Long drive
side by side
time to ask the big questions
muse on what was and what will be.
Long drive
side by side
time to hear the answers
pull you and me back into we.
poem- deluded December 18, 2015
Hallucinations
Delusions
and we argue or agree,
Placate or debate,
against the injury in your brain
against frustration and pain
Face the inevitable
and wonder if you’re able
to see the irrevocable
ruination.
poem-ending December 2, 2015
So many questions I’ve wondered
Who was your first love?
Why did you make this decision?
What do you wish?
What have you learned?
What do you advise?
But you have always said,
each person takes his own journey,
what you learned was for you alone,
and so you’ve kept your secrets,
and soon I will be asking questions
to the wind.
poem- addressing memories November 1, 2015
Turning pages in the address book
cross a line across another entry.
Turning pages
studying the names crossed out
A memorial of friends and family gone
Greetings sent in murmured prayers
to rest in peace.
poem- named August 3, 2015
“Herb had to take me to the hospital this morning,” my mom said. “My blood pressure was all wonky and I had a headache. I was afraid I was having a stroke.”
Herb. My father, who died last week. I caught my breath.
“Stewart took you to the hospital?” I suggested. My brother.
“Yes,” she confirmed, her tone suggesting I was being obtuse. “But everything was all right. They told me I need to get a massage. I’m just tense, over the events of the last week.”
She didn’t even know she’d said the wrong name.
I didn’t point it out.
“I’m glad everything is okay, Mom,” I said.
poem-lonely May 20, 2015
I do not know what to do
about your screams.
It seems you plunge
to unplumbable depths
and I do not know
how to swim.
The mists of melancholy
shroud the waters,
coat you in agony,
fog reason, and
I fear I am not lighthouse
enough to guide you home.
poem- Mom May 10, 2015
So many mothers:
mine with her great gardening gams
independent and active, just like always,
and I with my empty nest
working, writing, studying and more.
Busyness channeled in different directions,
but independent.
I always said, “I’m raising independent children,”
like my mom
I did my job.
Far away my children lead their independent lives
and only rarely feel the need to call home to update us
on the latest news.
Other mothers,
keep their chicks under their skirts,
want to be involved in every aspect of their lives,
with weekly dinners, frequent phone calls,
dependent interconnectiveness whatever their ages.
‘Not better,
not worse,
Just different’
like the exchange student mantra.
Family is the place you begin.
Family is where they have to take you in.
Family is many things
and there are many mothers.
poem-nesting April 2, 2015
The nest is empty
and without the chicks holding them together
some birds fly in different directions.
Job done.
So sad,
for others find the absence of young
brings far more joy in one another
than they could find while struggling
to satisfy the demands of youth.
The empty nest is the next gentle chapter
where romance can thrive again,
when laughing songs of
swooping lovers twitter through
the afternoon air and soft whispers
fill the nights.
poem-voyageur January 26, 2015
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- Sunday October 26, 2014
Dirty clothes piled in the bath room,
Plates and projects in the living room
Books piled in the dining room
Clean laundry 4 feet high in the dressing room.
Everywhere there’s work to do
and I just want to cuddle you.
Shawn L. Bird 