What invisible edge
slit skin on finger tip,
inserted pain into this day?
Blood dripped.
Every typed word
reminds me
danger lurks everywhere.
I face the consequences
alone.
poem-time traveler November 1, 2019
Boom box boy
bouncing to the smoke pit
announcing your existence-
loudly.
Stride on
Caught in a lost decade
I’m grateful as that music fades.
Poem- creativity September 25, 2019
The burn is sizzling
Smoke from nostrils, ears.
Instead, I’m here;
I need to fuel flames,
Tend an inferno.
Blaze brilliantly,
But now I must douse
The burn in reality.
poem- shouting trauma September 13, 2019
Teresa hated her hair-cut
Wore her hat in class.
Held it tightly when the boys wanted to see
What could possibly be so bad.
Ran home in tears.
The next day,
the hat was off, and no one could figure out
what had bothered her so much.
Her hair looked fine.
She just had to get used to the idea of change.
How often are we afraid of something new,
even when it’s innocuous or perhaps
even better than what was?
Half a century I’ve pondered Teresa’s hair.
I still don’t understand,
what she didn’t like.
poem- picking light August 30, 2019
For Jordie
She sees it on the floor
reaches for the white spot:
light.
Three times the lights calls her.
Three times she reaches.
Three times she rolls her eyes.
She doesn’t need to pick up light,
it already glows within her,
touches everyone she knows.
Her light is kindness;
it’s overflowing,
and dripping on her floor.
Poem-Plumbing Depths June 14, 2019
This well is dank and dark,
Though they have promised from the depths
She will see stars,
so far, it’s darkness all around.
She only feels
a giant on her chest squeezing
joy, until tears squish dripping out.
She’ll fill this well with grief;
the only escape may be
floating on surface sorrow
until it floods over the wall
with all the sadness she can carry.
poem- Worshipping anger April 15, 2019
Your pain bursts out the barrel of a gun
punches holes through community
explodes small town security.
Neutrality’s a liar.
And in world news:
Notre-Dame Cathedral is on fire.
.
My own photo, detail around the main entrance of Notre-Dame. Paris, 2011.
My own photo. Notre-Dame tower details. Paris. 2010
A poem should stand on its own merits, but I feel like a bit of clarification this time. There was a shooting in my small, Canadian town yesterday. Two people were shot in their church; one died. Our community has been reeling from this shock, and now another tragedy. The loss of life. The loss of a building. Can you compare the two?
poem- tossing April 4, 2019
I toss.
You race.
You leap.
You flip.
You pant.
You return
on a joy-fueled frenzy
for the fun of the chase.
To vicariously share your bliss,
I toss.
.
.
(Just in from a supremely athletic game of fetch- with a Chuckit Flying Squirrel. Now a happily exhausted poodle is at my feet. I once saw a Ziggy cartoon that said he just wanted to go to dog heaven and toss balls for eternity. I sometimes feel like that is already my prime raison d’etre according to Kiltti! How about you? Do you play a lot of fetch?).
poem- him December 14, 2018
Yes, there is laughter;
I see it sparkling in those eyes,
twinkling in the crevices of his face.
I see it dancing,
in those jaunty steps,
off-kilter, long-legged ramblings.
I see it in the shaking shoulders,
heaving joy, hard embraces.
There is laughter through that body,
whether we hear it
or not.
poem- drifting December 10, 2018
Snow flakes drift by,
washing the world white.
Cold drips down my neck,
scarf scratching,
steps slipping,
breath billows in small clouds,
miniature factories.
Trudge through the flakes
filling the sky,
painting a picture of
a world wiped clean.
Shawn L. Bird 