Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-valediction September 16, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:26 pm
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She wakes to the empty house

searching room by room for traces.

Has he gone?

But surely before such a journey

there would some formal leave taking?

A kiss?

A note?

He slipped away without a word,

and she is left bereft,

wondering why he finds it so easy to leave her,

wondering if she’s been devalued like  Greek currency

or Bre-X stock.

No gold to mine after all.

Every couple crafts their own normal.

What’s familiar is what’s all right,

except when it’s not.

Being alone

Being lonely

There will always be too many cracks for

that broken pot to hold water;

it’s fine for bread,

though you

can’t live on bread alone.

Traces of something else,

gold veins of nourishment

are drawn with gestures

too easily forgotten,

so driving away is as simple a turning the key,

not as complicated as farewell.

 

 

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poem-journey May 1, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:37 pm
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From my backyard swing

I see you on your journey

flying high above me.

What joy or sadness will you bring

in a public celebration

when you arrive at your destination?

.

DSCN2461

View from the swing in my backyard.

 

poem-farewell February 17, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:10 pm
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It is not there

the farewell that

lingers upon lips.

Your dawn departure

is made in stealth.

She wakes without the

warmth of your breath

resting with gentle touch

upon her cheek.

You’ve left; yet another

morning she finds herself

bereft.

 

poem- endings June 19, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:34 pm
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Tonight,

we’ll laugh until tears streak our cheeks

and remember all those moments

that made this a special place.

But beneath the laughter

will be the melancholy knowing

that with these leavings

we are left to try to rebuild something new.

I suppose we’ll be okay,

but I can’t help but wish you’d stay.

.

.

.

(End of the school year.  Staff leaves.  New staff arrives.  Some years it’s just so fabulously synergistic that it is particularly depressing to see the end).

 

poem- aubade February 4, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:17 am
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Your limbs

spill from silken sheets

shimmering in the glimmer

of morning squeezing between

window slats,

striping you like a convict,

but I am your prisoner.

Your lips

curl as you murmur,

conversing with lovers

in your dreams,

Your hips

burrow deeply

on the rhythm of your sighs

and I long to lie beside you,

lingering in the light,

but as dawn drives day

so must I away.

.

.

An aubade is a French leaving poem.  It’s the opposite of a serenade, and is the song of a lover leaving his beloved in the morning.  I’d never heard of the form before, and on the same day, I discovered it by accident (when I looked up a French lingerie company by the name and the definition came up) I found an aubade in the WordPress poetry feed.  Quite a coincidence!  Here is my first one.  I should add, that I am unlikely to ever write one from experience, since generally I’m going to bed at dawn, while my husband is getting up! 😉  

 

words January 29, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:40 pm
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Splashing in the bathroom

awakens her

to a sorrowful knowing.

Her eyes are closed against it.

His baggage rustles.

“Come kiss me good-bye,” she says

blinking blurrily.

Compliant,

he leans and offers

a perfunctory pucker

upon her sour morning lips.

“I’ll call you tomorrow

to tell you whether I’m coming home,”

he says.

“Call me today

to tell me you’ve arrived.”

“I can do that,” he agrees

moving down the hallway.

Eyes clamped closed again,

she hears the firm crunch of

doors and humming rumble of the engine.

As the car leaves,

she leans into her pillow,

wondering at the words,

he didn’t say.

 

 
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