This is a stop.
But only a brief one.
Long journeys
Pre-school.
Kindergarten.
Elementary school.
Secondary school.
One bachelor’s degree.
Two bachelor’s degrees.
And finally school feels finished.
So we will celebrate as you don the cap and gown,
walk across a stage,
accept the diploma.
We’ll snap the photos and be glad
This is a stop in the educational journey
But soon it will be your own class room,
filled with your students,
and soon you’ll realize,
your education is just beginning.
Streaks of white flash past my windshield
like I’m entering hyper-space,
hoping not to be hit by space debris
(or other cars)
’cause that’d end my trip real quick, wouldn’t it?
No one really likes driving the highway home
through a snowstorm.
Where’s Han Solo when you need him?
Listen to the rain
clicking against the windows
thudding on the roof
washing away whatever was waiting
yesterday, and cleaning for tomorrow.
snow falling
between the rain
the pavement becomes a black hole
sucking out the light
I return hoping
but the house is cold
and I must find
my own dinner.
I’m here in my office,
not looking forward to this meeting,
shivering, despite my wrap,
thinking how I’m much rather
be wrapped by you.
Eyes hop
Butt hops
Head hops
Legs hop
Attention hops
School is difficult
for rabbits.
She remembers long ago
when she’d catch his glances like butterflies,
flitting, fleeting, flickering glimpses,
darting from above a smile
of surreptitious wistfulness.
She’d swallow his longing
so the fluttering was within her,
and gaze back,
captivated, until they
trembled together
in the net.
You are landscape:
hills curled around valleys,
shoulder arced over head
thighs a rounded panorama.
You are pushed up against darkness,
it puddles beneath your breasts,
but waken, beauty.
Light lingers on your glistening skin;
dawn caresses your body,
an invitation to fall in love with day.
.
.
I’m admiring the art on my wall again. This poem is written about this drawing: https://shawnbird.com/2015/02/21/poem-the-light-returns/ How thankful I am for Elaine’s skills. The artist in me greets the artist in thee! Namaste.
Dust is sparked:
becomes a miracle
of tears and laughter,
a long journey back
to dust.
Life is balanced
on a pinpoint.
Home, food, health, connections, work, meaning
sway precariously.
If one is pulled,
all is impacted:
Rocks and
Tips.
.
.
.
I’m thinking today of an extended family member who was in a serious car accident recently. One moment, all is well, the next some guy isn’t watching the road, jumps a meridian, and you’re in emergency. If you’re sole support, and you’re off work for a year of recovery, how does that impact everyone around you?
Shawn L. Bird 