Small victory
multiplied.
Big tasks
divided
into
parts
so
small–
how could I not succeed?
Deadlines
focus goals.
Day by day,
Chew each bite thoroughly.
Done!
Launch hope with a key stroke.
Completion is victory enough,
but still…
Fingers crossed.
poem-here June 3, 2019
Here is the place,
soft amber light
warm hands
cool breeze.
Here is the circle,
feel the connection
crackling completeness
arms tight,
hearts warm.
Here is love,
wrapped around you,
holding you up,
sending you strength.
Here is peace.
Here is hope.
Here is now.
.
.
For Londa.
poem-truth and dare March 15, 2019
Here is the true thing, my children.
It is dark outside.
There are beasts with teeth and claws,
prepared to rip and tear you into tiny bits.
Oh, yes, my children,
it is dark outside.
You must beware.
.
But come, my children,
here is another true thing.
There is light outside.
It glows from windows and from hearts;
it pulls what’s apart, together, wrapping gleaming strands
of hope, that shimmer if you look just so.
See?
There in your heart: a star!
Dare, my children, to shine.
It is dark outside.
You must
Be light.
poem-flashes February 8, 2019
I’ve forgotten your name,
but one glance at the back of a pear-shaped girl
in a tight striped top and jeans,
brought you sailing through the years.
Short, feathered hair.
Acne scars.
Knock-kneed shuffle.
Booming laugh.
Where did I know you?
Whoever you are,
I hope you’re happy today.
I hope your life has been all you dreamed.
poem- light at the end of the tunnel December 5, 2018
There’s a spark in the darkness,
a pin point of light,
that might just mean,
day is right ahead.
Maybe.
poem- no fantasy? no romance? December 1, 2018
It is so sad
that you eschew fantasy and romance in your world.
Without fantasy, where is imagination? Where is spark? Where is possibility?
Without romance, where is connection? Where is life? Where is compatibility?
You, ‘realist’ are deluded.
Facing reality means seeing above, below, beyond, and through.
Recognizing the power of the metaphor.
Feeling the electricity of a touch, when your love has gone.
Celebrating what may be.
It means believing in hope.
A realist is a dead shell lapped upon the beach,
while a great ocean signs beside it and carries whales
and sailing ships off over the horizon.
You can still be sensible,
and see the magic of the world.
poem-crush November 5, 2018
Small pieces of hope
held tightly,
nurtured gratefully,
smashed out of my hands,
fall,
fall,
fall.
poem-2nd day April 27, 2018
An unexpected opportunity
A lovely surprise.
Or not.
Thwarted by absence.
Then presence.
Nothing’s ever quite what’s imagined.
Intention yields to alteration
or obliteration.
Wishes wasted by
reality.
Nevertheless, we continue
to try.
poem- push on January 28, 2018
We labour in monotonous isolation
Words falling onto pages
magic spells
new worlds
It might be good.
It might be worth sharing.
It might just be,
what it needs to be for us
to set our demons free.
Isolation and monotony,
and then someone
you respect
says
“Such lovely prose!”
or “beautifully wrought characters”
or “Loved it!”
and you think there’s hope
for your imaginary friends
and your imaginary world
and your imaginary dreams.
Labouring becomes inspired
by encouraging analyses.
Shawn L. Bird 