Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-mischievous July 8, 2016

I feel like I could follow him

around the house saying ‘No’

because getting into trouble

always seems his goal.

But mischief is usually

just a disguise for boredom,

so I’ll work on tricks instead

so I can reward him.

Making time is part of the contract

and I’m the one who chooses how to act.

.

.

PearlHart&Kiltti-smallfile

Look at those mischievous eyes!    There’s a lot of training to give him a job to keep him out of trouble!  So far (at 5 months old) he knows: sit, lie down, lie across my feet, stand on 2 feet, go to your bed, move back, fetch, drop the toy, trade whatever is in his mouth, put the ball on the lacrosse stick…

(Those awesome purple patent leather and psychedelic pink shoes are Fluevog Pearl Harts which were the shoes that celebrate finishing my Masters and my birthday last week. Very festive, no?)  🙂

 

 

 

 

 

poem-black nose June 4, 2016

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:30 am
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Little black nose

Pink panting tongue

Sparkling black eyes

Two paws on my leg

invitations to puppy fun.

 

poem-realities May 4, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:44 pm
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It’s hard to love you

when you shred me,

slice my skin on the sharp tips

of those needle teeth.

It’s hard to love you

when you track mud,

make puddles, and leave

stinking pellets behind you.

It’s hard to love you

but your eyes twinkle,

and your tail wags

and you keep trying to climb into my lap

It’s hard to love you

but the hard things are worthwhile.

I’m building a love story

with training and time.

 

poem-puppy business April 29, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:21 pm
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I toss you to the grass

You bounce back to the deck.

I toss you to the grass

You bounce back to the deck.

I toss you to the grass

You bounce back to the deck.

I toss you to the grass

You bounce back to the deck.

I toss you to the grass

You race across the lawn

a bullet, a shooting star, a dragster

turn tightly around the pine tree.

You race across the lawn

a bullet, a shooting star, a dragster

turn tightly around the row of pyramid cedars.

You race across the lawn

a bullet, a shooting star, a dragster

turn tightly around the shed,

then stop and squat.

Ahhhhh… success.

You bounce back to the deck

supremely proud of yourself.

Puppy business done.

 

poem-solemn April 15, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:57 pm
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Oh, how I miss your solemn eyes

Dark brown pools of devotion

and doggy wisdom.

Oh, when I stare into the

bright black buttons

of a puppy’s giddy newness,

I know how soon

he will have ancient wisdom,

and leave us, too.

 

 

 

haiku-dream March 26, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:51 pm
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Down the hall, I hear

the soft woofing of a dreaming dog,

but no dogs are here.

.

Is someone gleefully

chasing dream rabbits

at our B and B?

.

True story.  (Thin walls).

 

poem-welcome March 10, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:29 am
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Every day you

walk through the door

wait for the greeting

a joyful embrace

(or in lieu

a wagging tail would do).

 

poem-flipping February 28, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:45 pm
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I’m flipping the pancake

and no furry friend is tangled in my legs

hoping for disaster.

 

poem-first mourning February 13, 2016

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:58 am
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And so I wake on the first morning

without my heart dog.

No thumping tail to greet me

No clicking nails tattooing down the hall.

No urgent woof encouraging me

No stinky kisses

to comfort me aching.

No rolling for a belly rub

with contended sighs and eyes blinking

nonchalantly, as if you were surprised

to find my hand caressing you.

No need to put my purse up high,

or guard food on the counters.

No rattling as you did dishwasher pre-wash.

No.

Only bits of fluff, still hiding in corners

after your last hair cut,

a hundred photos,

and a million memories of a sweet-tempered,

loving heart that beat with mine.

.

.

.

Oh, how I miss my boy today.

 

 

poem- cooking October 15, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:08 am
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Oh

the expression of distraught incredulity

on the dog’s face as

a tantalizing utensil travels above his head

on the way to the sink,

instead of to his dish.