Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-truth and dare March 15, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:02 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Here is the true thing, my children.

It is dark outside.

There are beasts with teeth and claws,

prepared to rip and tear you into tiny bits.

Oh, yes, my children,

it is dark outside.

You must beware.

.

But come, my children,

here is another true thing.

There is light outside.

It glows from windows and from hearts;

it pulls what’s apart, together, wrapping gleaming strands

of hope, that shimmer if you look just so.

See?

There in your heart, is a star!

Dare, my children, to shine.

It is dark outside.

You must

Be light.

 

Advertisements
 

poem- little November 21, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:26 am
Tags: , , ,

Little thing

soft word

gentle touch

Little things

Big results

 

poem-between December 27, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:29 pm
Tags: , , , , ,

Between then and now

Between here and there

Between faith and doubt

Between love and hate

Between us and them

Between you and me

Between life and death

We hover

 

poem- perfect October 2, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:44 am
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

We are 1-0:

tall and short

quiet and verbose

slender and round

scientific and artistic

Together we are

perfect.

 

poem-hush September 8, 2014

The house is silent

except for the screaming

in my head.

 

poem-dysmorphia May 19, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:43 am
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

In the mirror

the girl is slender,

waist defined

perfect proportions.

In the photograph

the girl is round,

an hour glass balloon

widely distorted.

 

In the mirror

the girl is round

an hour glass balloon,

widely distorted.

In the photograph

the girl is wraith-like

ribs defined.

Such visual contortions!

 

 

poem- tonight April 24, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:25 am
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Tonight

walking to the mailbox

I am stalked by mist

The lights blink through

the neighbours trees:

stars above,

down town below.

It’s so black between the lamps,

I expect deep quiet,

beneath the rustle of new leaves,

but the highway hums in the distance.

Trucks travel with an insistent drone

that climbs the hill to my house,

and silence suffers

in the hustle of their incessant transitions.

 

 

 

 
%d bloggers like this: