Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-outside April 29, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:53 am
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(Napowrimo day 29 is about describing a scene out a window, but this morning I was standing in a doorway observing, so I’ll use that moment).

This morning outside my door,

cacophony of small birds

catcalling to the universe:

Oooh baby! Look at me!

Our place! Get away!

Twittering spring tumult

screeches and titters.

The world persists,

though you have ceased.

 

poem- are you singing now? April 27, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:38 pm
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in the end

you had to sing the hymns in your head

fill your mind with the music

that could not escape

in the end

she held your hand

entwined your fingers

listened to your last breath

in the end

angels embraced you

brought you into their choirloft

and left us all bereft,

at your beginning.

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NaPoWriMo Day 27.
A bit of an elegy. This April has been full of poems of grieving. *Another* dear one died yesterday. (5 precious souls lost to us in 10 mos, 3 in April alone!) His glorious voice is now raised with the angels, but oh how we will miss it here on Earth. RIP Randy
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poem-carvings April 26, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:45 am
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Outside my window: blue sky, new green.

Promise and potential

A future of fecundity.

Inside my heart: fog, ice

You are gone

The planet is too joyful

for such a day.

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NaPoWriMo Day 26.
The prompt today was for a humorous parody, but as I received the news of the death of another dear person in my life this weekend, humour is not on my mind. 4 great losses in 10 months. What a wearisome year this has been.
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poem-Counting Crows April 8, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:00 am
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Saturday
seven crows: silent
vigil. We
come, one by
one, say sorrowful farewells.
On Sunday: eight crows.

One crow mourns with us
as a lifetime leaves her house
in boxes.
Memories
lost, unless known to
eleven crows.

An allusion, of course, to the traditional rhyme:
Counting Crows
One for sadness, two for mirth;
Three for marriage, four for birth;
Five for laughing, six for crying:
Seven for sickness, eight for dying;
Nine for silver, ten for gold;
Eleven a secret that will never be told.


For NaPoWriMo day 8, this poem is a 6 line shadorma, with a reverse shadorma in the second stanza. The syllable count is 3/5/3/3/7/5. The shadorma was introduced with the fib form yesterday, but I wanted to play with both.

 

poem-spring? March 28, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:15 pm
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Geese call
mournful fly past.
The year is reborn
Why does my heart
hear autumn’s sorrow?

 

poem- He’s sitting there beside her March 9, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:59 am
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I sit down across from them

meet his melancholy eyes,

give him a sad smile, whisper

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He nods, glancing longingly at his wife

before I remember,

he’s the one

we lost.

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(RIP Rob. Thanks for the dream visit).

 

poem- This Valentine’s heart February 18, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:30 pm
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Plugged.

Beats stop.

He drops.

Brain dies.

One heart broken

So many hearts grieve.

A Valentine’s Day massacre of our joy.

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RIP Rob

 

poem-After the fatal accident January 11, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:13 pm
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There is your name

on the attendance list.

Absent: excused

Parents called in.

 

Poem- choking December 1, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:12 am
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Tonight amid the Christmas decorations

grief is hanging on our tree;

loss pummels

hopefulness.

Sadness hollows out my chest,

crushes my shoulders,

lodges in my throat.

Longing overwhelms.

There is no comfort

here, only more memories

of what is gone

who is gone

when is gone

where is gone.

Tonight is too much to bear,

so I’ll climb into bed and

trust tomorrow brings

solace and that much lauded

peace of the season.

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poem- we turned on the Christmas lights November 22, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:19 pm
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The dog stares mesmerized

past the old bulbs wrapped around the blue spruce, those steady, dependable glass bulbs that have illuminated twenty Christmases,

to the lilac bushes where the new micro-bulbs change from white to colour, fade, flash, flicker, urge us to celebrate with their “Party on!” dance,

but this year, putting them out

used all the energy we have,

and there’s no irony in the number of blue bulb strings wrapped and draped around the door.

 

 
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