The old man
who lived in
the corner house
with the red front stairs
always had
time to
listen.
poem- remember June 4, 2014
Äiti was crying when I left
hugging me close and weeping.
“Äiti?”
“Et unohta” she whispered.
Don’t forget.
“Muistat sinun Suomen kielesta,
en osaa puhua englanti!” she sniffed.
You have to remember your Finnish!
I can’t speak English!
“Minä muistan, Äiti.”
I will remember.
Years dripped by
on memories and melancholy
but still
Muistan, Äiti.
poem- grief June 3, 2014
Today
I watched your smile
twinkling on the seas
I heard your laughter
rustling in the trees
I heard your voice whisper
0n the evening breeze
I saw your image
dancing in the leaves
I felt you everywhere
gifting me with memories
comforting me with peace.
poem- waking May 19, 2014
I woke this morning
pleasantly foggy and
imagined my day.
What workshops will I attend?
Yes. That one. This one.
Then I stretched my mind
into clarity and realized
conference is over;
everyone has gone home.
It was a melancholy moment,
before the smile,
savouring memories.
.
.
.
.
A memory like this one. My dear husband, grinning broadly with Diana Gabaldon beside him outside the conference banquet. This is the first time he’s met an author whose work he admires. I’m laughing because I just had to sprint down the hall to get into the photo. Despite being with Diana all weekend and snapping many photos of her with/for other people, this moment was the only one I had taken with her myself this year.
P.S. The counter says that this is my 1400th blog post. Nice to celebrate with two of my favourite people! 😉
poem- satisfaction May 17, 2014
Waiting
Dating each moment
Painting future memories
Rating satisfaction
Creating
.
.
.
I counted down for 572 days. Here we are! Incredible how quickly hours fly by when they’ve been anticipated for 572 days! But each hour so anticipated is to be savoured and enjoyed for 572 days to come, and then beyond.
haikus- pass May 13, 2014
Pass word needs 8
characters, a symbol, a capital,
and a number.
.
For your own security
Don’t write down your
user name or pass word!
.
Remember everything
even if you only use the site
once a year.
poem- reading a historical mystery April 24, 2014
Small gawky boy
Nose like the beak of an eyas,
I pass a glance to his hands
bronzed and thin upon the table
and find myself time travelling.
Immersed in visions of those hands
Stroking keys, coaxing music,
Mesmerizing me. Those hands
On other arms years ago.
I blink back to now and stare as he stumbles,
Endearingly uncoordinated, into a wall.
I watch him in a crowd, catch the flash of his smile
And am transported into that smile
Gleaming at me in another time
from another face.
Wondering at my sanity,
I check his files,
Find the name I know from long ago
and understand:
History is written in our blood
And carved upon our bones.
The tilt of our heads,
The rhythm of our laughter
The angle of our shoulders,
the shape of our souls,
Are revealed in the genetic mystery
That can be read through time,
by those who see the story.
poem- 11710 April 23, 2014
I dreamt of you
for eleven thousand
seven hundred
and ten nights.
You spoke in
waking dreams.
You whispered
in the blackness,
called across the miles:
Hold on.
I’m here for you.
Stay.
You have commitments.
But after
eleven thousand
seven hundred
and ten nights
you called
to tell me
those words did not
apply to you.
Hold on.
I’m here for you.
Stay.
You have commitments!
I said to you,
but it was too late by then.
I dreamt of you
for eleven thousand
seven hundred
and ten nights,
until I learnt that
you weren’t really there
at all.
poem- Misty’s shoes April 17, 2014
I’m wearing Misty’s shoes;
her ghost clings to them
billowing behind the clicking heels
in the hallway.
Misty set these shoes
on the foot rest of her
wheelchair, but I’m dancing
to her memory down corridors,
blowing kisses to the sky
through windows
wide with wishes.
.
.
.
A few years ago on eBay I bought a pair of black and white Fluevog Harlows: T-straps on towering spool heels . Misty’s sister told me about how they were selling her shoes after her untimely death from cystic-fibrosis. I was so impressed with what she told me about her feisty sister over a brief correspondance, that I created a shoe-oholic character called Misty in the Grace books 3 & 4. The manuscript is sitting on a shelf, waiting for polishing. Someday you’ll get to meet her fictional namesake. In the meantime, you can admire her excellent taste in shoes:
poem- never January 24, 2014
I never wrote you a poem.
Your laughter was a song;
I rose upon its melody.
I gave other boys the words,
while you received my joy.
.
.
In memory of Lloyd.
Shawn L. Bird 