8 screws
6 boards
8 pins
wind, wind, wind, wind
wind, wind, wind, wind
push, push, push push
push, push, push, push
shelves stacked
and now book, book, book
Why did it take so long
to buy a book shelf, and clear these
stacks off the floor?
poem-hearts January 3, 2016
Isn’t it strange
how what you imagine will captivate you forever
can become stale and disgusting with time?
Like fruit fallen too ripe,
stinking beneath the tree,
time sometimes does no favours
to distant hearts.
poem-seeds January 1, 2016
We are planted
with potentiality;
white blanketed rest bids us wait
until spring gives us the urge to rise
to skies and find our fate.
poem-Brittany December 27, 2015
So small,
but her voice rings out,
bell-like and true
She holds tightly to the tune.
Iridescent cherry curves of caramel.
Beauty under pressure,
vibrating on my lap
music therapy for what ails me.
.
.
A little metaphor. Here’s the Brittany in question:
Literally true- she keep her tuning amazingly well- I didn’t play for a month and every note was still right! Unheard of in a harp, really. Also, the strings are under nearly a ton of pressure, the soundboard bellies out quite dramatically. (They say a harp sounds at its most beautiful just before it explodes…) My Brittany is cherry wood in the sound box, pillar and harmonic curve, but Baltic birch on the sound board. She’s a very beautiful little harp.
poem- bangles December 9, 2015
When you gave me these bangles,
(artisan made, grown-up gift for the babysitter)
you oozed confidence, security, achievement.
In your warm brown house with its plush carpet, modern art,
and dishes spun on a pottery wheel,
you were cozy cool, the perfect mom in the perfect family:
professional husband, professional mom, two cute kids.
You had it all together.
But everything dissolved,
first family to divorce,
then your mind to madness,
finally your body to cancer.
Now you are dust, and the memory of you chimes
on my wrist in tarnished bronze and copper bangles,
and jingles, “Celebrate now, for who know what the future brings?”
poem- perspectives December 5, 2015
“Isn’t it interesting,” the old lady mused,
“How people can have such different pictures of someone.”
Not really.
Especially when one always looks through a petty and critical lens,
and the other is open to receive love and kindness.
You see what you look for,
after all.
poem- light December 4, 2015
She is light.
She glows with gentle radiance
that touches everyone she meets with her warmth.
She is peace.
In her calm presence you are comforted
simply by being near her serene heart.
She is whole.
She does not need anything from anyone,
for she has found the font of her strength within herself.
She is love.
poem-compassion December 3, 2015
She said, compassion is a light.
It attracts those in darkness who then devour it.
Oh what a sad and bitter theory!
No.
Compassion is a fire that burns freely
and radiates warmth and comfort to those who draw near.
Fuel for compassion is love and contentment, which renews the fire regardless if anyone has gathered to enjoy the heat.
Compassion can not be taken, it can only be given;
it is the essence of its fuel.
No one who is truly compassionate can be bitter,
because bitterness is the antithesis to love and contentment.
poem- cardiac episode December 1, 2015
You’re dizzy.
Can’t find the armhole on your blouse.
Falling.
You come to yourself slowly,
worn out,
laughing.
Minor cardiac episode?
Heart attack
or
Love?
poem-running November 26, 2015
“I’m just running away,” you say.
Just.
Running.
Sometimes
Escape is a good idea.
If a tyrannosaurus is after you
or a smaller villain of equal viciousness, for example.
(You know what they say about sticks and stones).
Run today,
But keep your eyes open for future alternatives.
There’s a lot of meat in a tyrannosaurus;
harvesting offers its challenges,
but I have faith in you.
Shawn L. Bird 