Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-another day May 12, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:07 pm
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Reverberating agony

extruding writhing beasts

into the world.

Succubi at the breast,

wails in the night.

Small shrieking terrors

racing up corridors, escaping

in department stores.

Feed them. Mind them. Hold them.

Love them. Drive them.

Pimple popping, attitude rocking,

trouble stalking.

Feed them. Love them. Release them.

Celebrate them.

Wait for them.

Wonder what

went

wrong.

 

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poem- Worshipping anger April 15, 2019

Your pain bursts out the barrel of a gun

punches holes through community

explodes small town security.

Neutrality’s a liar.

And in world news:

Notre-Dame Cathedral is on fire.

.

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My own photo, detail around the main entrance of Notre-Dame. Paris, 2011.

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My own photo. Notre-Dame tower details. Paris. 2010

 

A poem should stand on its own merits, but I feel like a bit of clarification this time.  There was a shooting in my small, Canadian town yesterday.  Two people were shot in their church; one died. Our community has been reeling from this shock, and now another tragedy.  The loss of life. The loss of a building.  Can you compare the two?

 

poem- waiting March 8, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:24 am
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She hasn’t published the obituary, because

what will she say when they approach her

at the mall with their condolences that will

break her into dripping pieces?  But if she doesn’t

will they ask how her mother is? Will she have

to break the news and shatter them with awkwardness

instead, then answer questions about why, when it was weeks ago?

Is she keeping death a secret,

to ponder in her heart?  Many things are mysteries.

Grief makes some a blanket to hide in.

It makes others a sea to sail on.

She hides at home, and lives the obituary

in silent, private grief.

 

poem-glimpses March 5, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:20 pm
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A little glimpse

a corner of the eye catch

Double take.

Vanished.

It’s enough to know

You’re still here.

 

poem- seen and not heard January 22, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:41 am
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Murmuring voices

racing around me, vacuum engine growl,

white noise.

Words without meaning.

Sound without sense.

There you are.

Your mouth moves,

but I can not hear you

anymore.

 

poem- flash December 31, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:11 am
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Just like that

you were back.

A flash.

Years had disappeared.

Your hair glistened in the light of the theatre,

our laughter and the crunch of popcorn on the air.

A flash.

Grief seeped through me,

sucking me back to the day they said

you were gone.

.

.

RIP Lloyd. 1964-1997 No one is truly dead until they are not remembered any more.

 

poem- tricks November 18, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:45 am
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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.

 

 

 
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