Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- breaking March 9, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:49 pm
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For Danielle, with love

.

Breaking heart

Taking future

Making mockery

I doubt the happy start,

wrapped in a painful ending,

rending all I believed,

feeling deceived

by the life we’d conceived.

Paths onward wending,

sending me,

setting me free.

Taking me,

creating me,

letting me

be,

Breaking past,

Taking a stance,

Making me dance.

 

 

 

 

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poem-wear January 8, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:20 am
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Remember how you’d mock him

tell us his weaknesses, laugh about him.

Remember how you voiced your petty irritations

in every letter or conversation?

He would never utter a word against you,

as you wore him down, year after year.

Water on stone.  Cutting through bedrock.

And now she writes constant words of joy in him,

gushes over him like a waterfall,

and he pools around her with pleasure.

It’s a relief to see his happiness, someone appreciating him.

I watch and wonder whether you wish you’d chosen

better words, or whether you savour being alone?

.

.

.

I could have written this about so many people I know or know of.  It’s such a common pattern.   One sows seeds of one’s own destruction.

 

poem-loveless April 4, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:42 pm
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Oh, you said the words

“This one appreciates me for me!”

and I wonder what you call

that twenty-five years of steadfast devotion

that you tossed.

The weasel face beside you now

does not look like a fair trade

for the pain you caused.

You said those words once before,

if I recall, so perhaps he’ll taste the bitter tang

of your boredom someday.

In the meantime,

we really should just let you go,

and welcome the joy that’s possible

now the wounds have healed.

.

.

http://www.napowrimo.net prompt for Day 4- a love poem without the cliches or a break up poem.

 

poem-flames February 7, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:52 pm
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She’s caught between the flames

of inferno and ice

Accusations of blame,

of who’s not playing nice.

She’s caught between the fury

of defeat and aggression,

For neither is sorry

and all leads to depression.

She’s caught between love

crushed between hate

a magician’s dove

that is stuffed then must wait.

She’s caught between threads

stuffed up their sleeves

’til she’s dangling her head

beneath the nearest trees.

 

 

poem-voyageur January 26, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:44 am
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So you packed your canoe,

left a good man,

gave away that puppy,

you’d given to

those good boys,

those sweet little boys,

and rowed off to find yourself

on a river of their tears.

I hope the discovery

proves worth it

in the end.

 

poem- wasted day October 2, 2014

On this day

I remember a ghost anniversary,

the day in 1976

when my sister was married.

My 12 year old figure was

encased in my mother’s girdle

beneath a hideous rust bridesmaid gown.

I sported a new Vidal Sasoon bob,

felt bold and grown up with

my uni-brow plucked.

I remember my father’s scowl

when a groomsman with waist length hair

obeying rattling spoons, bent to kiss me,

and the resulting blush.

The marriage lasted four years.

My daughter wore the hideous dress

when she was twelve.

She called herself a princess;

rust suits her.

Too bad my sister

never saw it.

.

.

.

You know, that whole girdle thing is really weird.  I was not a pudgy child by any reckoning.  I probably weighed about 95 lbs around the time of this wedding.  I recall it was my idea, so I must have been self-conscious of a little paunch, which at 12, was not paunch at all.  Very strange how girls are, isn’t it?

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I looked for the wedding photos in the album, but it looks like I took them out of those photo eating ‘magnetic’ glued albums, and who knows where I put them.  Sorry!

 

 

poem-daggers July 30, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:31 am
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If you think

the new guy

loves you for you

perhaps it’s just that

he hasn’t noticed yet,

who you really are?

Have you sliced him yet

with those word daggers,

eviscerating his affections,

hacking out his heart,

and bleeding out

years of devotion?

Have you belittled him

in front of family,

friends, and children,

torn him into pieces,

crushed his spirit,

and pushed him to despair?

Not yet?

We’ll give it time.

Eventually

he’ll know you

for the daggers

in your smile.

.

.

.

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“Where we are, There’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody.”

MacBeth  II.iii.

 

 
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