Sometimes,
my CPU revs up
like an airplane,
races down the run way;
my typing thuds unexpected spaces,
but my words take off
and fly around the world.
.
.
.
(old computer, noisy fan. It does sound like a revving plane!)
poem- sweeping November 15, 2014
The sky lady
is sweeping
dust plumes at
her lazy husband.
They billow all around him,
but still he snoozes
on his blue easy chair.
poem-kindle November 10, 2014
Under your skin
you’re kindling dreams.
Letting just enough
hope gleam through the ash.
Your head says,
“You can’t.
It won’t be,”
But the kindling dreams
wonder,
“Why
not
me?”
poem- flaming November 9, 2014
You’ve ignited,
conflagration in the halls,
a flaming torch.
Burning brightly,
napalm from your flame thrower
devouring the walls.
You’re an incendiary bomb
blazing through the air,
leaving no survivors
at all.
poem- ram or roll? November 8, 2014
Two identical
blazing logs
are ramming together
shooting sparks
with every shot,
neither aware
that they will set the
whole forest on fire
if they do not
stop ramming
and begin rolling
toward the cool waters
of understanding.
poem- sticks November 4, 2014
As they approach
your relaxed droop stiffens
your body tightens
each cell constricting.
You’re too old for
oppositional defiance
yet you shiver with it.
“Myself!” I hear your
two year old self echoing
through the decades. “No!”
But look,
this is a time of change,
and nothing changes without effort.
You have experts at your fingertips
and you refuse support and aid
because
Why, exactly?
You were so ready to fly,
and you’ve gone so far,
but now you’re quivering beneath the nest
while the parents flap about squawking
about winter migration,
and that cat on the porch.
You heedlessly tuck you head
beneath your wing
to nap.
poem- diving November 3, 2014
I’m diving,
slicing water,
breathless,
drowning.
I’m racing,
building speed,
breathless,
crashing.
I’m going,
aiming high
breathless,
exploding.
.
.
This sounds like something terrible is unfolding, but all is well, just having a busy, breathless kind of day! 🙂
poem- were November 1, 2014
It was woven
like light
dappling between the leaves
of our maple tree,
your voice, soft in memory,
searching for the heart of me.
It was woven
like lithe
subtleties between the grease
of our maigre feast,
your voice, lost in murmurings
purging forth our history.
It was woven
like life
sampling between the griefs
of our marble stele
your voice, wafts in every
yearning it exhorts of me.
.
.
I may be stretching your vocabulary with this one! Here’s some help:
maigre- religious diet without the flesh or juice of animals
stele- pillar, marker, tombstone (pron. like STEEL-y)
poem-paranoia October 28, 2014
A cut black silhouette
oozing around corners
hovering at windows.
I feel your gaze drilling
between my shoulder blades.
You vanish when I turn
but I glimpse your intent.
Your presence smothers
sparks of happiness.
Wariness wears tears
in the fabric of my composure,
devouring me in shadows.
.
.
Written during the Reach Out Psychosis assembly at my school.
Shawn L. Bird 