This time it is
exactly what I want to see.
This time it is
My priorities, not his.
Whatever I want life to be,
my choices and philosophy,
This time it is.
Another rondelet. The speaker of this poem has a bit of a declaration here! 🙂 I have met quite a few women over the years who’ve fought to overturn programming and embrace their independence.
From The Collected Poems of Patrick Lane (Harbour Publishing, 2011)
The Bird
The bird you captured is dead.
I told you it would die
but you would not learn
from my telling. Â You wanted
to cage a bird in your hands
and learn to fly.
.
Listen again.
You must not handle birds.
They cannot fly through your fingers.
You are not a nest
and a feather is
not made of blood and bone.
.
Only words
can fly for you like birds
on the wall of the sun.
A bird is a poem
that talks of the end of cages.
.
I’m attending a poetry retreat with Patrick Lane this summer, so I’ve been reading his work. Â I’m looking forward to the opportunity to study with him!
Time for breath
at last.
Breathe in freedom
from responsibilities,
to anyone but myself.
Inhale inspiration
Exhale exhaustion
Breathe free.
You’ve packed the flourishing greenery
Back inside this box you’ve made
A green house cube
stuffed with verdure seeking escape
Seeking opportunity to bloom again
To scatter seed
To create the future.
But you are heedless of this dream;
inside your  cube tender greens are safe
From weeds.
Kill the critic:
let him drown in the
flow of your words.
Kill the critic:
let him sear in the
molten eruption
from the core of you.
Kill the critic:
let him smother
gasping against the tide
of your creativity,
.grasping at the emptiness
that was your insecurities.
Kill the critic:
be free.
.
.
NB: I do not advocate murder of anything but the inner voice that tells you that you’re inadequate. Â Your inner critic has no business in your writing head-space. Â You can’t edit a blank page.
Shawn L. Bird 