Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-ten October 12, 2019

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:46 pm
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ten years ago

dream in pocket

breathless

learning to pitch a book

awed by everyone

talent

knowledge.

Wishing.

Today, I pull a bin

to my own author table.

I am awed at everything.

It’s just ten years.

Same space I pitched!

Now,

ten books to spread

for this event.

My words searching for homes.

A blink of time

those dreams

are truth.

.

.

I just realized that this month is the 10th anniversary of my first writing conference.  I bravely registered for one day of the Surrey International Writers’ Conference, took my husband and our exchange student to Vancouver. While they spent a day exploring, I pitched my first book to the publisher who would eventually offer me a contract for it and had my first blue pencil with a professional author (Meg Tilley).  Ten years later, I’ve been invited to sell at a Guest Author table, in the very same room I pitched in, and I will have ten books on my table to sell and sign.  How astonishing.  How quickly a decade passes! How amazing to see what happens when you take the risk!

 

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)

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 
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