New covers
for old chairs.
Pieces of summer sky
cut, sewn, and stapled
Fresh summer days
contained within a frame
set in the living room.
poem- deep June 11, 2014
This isn’t silence
This is you
thinking
cogs whirring
thoughts stirring
trolling the bottom
of the ocean
for the solution
to your dilemma,
resolving the conflict
with yourself.
poem-pleating June 10, 2014
Time has pleats.
While years may stretch them out.
They enfold when old friends
meet after years,
touching as if only
hours have passed.
poem-seen June 9, 2014
There is a gentleness
and a comfort you’re wearing now,
so unlike the anger
and anguish that was your shield.
We’ve seen you change
from besieged warrior to
confident ruler of your world.
We have seen
and we are glad.
poem- family outing June 6, 2014
Mama and Papa Quail,
wearing identically jaunty hats,
are trying to contain
two dozen very excited,
fuzzy brown ping-pong balls.
.
.
.
.
(and they were ADORABLE as they churned about the grass!)
poem-not me May 29, 2014
My last pay cheque came
with a 10% fine,
because I belong to a union,
and somewhere in the province
someone else striking.
Not me.
I’m at work today,
my strike day was yesterday,
but I am fined today anyway.
A government that has twice
been told by the courts that
its actions are illegal,
that it bargains in bad faith,
that it tries to provoke problems,
simply ignores the judiciary’s order that it owes teachers
ten million dollars it took from them illegally.
Nope. This government
continues to bully its educated citizens,
labelling scape goats and whiners.
Setting its propaganda machine in motion.
Sure that no one will believe what it is really doing.
Why is the public not up in arms?
Why are they not concerned
to see a government stripping rights
from its citizens?
Perhaps people are distrustful
of the well-educated,
so it’s easy to manipulate them?
Truth: 10% is off my pay cheque,
because someone else is demanding the justice today
that I marched for yesterday.
Sixty years ago,
our boys were fighting against
injustices like this.
They are likely turning in their graves
at the new chancellor
of British Columbia
and the apathetic
citizenry
who avert their eyes,
pretending not to see,
and mutter, “At least she’s not after me.”
poem- dead horse May 27, 2014
You rode your high horse
to water, but you couldn’t make it drink.
You beat that horse
until its flesh was pulverized
and the putrid rot rose in a stench,
repulsing people you wanted to impress.
Still you keep beating
that equine cadaver,
imagining the rattle of its rib bones
is dressage music
for your one trick pony.
poem- cat woman May 26, 2014
She slashed him.
.
Pain scratched and yowled around his brain,
longing for palliation.
He saw compassion and affection in your eyes
wrapped his hands across your neck and
in the explosion of agonized ecstasy,
you choked down his hurt.
.
She twitched her fingers.
.
With his backward gaze,
he saw anguish curling lithely behind your eyes.
You saw his pitying relief, even as his pain
purred so loudly in your head
it blocked the words
he should have said.
.
.
.
This one is for Amber
poem- tug me May 23, 2014
The tiny vessel
zips around the floating logs
pushing them here and there.
Sorting them.
Guiding them to the mill piles.
Leading them to lumbering destiny.
And you,
zip around me
pushing me into order
sorting out my messes
guiding me to better decisions
leading into our future.
Shawn L. Bird 