The crows auk auk their condolences
The finch assures that life goes on.
My mother is now spirit in the breeze,
(or the stiff head-wind,
’cause she was stubborn like that).
poem-song June 6, 2020
It is my mother’s second
dying day.
I awaken, heart heavy,
to the house finch’s
happy song.
An accompanist,
as a spirit dances its
release
into eternity.
poem- slow June 5, 2020
How is this day only half over?
Only six hours since I told the doctor
palliation would be her choice,
a life-time is dragging by.
Each minute means more
than those before it.
An infinite embrace
unfolding, a somnolent
soul journeying
forward.
poem- crossing over February 14, 2020
(A cascade poem)
,
I waited for you
wishing for a miracle
on that long night
so long ago, and yet
I live in that moment still;
I waited for you,
holding your hand,
counting your breaths
wishing for a miracle.
Hospital bed,
The click of knitting needles,
on that long night.
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The form of a cascade is to create a free verse first stanza, and then repeat subsequent lines of that first stanza at the ends of the following stanzas, cascading the lines from the first stanza throughout the poem. This form was created by Udit Bhatia.
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FWIW- we did get the miracle, and four more years.
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(Ignore the WordPress added ads.)
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poem- baking tomorrow November 22, 2019
She is gone
traditions will be different in her absence
I am a poor substitute.
May our Christmas cookies
and your memories
be sweet.
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poem-living September 20, 2019
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.
poem- light July 11, 2019
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
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
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
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?
Shawn L. Bird 