Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- poem vs ink December 8, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:50 am
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A poem, found in the comments of NUDGE. By Shawn and Chris

.

Your mind, has to be much better.

You ‘re not getting shock treatment too?

Are you?

Not electro-shock, at least

They’re trying to make me look crazy.

Every time i go to the hospital

Strapped to a bed…

You may be fine, but

perhaps the drugs are crazy?

Drugs are how i am…

Where does one end and the other begin?

Is a place ahead

separate from that identity?

desired?

willed?

(Is this a poem?)

No,

drugs are part of the poem

Life is the poem;

drugs are just your ink.

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NaPoWriMo- Dwelling with Emily April 5, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:18 pm
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Today’s prompt on http://www.napowrimo.net is to take a poem of Emily Dickinson’s, remove all the dashes, and find my own breaks and pauses.  I chose “I Dwell in Possibility,” because I have a plaque with the ‘I’ missing, that makes it a command in my bathroom.  I had it for several years before I thought of looking up the originating poem to see its context (which really, is quite out of character for me as a curious English teacher/librarian!)  Anyway, here’s Emily’s original:

I dwell in Possibility – (466)

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –
.
And here’s my re-interpretation of it, after removing her dashes.
 .

I dwell in Possibility – (466)

I dwell in Possibility,
a fairer House than
Prose more numerous,
of Windows Superior,
for Doors Of Chambers,
as the Cedars Impregnable,
of eye And
for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels
of the Sky Of Visitors,
the fairest For Occupation.
This The spreading wide,
my narrow Hands To gather
Paradise
 .
That’s not really very exciting, so I felt the need to mix it up a little more, so here is a re-working of it altogether, using the components as a found poem:
 .
Possibility,
I dwell in
Prose
a fairer House
numerous Windows
Superior Doors
Impregnable Chambers,
 everlasting Roof:
The Gambrels.
the Sky Of Visitors,

the Cedars  fairest of eye And
for my narrow Hands an
Occupation To gather
Paradise
spreading This wide,
In possibility.
.
.
It was an interesting exercise, but not very inspiring creatively, so I will probably post another poem later today.  Keep an eye out!
 

poem-irony August 27, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:46 pm
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In the US,

Girl,

nine,

accidentally

kills her

shooting instructor

with an uzi.

.

In the US,

Kinder eggs

are illegal.

.

.

(Read the news article here)

 

found poem- Tribute to Pete Seeger January 29, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:17 am
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This is a found poem, using lines from a variety of Pete Seeger songs, in tribute to a troubador whose tunes were fuel to action:

.

I hear the music ringing

There is a season

Where have all the flowers gone

They all look just the same

How can I keep from singing?

A time for peace

And kind understanding

A time for every purpose under Heaven

God bless the grass that grows through the crack

‘Cause that’s what life’s all about

Treat them with patience

How can I keep from singing?

my world is there

A time for love

Long time passing

When I say always I mean forever

I promise you I’ll never say good-bye

learn to laugh

My life flows on in endless song

How can I keep from singing?

 

found poem- chapter titles from MOBY by Diana Gabaldon December 12, 2013

Diana Gabaldon just posted the Chapter 82  to 94 titles for her next book in the Outlander series, entitled Written in My Own Heart’s Blood (aka MOH-B, aka MOBY)  Those chapter titles were mixed to create this ‘found poem.’  Words in bold are Diana’s titles.  Regular print and punctuation are mine.  The fun with found poetry, is that one often senses something profound hovering just below understanding.  Can you find a message here?

.

Keeping Score:

    One Day Cock of the Walk—Next Day, A Feather Duster

but

I Will Not Have Thee Be Alone

on the    

Long Road Home

Through

    Sundown

         Nightfall

            Moonrise or

                The Sense of the Meeting

                    In Which Rosy-Fingered Dawn Shows Up Mob-Handed.

A Whiff of Roquefort

in

The House on Chestnut Street

reveals that

It’s a Wise Child Who Knows His Father

Oh yes, for

Even People Who Want to Go to Heaven Don’t Want to Die to Get There.

 

poem- MOBY dreams (chapter titles found poem) November 18, 2013

Diana Gabaldon just released the next set of chapter titles (68-81) for her next novel, “My Own Heart’s Blood.”  They looked like they were asking to be a poem, so now they are.  I have taken the liberty of re-ordering them for my own purposes.  She assures readers there are no spoilers, but I make no such promises. (ha!)  I usually use phrases exactly as found, but in this case, the bold words are the titles, and anything not bolded is added for sense or transition (or my own entertainment).

.

The Cider Orchard
High Noon

A Single Louse

In the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

ponders the

Peculiar Behavior of a Tent, full of

Morasses and Imbroglios,

a Folie à Trois,

The Dangers of Surrendering to passion are,

The Sort of Thing That Will Make a Man Sweat and Tremble,

(and a louse, too) when it must

Go Out in Darkness.

 Consider,

The Price of Burnt Sienna:

is a Sparrow-Fart
Among the Tombstones

Pater Noster

Holy louse,

wrong place, wrong time, indeed.

 

found poem- nature nostalgia August 18, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:40 pm
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It’s been a while since I went hunting for a found poem.  Here is one using single lines or phrases found on the WordPress Blog roll under the topic of poetry between noon and 1:00 Pacific today, August 18, 2013. Each line of the poem comes from a different poem.  If you find a line from your work, please link to it in the comments!

.

Lessons in bird song

like it was our world.

Art of revelation-

something more than me-

more temperamental-

heart of a warm sky,

My soul is

a glorious riot of frogs-

threads of raindrops-

transitory life.

Fear and pain

tied artificial limbs together.

Your words float

my infinity,

a drawn sword.

Twilight comes

shadows litter roadways

waiting to be discovered.

You lay here wanting

the new heaven

like a sinner sees God.

I danced a lone waltz

The women break

philosophical dreams

amid the forest wild.

Hope was an ever-blossoming flower

where dreams are made.

I caress your face

tear my soaring wings.

Everything in my head went quiet

a flute for the wind’s mouth.

She is the music

holding hands with my future nostalgia.

Let’s not be the ones who sleep with no dreams.

Beauty sits in itself,

one word for freedom,

the child that I used to be-

an archipelago of memories.

Pain needs no name,

exploring all its mysteries.

The sun touched your face,

passion

exuding her scent

never to grow old,

petals falling from a rose.

This thought ought to be true

like tree roots’

perennial embrace.

.

What I like about found poetry is the juxtaposition that comes.  The pronouns change, and while some fit seamlessly, others jar you, and you have to consider why it works (or doesn’t, as you perceive it!).  Sometimes a line catches you and holds you, and you have to ponder.  The meaning weaves from stolen images, like Frankenstein’s monster.

 

 
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