Indeed,
there is a moment
when hushed memories sneak,
creeping behind you.
You hear the creak, and turn
to find those lost
those missed,
those grieved.
They’re whispers caught
on remembered phrases,
favourite songs;
you’re sure you hear their voices.
Indeed, there are moments
when ghosts hover;
in memories
their love remains.
Creak
Cracks
Broken
Backs
Strung on a rack
Creaking wheel
pulls spine taut
Entreats,
“Sweet mercy!”
Greets pain
Back
broken
cracks
creak.
You ask me for my email address
When given, much to my distress
You claim it’s already registered.
Why yes! I tell machine, that’s me, for sure!
You ask me for user name and password
But when I type them, you claim I’m invalid.
Oh, you passive aggressive machine,
You’re not acting like part of this team!
Inside the circuits of your brain
you’re plotting how to cause me pain.
I can hear your fan blade snicker,
as you plot to raise blood pressure.
Oh computer, use your power for good,
and work like the techies claim you should!
.
.
(Another day, another frustrating encounter with technology!)
I was dreaming a poem,
consigning rhymes and arguing assonance.
This is the metaphor:
even my subconscious searches
for the words.
I’m walking away from this rain
The painful splashes digging out the flowerbeds
splattering on my head.
I’m walking away.
I’m walking toward the glow
The sun shining joy of divining
possibility. Live ’til you’re dead
I know you know time folds
when old friends meet.
I’m walking toward the momentary
treat of seeing you.
Dreams in mind, I’m walking ahead.
What I want to know
is what the magical ingredient is.
What’s that essential something
that makes this kid go “WOW!”?
Not just this kid, but that kid, too.
You know how some will not be moved,
never seem to find their groove?
I want the magical ingredient for them all,
so when they’re pushed from their nests
they don’t fall, they aim for the skies with eyes
open to opportunity, head full of curiosity.
Every time I think I know the secret
I see another one sneaking by,
not willing to try or
afraid
to try?
What’s broken their curiosity?
Taught them to close out possibility?
It hurts me.
I want to know if that kid
is going to move to his groove later.
Will he save his curiosity to ride a wave
at twenty instead?
I want to see it now,
but late is better than never.
I hope when it happens,
I’ll know.
Valley green like velvet in the morning light
waves rippling, sun twinkling;
sun stars captured on water,
dazzling.
Everywhere are lush reminders
of blessing
rising with the water,
over-flowing with the creeks,
sliding with the mud.
Blessings and curses.
It could be worse.
It could be worse
than being trapped in paradise.
The demons are hiding around corners
lurking in the shadows
watching you.
I know you feel the weight
of their gaze
hear the clink of their weapons
every day.
On the sunny days,
you outrun them
find smiles to return to those
around you
in their circles of care.
Other days,
smiles are barred growls,
the glow of sinister eyes pacing
around you,
squeezing life and hope
as their circle crushes in,
suffocating you.
Your demons on their unwitting backs
Your demons in their unwitting smiles
Your demons on their unwitting feet
Your demons in their expectations
Your incessant demons
invisible to others,
writhing,
circling,
just
there.
The green gold glistens
in the spring light
waving languidly in the breeze
as if to greet friends
seen from a great distance.
I pass the old man
on his balcony.
Huge sunglasses
through which he watches
like a
diurnal owl;
the world unfolds below him.
Just like my dad liked to sit.
I don’t wipe away
my tear.
Shawn L. Bird 