts across my nostrils
soft as dandelion dreams,
floats past my ears
whispering mystic riddles,
touches my lips
with promised kisses,
lingers like laughter
o’er our tomorrow.
.
.
Pondering workshop advice from Garry Gottfriedson at Word on the Lake. “Love poems should use soft sounds,” and “never mention the word love…”
It’s not truth,
but danger.
Not what is real,
but what’s perceived.
The excluding
exclamations
of laughter
contrasted by
bored eye brows
and sighs.
An amused knife
slicing through
her security.
© Shawn L. Bird
————————————————–
Being a free verse, there is no strict rhyme or rhythm pattern in this one, but you’ll see lots of examples here of consonance, assonance, and alliteration. Notice in particular the pattern of growling of the /r/s, the explosive /ex/s and the sighing /s/s which reflect the narrative persona’s emotional experience.
There is a circle pattern with the 6 sections (not quite stanzas, not being separated) being strongly consonant /r/, then assonant /e/, then alliterative /ex/, and then reversing: alliterative /b/, assonant /i/, and finally consonant /r/ again. How does this pattern reflect the persona’s emotional state?
You are welcome to use this poem in your class room, crediting the author. I’d also be pleased to see a comment indicating where and when you did. Thanks.
We’re waiting
counting the space between breaths
that stretch the silence
before the next crackling,
static filled gasp
of a soul tuning toward
eternity.
Pieces of sky
fall upon flowers
and flatten summer.
Sky in pieces
weeping and whispering
bemoans gone sun.
Pieces of sky
crack away and fall
flaming to forest.
Sky in pieces
watching and waiting
passes in sighs
by peace.
Shawn L. Bird 
pray plant January 14, 2012
Tags: consonance, house plants, poem
red clover
keeled over
petals unfurled
pallid curls
pray, prayer plant
for power to survive
are you strong enough
to live long enough
pray
little plant
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