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.
poem- dreaming December 15, 2013
and so you live
in dreams
twitching at imaginary foes
muttering speeches
you will not remember in the morning
as I will awaken
and forget
you.
poem- doggy dreams November 8, 2013
In your old dog dreams
you’re racing, chasing, barking–
a puppy again.
poem- dream weaver October 12, 2013
The warp of night
The weft of hope
Shuttle flying
Fabric of dreams
poem- swimming against the current August 2, 2013
I dive into a dream
through sloughs of doubtful inheritance
with sure strokes I slice the pool
of the possibility.
Doubts ride the boat beside me
but I swim in imagination
toward the shore of a tomorrow
where anything
can be
poem- it couldn’t be August 1, 2013
No
Why imagine that?
You can’t do that!
That’s not for the likes of you.
No
That’s all they ever said.
I had to stay in this rut
and be what they had settled for
But
my wishes had wings
My dreams dredged deeper
and where I am
is a place of possibility
too great for them to see
Michaelangelo could look
into a rock and see the face of angels
like me
poem- when I loved you July 26, 2013
When I loved you
I gathered hope
into a basket.
I saved your smile,
your voice
your messages,
your kiss,
your letters,
your music,
all wrapped in
mingled memories.
I saved you,
an artefact of artifice.
On rainy days
you tumbled onto
the table of
my mind,
a shining
collection of what
was never real,
a perfect impression
of impossibility,
from a basket
of wasted dreams.
poem- dream words July 22, 2013
“With a rustle of silks,”
she said into her memo
recorder,
as I was telling her
how I liked her phrase,
“caution plucked at his sleeve.”
Do other writers
consult their favourite authors
in their dreams?
.
.
“Caution plucked at his sleeve” is from chapter 83 in Diana Gabaldon’s A Breath of Snow and Ashes
Poem-soap July 20, 2013
Sitting on a soap bubble
floating in sunshine
reflected glare on the surface
of my seat
blinds me.
I rise on
the iridescent
clarity
of the emptiness
that is my only
safety
from the
inevitable
bursting
fall
I don’t know you April 13, 2013
I don’t know you
and now I never will.
I wanted to.
.
Now you’re gone forever
and I will never
know you,
love you.
.
But I will grieve
for what
might have been.
Shawn L. Bird 