Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-living September 20, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:38 pm
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You drive away after a visit.

“He got his licence back!”

“That’s great for 101!”

“No! He’s 105 now!”

“and blind!”

Oh, dad.

Thanks for stopping by

to make me laugh

in dreams.

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poem- light July 11, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:16 am
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Your smile has no illumination,

no dancing twinkle draws the eyes.

What lies will you tell today, when someone

asks if everything is okay?

 

poem- later July 10, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:22 pm
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I expected

in my youth

a natural ending.

You railed against presumption.

Never!

Always!

Hyperbole spun us out,

Now our orbits can’t intersect.

I was okay with that,

until I wasn’t.

We’re not supposed to break promises,

even irrelevant ones.

Curse nostalgia.

 

Poem-Plumbing Depths June 14, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:24 pm
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This well is dank and dark,

Though they have promised from the depths

She will see stars,

so far, it’s darkness all around.

She only feels

a giant on her chest squeezing

joy, until tears squish dripping out.

She’ll fill this well with grief;

the only escape may be

floating on surface sorrow

until it floods over the wall

with all the sadness she can carry.

 

poem- small talk May 13, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:40 pm
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Sunny cashier:

“Did you have a good Mother’s Day yesterday?”

Contemplation.

Truth.

“No.”

Pause.

Longer pause.

Sunny voice: “I left the kids with the husband and

spent a lovely time on the lake. It was just what I needed!”

“Ah. Nice.

For some of us, it’s a time of grief.”

(Honesty is the best policy).

Still cheery: “Oh. Yes!”

Oh, dear.

Some of us, once safely through a horrid day,

are tripped by reminders of our private grief

in chirpy questions at a till.

When you tear open wounds,

what did you mother teach you to do?

 

 

 

poem-another day May 12, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:07 pm
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Reverberating agony

extruding writhing beasts

into the world.

Succubi at the breast,

wails in the night.

Small shrieking terrors

racing up corridors, escaping

in department stores.

Feed them. Mind them. Hold them.

Love them. Drive them.

Pimple popping, attitude rocking,

trouble stalking.

Feed them. Love them. Release them.

Celebrate them.

Wait for them.

Wonder what

went

wrong.

 

 

poem- waiting March 8, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:24 am
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She hasn’t published the obituary, because

what will she say when they approach her

at the mall with their condolences that will

break her into dripping pieces?  But if she doesn’t

will they ask how her mother is? Will she have

to break the news and shatter them with awkwardness

instead, then answer questions about why, when it was weeks ago?

Is she keeping death a secret,

to ponder in her heart?  Many things are mysteries.

Grief makes some a blanket to hide in.

It makes others a sea to sail on.

She hides at home, and lives the obituary

in silent, private grief.

 

 
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