We’re home, and it’s raining.
Vacation sun hidden
Blue skies masked by grey
I didn’t ask you to say
anything. I waited.
Too late.
We’re home, and it’s raining.
poem-spell February 6, 2015
Magic dances on your finger tips;
You transform the day.
Enchantment unwinds in glistening threads
and tangles between us.
Your spell has ensnared me,
but I’ll never tell that the gleam in my eyes
came from a cauldron of your promises.
poem- new to you December 31, 2014
Whatever is tied up in this gift
unwrap it joyfully.
Pull out difficulty, challenge, and struggle;
laugh at the lessons you’re learning.
Celebrate what has been and what will be
Celebrate what is now and what will be
Celebrate you.
Celebrate me.
Celebrate
what
will
be.
Each day is a gift
New for you to
Celebrate.
poem-night light August 20, 2014
All evening
the hills have been
illuminated by a
laser light show,
and now
the skies are
streaming;
white mist
hides the hills,
enfolding us
as the heavens
flash and crash
above.
poem- knowing glances June 29, 2014
Her eyes twinkling with fervour
I introduced the devotee to the star of the evening.
Without preamble she leapt into analysis
of the opus, confusing words, likely erroneous.
The star gave me a glance with eyebrow raised
and I offered a half smile and shrug,
as graciously she said
“Oh, yes?” and turned to her next supplicant;
dismissing the devotee withdrawing
on her delighted sighs.
poem- nestled June 15, 2014
I crawl between clean sheets,
inhaling crisp scent.
You snore softly on your side,
then reach out and pull me
against you, our ankles entangling,
fingers weaving together
your snores still filling the
dark, dancing with me
in your dreams.
poem- cat woman May 26, 2014
She slashed him.
.
Pain scratched and yowled around his brain,
longing for palliation.
He saw compassion and affection in your eyes
wrapped his hands across your neck and
in the explosion of agonized ecstasy,
you choked down his hurt.
.
She twitched her fingers.
.
With his backward gaze,
he saw anguish curling lithely behind your eyes.
You saw his pitying relief, even as his pain
purred so loudly in your head
it blocked the words
he should have said.
.
.
.
This one is for Amber
poem- ancient understatement April 7, 2014
My father,
born 1914,
grumbles about his sore eye
and sighs,
“I guess
I’m getting old.”
.
.
(True story).
Shawn L. Bird 