Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-shouting late October 27, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
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She’s eighty-nine

and now she tells the story of rape,

of giving up a panopoly of dreams

for the baby boy.

(Shot gun wedding)

Love and happiness can’t be forced,

like sex.

Society forced her silence,

condemned divorce,

when she refused abuse,

and sought in the ashes of her dreams

for a phoenix.

Bitter choices,

dream fragments,

cobbled into a life,

grumbled about now.

Dream stealing beast,

a boy who wouldn’t hear no,

seven decades of curses

don’t erase the bitterness

of loss.

.

.

(true story)

 

 

 

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poem- push on January 28, 2018

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:28 pm
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We labour in monotonous isolation

Words falling onto pages

magic spells

new worlds

It might be good.

It might be worth sharing.

It might just be,

what it needs to be for us

to set our demons free.

Isolation and monotony,

and then someone

you respect

says

“Such lovely prose!”

or “beautifully wrought characters”

or “Loved it!”

and you think there’s hope

for your imaginary friends

and your imaginary world

and your imaginary dreams.

Labouring becomes inspired

by encouraging analyses.

 

poem-lingers April 10, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:15 am
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It’s all just possibility,

isn’t it?

The hopes

The dreams

The wishes.

What ifs that linger about us

orbiting like electrons, protons, neutrons

Actively giving us

possibilities

if only we can combine the other elements

to bring them to reality.

 

poem-kindle November 10, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:46 pm
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Under your skin

you’re kindling dreams.

Letting just enough

hope gleam through the ash.

Your head says,

“You can’t.

It won’t be,”

But the kindling dreams

wonder,

“Why

not

me?”

 

poem- fewer September 13, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:25 pm
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There could be no fewer steps

than those he trodded toward you

straight limbed and unencumbered

directly into destiny.

There could be no fewer steps

than those away from dreams

point-less apparitions

of troubled consciousness

directly into destiny.

.

.

.

(I don’t know what it means.  If you have an idea, feel free to share!)

 

poem- dreaming in the tub April 18, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:51 pm
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In drenched sleep

dreaming

computer rests across my knees

I’m writing

with neck crooked awkwardly

of you

and what happens next

in my favourite novel

and pondering the universe

until wisdom unfolds.

I type it all down,

in my dream

take dictation

from the subconscious

but when I awaken

there are neither words

nor keyboard

and all wisdom has evaporated

in the steam,

or drizzled down the drain.

 

poem-great at eight (For Rachael) August 17, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:10 pm
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You’re eight

and in your mind you’re great

Your dreams are there within your grasp

You clasp them tight and know

that as you grow

You’ll meet each goal

Your soul desires

Until someone you admire says, “No!

You don’t have talent,

you can not do

what your dreams are telling you.”

If you believe these sorry words

If you accept this worry heard

If you allow your dreams to die

if you sigh, and don’t ask why

then I suppose you wield the sword

that kills your dreams.

The naysayers set it in your hand

but they can’t swing it.

So throw down the sword,

hold tight to dreams that stir you in the night!

Those dreams that feel so right,

that make you mighty, those dreams

to sing, to act, to write!

Practise each day, to hone your craft

in every way, no matter what the naysayers say!

Opportunity looks like hard work.

Luck is believing you are lucky.

Practice makes perfect.

You will move past eight, and if not yet great,

Just wait!

.

.

This poem grew out of a Twitter conversation.  Diana Gabaldon said that she knew when she was 8 that she should be a novelist (she went on to earn a Masters in marine biology and a PhD in ecology before she got around to trying, though).  I was 8 when I started writing stories, sharing them in school, and dreaming of being a writer. Rachael Hofford said that when she was 8 she was told by her teacher that she had no talent for writing and that she should give up that idea.  As an English teacher, I know first hand that some of my students who dream of writing aren’t very good, but the only way for them to get better is to read and to write.  Practicing their writing by emulating the best that they read  will teach them the skills to become good writers.  Maybe they lack a spark of genius, but it may come later with life experience.  If it doesn’t, there are still many writers who do well telling a story.  Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t.  You may have to work very hard, and you’ll need some luck as well, but your dream is just as possible as anyone else’s.

 

 
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