While he was dying
the nurses at his bedside
chatted with one another.
When he came back to life
he told them what he heard
and they could not
meet his eyes.
.
.
(true story)
While he was dying
the nurses at his bedside
chatted with one another.
When he came back to life
he told them what he heard
and they could not
meet his eyes.
.
.
(true story)
The house rests.
Five bodies drift on dreams.
One sits, enshrined in song,
strums softly
on strings:
a living lullaby.
I am here
to listen.
I want to savour each word
of the story you create
to make meaning of the world.
I am here
to listen.
I want your words to come
clear on the air
to my ear,
each one a gift.
I want to listen
So speak your passion
in whispers and shouts
enunciated
truncated
dissipated
like leaves in fall
wisked away by wind.
I want to capture each one
so your story
becomes part of my story,
so I can raise my voice
sing my song,
tell my tale.
We share together:
I am;
hear.
.
.
Tonight I was at the Shuswap Association of Writers Coffee House, presented annually in conjunction with Word on the Lake Festival of Readers and Writers. I heard some amazing writers and poets read, some were easier to appreciate than others. I like when the poet savours his/her words, and crafts the reading like a performance piece, so you can experience the poem. I dislike when a poet tosses off meaningless dribble, and then explains it, and the explanation is a better poem than the poem, itself. Bad form, famous poet, bad form. There was great stuff to enjoy, though, as there always is.
Shawn Bird is an author, poet, and educator in the beautiful Shuswap region of British Columbia, Canada. She is a proud member of Rotary.