Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-wandering August 7, 2018

It is

It isn’t

Round and round

I can!

I can’t!

You do

You don’t

and trying

trying

trying

doesn’t make it easier

to pull your broken brain away

from turbulance

I don’t know you anymore

I don’t like you anymore

Loyalty keeps me doing

because I promised him

and you can’t help being broken

I know.

It is

It isn’t

Time ticks by

I try

I try

I try.

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poem- looking October 5, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:28 am
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I looked for you.

I peered deep into your eyes

searching.

You were not there,

the hollow globes blinked blankly,

soul flown,

arms embracing expectation

empty future.

I looked for you.

You were not there.

Tomorrow I will look

again.

 

poem-contemplating September 25, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:59 am
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I’m wondering

about the tension between your eyes.

Those two deep, etched furrows

creased vertically above your nose

that appear when you smile

that tight lipped smile

below eyes that do not laugh.

You say,

you can’t help the furrows;

they happen every time,

and yet

look:

in the moments when your mouth is agape,

grinning widely,

when laughter is visible,

erupting from your face

see

the furrows are absent.

I wonder,

why you hold yourself back from laughter,

why your eyes show only tension,

that you plough into your forehead,

when you could be planting joy.

I wonder

what hurts.

I wonder

whether I can guide you back

to joy.

 

poem-cure May 26, 2017

The demons are hiding around corners

lurking in the shadows

watching you.

I know you feel the weight

of their gaze

hear the clink of their weapons

every day.

On the sunny days,

you outrun them

find smiles to return to those

around you

in their circles of care.

Other days,

smiles are barred growls,

the glow of sinister eyes pacing

around you,

squeezing life and hope

as their circle crushes in,

suffocating you.

Your demons on their unwitting backs

Your demons in their unwitting smiles

Your demons on their unwitting feet

Your demons in their expectations

Your incessant demons

invisible to others,

writhing,

circling,

just

there.

 

 

 

 

 

poem-just when May 25, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:24 pm
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Just when I think there’s been a change

Just when I think the brain’s been rearranged

Just when I think obstacles have been constrained

There’s a smash, crashing return to the old

The opening petals refuse to unfold

The rebirthing story will not be told

Just when I imagine, my hope’s short-changed.

Reality is bitterly cold.

My expectations are really what’s strange.

 

poem-point of view May 5, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:39 am
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So often

what I think is a conversation about me

you think is a conversation about you.

My feelings

aren’t just feelings, they’re an attack.

But they’re not.

They belong to me

and they’re allowed to be

what they are.

I long for you to acknowledge

how I feel

what I wonder

what I want

isolated from your sense

of inadequacy.

I’m tired

tired

tired of your issue

always overshadowing

any of my concerns.

Mental illness

is annoyingly

narcissistic.

Please consider other points of view.

It isn’t always about you.

Really.

Sometimes it’s about me.

 

poem-valediction September 16, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:26 pm
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She wakes to the empty house

searching room by room for traces.

Has he gone?

But surely before such a journey

there would some formal leave taking?

A kiss?

A note?

He slipped away without a word,

and she is left bereft,

wondering why he finds it so easy to leave her,

wondering if she’s been devalued like  Greek currency

or Bre-X stock.

No gold to mine after all.

Every couple crafts their own normal.

What’s familiar is what’s all right,

except when it’s not.

Being alone

Being lonely

There will always be too many cracks for

that broken pot to hold water;

it’s fine for bread,

though you

can’t live on bread alone.

Traces of something else,

gold veins of nourishment

are drawn with gestures

too easily forgotten,

so driving away is as simple a turning the key,

not as complicated as farewell.

 

 

 

 
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