While you are shouting you’re right.
Check
who else is.
There’s always
more to
know.
Poem- left hanging April 23, 2021
Craft it up.
Send it out
Check it off.
The intentions were there,
But I’m staring at the screen
seeing blurs
realizing it’s dream-time.
My off-switch just flipped,
so this poem will be left unfinished
until my brain is back on-line.
Perhaps tomorrow some time?
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NaPoWriMo day 23. Shakespeare’s birthday! I was going to play with a sonnet for their response prompt. Perhaps another day!
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(ignore ads following)
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poem- storming April 7, 2021
you
dance
flinging
happiness
into a rain-buffed sky,
capturing melancholy hope.
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NaPoWriMo day 7. This is a FIB. A six line poem that follows the syllable count 1/1/2/3/7/5. Today’s prompt also included a ‘shadorma’ 3/5/3/3/7/5, but I will save that one for another day.
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poem-perspectives April 4, 2021
NaPoWriMo.net prompt to use a photo from @SpaceLiminalBot’s feed for inspiration:
It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?
Pandemic confusion.
I’m swimming in a world gone awry
looking for the ladder of escape
which way’s up?
poem- Poetic Ballet March 7, 2021
Our words
are legacy.
Our hopes, fears, and
dreams pirouette on pages
They jeté into hearts and minds
even after we’ve returned
Á terre.
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(In memory of poet Patrick Lane who left us one year ago today. A lesson I learned from him, “Use specificity in your poems. Don’t just dance, tango!”).
poem-behind the masks December 11, 2020
in the story I read
every family was the same
and every person took off their mask
of sameness at the end of the day.
.
in the story we’re living
every family’s struggle’s different
we put on our masks each day
to save each other
poem-digging a trench December 9, 2020
This is not the year
for adventurous rambling
for party-down fun
for braving new experiences
for exploring new ideas
This is the year
for settling in
for warming up
for holding close
for safe hidey holes from which
to weather the barrage.
poem- like ducks December 7, 2020
On the outside:
calm, controlled, confident.
Beneath the surface:
quivering, quaking, confused.
How many stress-based illnesses
tension fueled troubles
surface in our bodies and minds?
How hard do we fight
to carry on?
poem-heavy December 4, 2020
What is this woodblock in my chest
beyond kilos and pounds to tons (or tonnes)?
Quivering, it vibrates my spine,
my foggy head,
all’s aching weight,
anguish and dread.
poem-ribbon December 3, 2020
Tonight’s sunset
is a thin strip of pink ribbon
in a vast blue sky
.
One wispy cloud
reflects the fading sun:
a sliver of bright beauty
to stab devouring darkness.
Shawn L. Bird 