Seagulls cry
screaching calls,
skydiving.
Spiralling
through blue skies
watching us.
Picnic lunch
temptation
French fry thieves.
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Tricube poem: 3 stanzas of 3 lines each with 3 syllables.
Poem- summer day September 4, 2022
poem-peaceful August 31, 2022
Curled up comma, figure in curly fur,
beside me, softly snoring,
my happy puppy dreams.
This is a KIMO poem. The kimo has a single image, no rhyme, 3 lines, with 10-7-6 syllable count.
poem- homunculi May 27, 2020
Oh, those little men,
stomping about.
Ranting! Raving!
Poor persecuted poppets
lacking conscience and self-control.
“No! No! No!”
“Mine! Mine! Mine!”
Mothers roll their eyes,
send intractable toddlers
back to bed.
poem- isolation moment April 21, 2020
Small dog,
heavy on my foot.
Scent of baking muffins
wafts down the hall.
Buzzer calls at last
Poem-spies January 30, 2020
A Facebook found poem, with thanks to Liz.
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Seven magpies
lined up on the roof
across from my office,
watching me.
Creepy.
They are not a poem.
This is not a poem.
Not at all.
Creepy magpie
spy
poem.
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poem-time traveler November 1, 2019
Boom box boy
bouncing to the smoke pit
announcing your existence-
loudly.
Stride on
Caught in a lost decade
I’m grateful as that music fades.
haiku- winter night February 12, 2019
Silent winter night
Snow falling peacefully ’til
the plough comes scraping.
poem- tricks November 18, 2018
This time
I’m walking forward and you are beside me,
four paws padding along,
wet nose nudging my palm now and again,
assuring me you’re there.
This time
I waken to the whining cries
of someone small who is not you,
blessed and depressed.
Time tricks,
I see your silhouette,
hear a gentle woof on the wind,
look around knowing it’s not,
wishing it was.
Now, time
reminds me that life is a tapesty.
Joys are woven in the warp;
we weave grief in the weft,
dark streaks that might be tears,
alongside the lemon-bright thread of laughter.
This time,
I’m grateful to wrap myself tight
in the memories of you. Grateful
as I go about another day.
poem- pic October 11, 2017
Pick a picture
search the eyes
the dead glass
living eyes
No vacancy
blink
No vacancy
blink
No vacancy
in broken down windows
picked clean
pick up
this dream.
poem-contemplating September 25, 2017
I’m wondering
about the tension between your eyes.
Those two deep, etched furrows
creased vertically above your nose
that appear when you smile
that tight lipped smile
below eyes that do not laugh.
You say,
you can’t help the furrows;
they happen every time,
and yet
look:
in the moments when your mouth is agape,
grinning widely,
when laughter is visible,
erupting from your face
see
the furrows are absent.
I wonder,
why you hold yourself back from laughter,
why your eyes show only tension,
that you plough into your forehead,
when you could be planting joy.
I wonder
what hurts.
I wonder
whether I can guide you back
to joy.
Shawn L. Bird 