If I refuse to wear my boots,
choose a light jacket instead of that coat,
keep my feet on gravel, ignore snow piles,
can I force winter to go?
Beguile spring with my wiles?
poem- today October 13, 2016
This is my only today
One opportunity to be
One chance to choose my way
One day to seize opportunities
This is my only today
.
This path is not the only way
I may choose other vistas to see
I may have new speeches to say
I may see what’s ugly beautifully
That path is not the only way.
poem-breeze July 1, 2016
Leaves wave
from tree tops
Some exhuberant,
amazed to greet the sky,
some, more lazily,
wave with sighs
poem-choosing March 31, 2016
Will I choose you?
Or you?
Or will I choose at all?
Am I ready for this work
of nurturing potential?
My world is wound tightly
with possibility,
fighting emotionality with
rationality.
poem-three March 8, 2016
twelve
one
two
three
o’clock.
This hotel room is absent of you,
No lovers’ talk,
just me,
myself,
and seven o’clock is coming far
too soon.
poem- pickle poetry October 13, 2015
Your jar of pickled poems–
cheek puckering poetry,
sour smiles behind glass–
makes me laugh.
.
.
.
My students handed in their poetry collections today. Among them is a jar with poems written on green pickle shaped papers. 🙂 Bethany wins cutest poetry project. Too bad it wasn’t a contest. (Hmm. Maybe next year?!)
poem- gone March 27, 2015
There was no way to stay.
Whatever choice was made
was bound to be wrong,
because this song we create
requires we pay again and again
for our harmonic
dissonance.
.
.
Still reading Jodi Picoult’s Mercy. Do you write poems for the characters you read about?
poem-hollow January 31, 2015
Her belly is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been excavated
and spun into emptiness.
.
Her head is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been desolated
and spun into heaviness.
.
Her life is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been devastated
and spun into enviousness.
.
Her hope was hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been extricated,
and spins into readiness
poem-kindle November 10, 2014
Under your skin
you’re kindling dreams.
Letting just enough
hope gleam through the ash.
Your head says,
“You can’t.
It won’t be,”
But the kindling dreams
wonder,
“Why
not
me?”
Shawn L. Bird 