Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem- What wind brings September 20, 2022

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:47 pm
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What wind brings

Don’t wrap this silence in your memory

Gather the fallen

leaves

Your departure: a beginning.

Going means coming to understand

Summer wildfires

Sometimes ashes fall

Sometimes rains wash everything

away

Sometimes snow rises to the eaves

Don’t wrap this silence in your memory.

There’s something new on the breeze.

 

poem-behind the masks December 11, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:56 pm
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in the story I read

every family was the same

and every person took off their mask

of sameness at the end of the day.

.

in the story we’re living

every family’s struggle’s different

we put on our masks each day

to save each other

 

poem-you did it May 15, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:22 pm
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for Tai

.

You’ve always been a mountain climber.

Sometimes climbing means tumbling to the valleys.

Sometimes it means diving into sparkling mountain lakes

and becoming entangled with weeds

that pull you down.

Who knew you could drown while climbing?

You’ve always been a mountain climber.

Sometimes every part of you aches for a break,

longs for the plateau.

Rest.

But you keep climbing,

because sometimes, when you stand on the summit,

see the world laid out before you

a carpet of overcoming,

you see all the opportunity;

you see you can fly.

 

poem- looking April 3, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:19 pm
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Year after year

smiling faces under glass.

So many smiles only a whisper of memory:

oh yes. I remember that one

and that one

and that.

But so many others

slipped out of mind,

phantoms who haunted our rooms.

Are they still hovering ghosts

watching life happening around them

or are they finally

corporeal?

 

poem-care March 8, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:40 am
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She shouldn’t care more about you

than you do yourself.

Your success should be on your shoulders

not on hers.

She can guide, support, aid,

but you must do the work,

think the thoughts, stretch your brain,

believe you can.

There is no easy way.

You need to care enough to be your best,

trust the tools and safe venue for risk,

let her cheer from the side,

as she watches you ride

away into your future.

You need to trust, this isn’t a place

to stay.

 

poem- honey December 2, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:11 pm
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Sculpting honey?

Pointless.

Shapes dissolve in moments,

dissappear in the gleaming

sweetness of now–

much like

memories

of you.

 

quote- creations June 15, 2017

Filed under: Poetry,Quotations — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
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 “Creations are creatures, and they have lives of their own.”

Louise Penny.  The Nature of the Beast.

I’m reading this Inspector Gamache novel, and Ruth made this comment about a play.  The line after indicates that the play was the playwright.  It seems both powerful and succinctly true.  When we create something, it comes from us, often reflect deep truths about us, but it also becomes itself.  It speaks to those who view/read/listen/watch with its own voice (filtered through or reflecting their voice).  I am often fascinated to hear what readers have taken from my work.  Sometimes they find things I put there, but often they find things that are completely different, and just as valid.  Once the book or poem left my hands, it became its own entity.  It’s an interesting experience.  It reminds me of the first time an adult mentions they know your child- they’ve interacted with them in a way that is unconnected to you, and you realize they have their own independent lives.  Children are creations, too.  They’re equally part of us and completely themselves.  Ah. Creation is a complex thing!

From a writing point of view, what a perfectly crafted sentence for this character.  Ruth is a poet, and doesn’t the line sound like a poem?  Louise Penny is my hero.

 

poem-stranded May 8, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:29 pm
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I wanted to go.

I raced out the door.

It’s been a horrible week but it’s over

and I’m coming home to you at last!

Then the signs.

Prepare to stop.

 

We waited

waited

waited

waited

waited

until the flagger said,

“No one is getting through tonight.”

Highways in all directions sealed

like a disaster movie.

Creeks washed out.

Head-on collision.

Mud-slide.

Avalanche.

The truckers lined up for miles.

I’m tucked up in a hotel with a good book,

safe and dry,

but I’d rather be home

with you.

.

.

.

True story.  But it could have been worse!  On one side of the slide was the bride; the groom and family were sharing a hotel with me.  A story for their grandkids!  My commute is usually 22 minutes, but it was 22 hours this time.

 

Poem- folded April 13, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:59 pm
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You’re creating a story

folded into the pages of the book

It’s not the story the author intended.

It’s not what people expect to see.

But your folds and cuts

tell your story,

and your story

is enough.

 

 

poem- there October 14, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:46 am
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I’m crafting a world

and living in it.

You’re part of the narrative,

if only,

you were there.

 

 
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