Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- hidden October 18, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:37 pm
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In the hidden folds

a tiny desire rests,

A covert longing,

unacknowledged.

You sense it’s there

a tiny, unseen lump,

caught in the fibres

of your life.

You ignore it,

though you feel it

nudging

incessantly.

You keep it secret.

Until finally

you must pick at it,

stretch threads apart,

catch a corner,

then pulling,

and pulling,

and pulling,

like a silk scarf

from a magician’s wand,

more,

more,

more,

until the room is filled

with the vivid kaleidoscope of colour

the  billowing

reality of your unspoken dreams

coming true.

 

 

 

poem- heard August 29, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:16 am
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Her words

weren’t heard

His dreams

were empty screams

Her wishes

were lost in riches

His sight

was bathed in light

Her trials

left her reviled

His loneliness

was his holiness

Their relationship

let sensations slip

They tightly gripped

their well-worn scripts.

 

poem-glad July 7, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:52 pm
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She searches

for

words,

music,

assurances.

His tongue

writes

her poetry

and she sighs

on the harmony

of their song.

 

poem- warning July 1, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:52 pm
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I want you.

Despite all the objections,

inspections, rejections,

imperfections,

my predilection

is you.

.

.

.

Just think  all the things the poet could be addressing here.  Is the ‘you’ a lover, a baby, a puppy, a great pair of shoes…?  😉  What is your predilection?

 

poem- 11710 April 23, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:12 am
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I dreamt of you

for eleven thousand

seven hundred

and ten nights.

You spoke in

waking dreams.

You whispered

in the blackness,

called across the miles:

Hold on.

I’m here for you.

Stay.

You have commitments.

But after

eleven thousand

seven hundred

and ten nights

you called

to tell me

those words did not

apply to you.

Hold on.

I’m here for you.

Stay.

You have commitments!

I said to you,

but it was too late by then.

I dreamt of you

for eleven thousand

seven hundred

and ten nights,

until I learnt that

you weren’t really there

at all.

 

 

 

poem- asking January 27, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:28 pm
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She was young,

but she had a dream

to cut herself free

from the stigma of family

substance abuse,

poverty, and

hopelessness,

if only someone would give her scissors

and show her how to use them.

A teacher said,

“You can do it!”

So she applied for a training course,

wondering how she’d pay for the tool kit

or pay for the rent to live in another town.

“We’ll write letters!” said the teacher.

“It’ll work out!”

Community groups responded to her letters

and her impressive resume of volunteer activities

with cheques in hand. 

“You’ve helped this community.

We want to help you achieve this dream.”

The billet said, “Would you work off

your room and board in chores?”

And suddenly the impossible

was happening.

Shining new scissors sliced her past away

and cut open hope

for her future.

.

.

.

True story.  Apprenticeship programs offer kids real skills and credits for professional training and high school credit.  Some times there are barriers for kids to take advantage of the opportunity, but where there is a will, there is a way.  The school is there to help kids achieve their dreams, after all.  Thanks to the service clubs who make a difference, quietly meeting needs in their communities: Lions,  Rotary, Royal Canadian Legion, Elks, Kinsmen, Oddfellows, and the like.  Today is a particularly good day in my world.

 

poem- wishing January 7, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:50 am
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What wasn’t

When she opened her eyes

Was what she’d wished for

For so long

That wishing was all she had.

What was

When she opened her eyes

Was what she’d been blind to

For so long

That wishing was all she’d had.

 

the fundamental fiction July 13, 2013

In love with a fictional character?

Honey.

Don’t you know that

ALL

objects of our desire

are fundamentally fictional?

Courtship

is a time of great performance,

convincing the other,

showing the best face,

doing things you’ve never done

(and won’t do again)

pretending you love each moment

to impress the object of your desire.

Love is always

fictional.

We love what we wish

it to be.

If we’re lucky,

when rose lenses are lost,

what we created in dream

bears enough

resemblance to reality

that truth

becomes better

than fiction.

.

.

In response to a Tweet about all the wild Outlander fans in a tizzy about Jamie Fraser coming to life.  I was thinking how we fictionalize real people all the time.

 

glances April 5, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:31 pm
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You wiped my eye from the tears,

Tearing yourself from the

paper poetry of your perfection,

Ripping my gaze apart.