Small pieces of hope
held tightly,
nurtured gratefully,
smashed out of my hands,
fall,
fall,
fall.
poem-forgiveness November 4, 2018
This is forgiveness.
Left alone, forgotten, until you
became a dessicated husk.
Discovered, remorse poured on you,
and you rested, recovering,
absorbing all you needed to heal.
One year.
Regret poured onto you.
Two years.
Faith surrounded you.
Three years
You offered a single bloom to give us hope.
Another year.
Patience. Trust.
This is what time and forgiveness bring:
full flowering!
Ah, the anticipation of your full celebration
makes me dizzy.
.
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![20181104_103441[1]](https://shawnbird.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/20181104_1034411.jpg?w=368&h=207)
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True story. Took my Christmas Cactus outside to enjoy some summer sun (2014?). Forgot it there. Come fall, it was a wizened shell. It’s taken years to recover, but it HAS! What a metaphor for tragedy in our lives and the patience we need with our recovery.
poem-squish November 2, 2018
The band around the head
compresses.
Waves,
lost ideas,
press in,
squish out.
Opportunities extruded
and left behind.
.
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(Expect more than a few concussion related poems this month)
poem- warrior woman September 30, 2018
Warrior,
stands, raised hand
answer every question
to bring justice to a depraved land.
Warrior stands
warning of the beast eager to devour.
tells how it mauled,
and it whines, growls, evades
responsibility.
The beast does not know it is a beast,
but the warrior knows.
The warrior warns.
As the beast prowls and pretends
to be a kitten, a puppy, an innocent thing.
The warrior knows.
The warriors know.
Are you listening?
Or will you open doors and invite it
to devour you?
Concussed September 14, 2018
This concussion is a constriction
squeezing my head like a snake
hugging my eyes closed.
Light pressure. Dark daylight.
Just a little inconvenience.
poem-ka-ching July 21, 2018
Ka-ching
She rings a bell, sings to tell
the world.
Ka-ching
He rings the knell, swings to tell
a world swirled in garnet garlands
Ka-ching
Fling things!
Ka-ching
Flash bling!
Ka-ching
Ring, ring, ring
Sing, sing, sing
Ring, ring, ring
Swing, swing, swing
Ka-ching
Ka-ching
Ka-ching.
poem- prep July 14, 2018
Beneath a cloudless blue sky
I feel the storm coming,
black clouds gathering.
Could they reflect black shirts?
I ponder,
seriously,
if I should be building false walls
to hide those who will be escaping tyranny.
I wonder,
if I am far enough from a border to avoid
occupation.
A century ago,
they didn’t understand the signs,
but now we do.
Those who read are the first removed
when the evil rises.
Do all those kids who demanded,
“Why do we have to learn this?”
remember that their teachers said,
“So you’ll see the signs.”
“So it will never happen again.”
“Remember, they elected Hitler;
“they heiled and fell for his lies,
“because they wanted to believe their superiority,
“wanted a scapegoat for their troubles.”
There can be no excuses.
Shall I buy bricks or drywall?
Where will I construct false bottoms?
Where will we hide in the resulting rubble,
when the jack boots stomp through?
Another cristelnacht, this time in New York?
The hammock swings its consolation:
It can’t happen here.
It won’t happen here.
How many said those words a century
ago?
How many grew to knowing the meaning
of fear?
poem-espresso June 27, 2018
I express myself
in languid liquid
tiny cup
great potential
rocket fueled fuming
consuming conflagration
fire eater me
Oh you
sip seductively
out of reach
but teach me
no one needs to see me
for you’re devouring words
making a meal of my brain burst
You don’t see me
but you feel me,
say the tears dripping down your cheeks.
I wield a mighty weapon,
anonymously.
poem-leaps April 24, 2018
We’re at the precipice
You and I.
You’re in the harness,
tethered to a kite,
ready to leap.
I lean back from the edge,
Nervous of wings
Air currents,
carrying you away,
dropping you
where?
Mountains
Valleys
Tangling into trees,
I like safety
Side lines
You see
Sight lines
inclines
outlines
freedom.
You leap.
I wonder what will be
What all this means for me.
poem- rebellious April 20, 2018
It’s 4 20 on Poetry Friday.
Half my class is missing.
Are they taking the day off to celebrate
with a joint?
The rest of us are celebrating poetry,
writing to prompts, savouring
chocolate caramel cupcakes
and cheesecake brownies
(not THOSE kind of brownies).
We’re clean living poets,
saving rebellion
for after school.
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#Napowrimo prompt today was “Rebellion”
Shawn L. Bird 