Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem- confessions of an addict September 18, 2013

Filed under: Poetry,Reading,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:04 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Someone said,

“Books are a hard-bound drug

with no danger of over-dose.”

Lies.

I am an addict.

I have clutched my paper-bound

or hard-bound drug until

my hands are frozen claws,

I have lost hours of my life

in the blink of an eye,

I opened the cover for

just a few pages before bed,

and blinked up at the dawn light

as the birds mocked outside my window.

I turn pages until my eyes

can not focus,

my lids rasp close,

my arms tremble,

my fingers numb,

my neck kinked,

but still I read on, until

my eyes

close.

I stagger in a stupor

to my bed.

When I am lost to consciousness,

my dreams are vivid,

I wake with an aching head,

the morning after.

I am a book addict.

I know over-dosing

is a danger,

but

the paper smells so good,

the rustle of the pages

is music,

the story is magic,

and I am helpless in

its thrall.

That’s all.

My name is Shawn,

and I am addicted to books.

 

 

poem- some stand still September 15, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:22 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Along the journey

friends beside

we listen

laugh

talk

cry

and

walk.

As paths diverge

and rejoin

we grieve the lost

or greet new found

companions on the trek.

At times, we find a plateau

spread before us

and some stand still

admiring the view

choosing to settle

in the pleasant spot

But others walk on,

climbing hills,

exploring unimagined places,

pausing to watch a while at each

before reaching

for their hiking pole

and striding on.

Some walk forever, and see the world

and some stand still.

 

poem- mountain climbing August 29, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:01 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I thought I was at the base of the mountain, ready to start climbing,

but I realise that I am actually

at Mountain Equipment Co-op

looking for supplies.

I have to be on the mountain

ready or not

and I need ropes,

and crampons,

and carabiners.

I need to know how to climb.

I want to climb

I want to see the view from the heights

know I’ve conquered my fears

risen above

fought a good fight.

So I am heading to

the base camp, looking up,

and starting the climb,

armed with attitude

perseverance,

hope,

faith,

and desire.

I will climb this mountain

step

by

step.

 

poem- horse light August 21, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:17 am
Tags: , , , , , ,

Light is galloping across the hills

Glistening  roan, bay, and dun.

Splotches of palomino and skewbald

reflect the canter of the clouds

across the sun.

.

,

©2012 Michael Russell Used with permission.  If you love this image, you should check out Michael’s gallery!

.
The light was so fantastic above Kalamalka Lake on the drive home today.  I wish I’d had a camera to capture the long light, and gleaming fields of gold, russet, and brown above the lake!  Words will have to do, though Michael Russell’s beautiful photo will give you an idea of the hills and the cantering clouds, at least!

 

poem- summer storm August 12, 2013

Epic battle:

light and dark.

Musket muzzles flash

Light bayonets the hills

with slashing stabs.

In the concussion of the cannonade

Houses rattle.

.

.

So let’s discuss this poem.  Despite the nice circuitous connection of battle/rattle , I think ‘houses rattle’ is the weakest line in the poem, and ending with the weakest line is never a good thing.  You want a nice strong ending.  I started with ‘reverberation’ in the line (no houses at that point) which is perhaps better is some ways, though I felt too obvious a choice.  

Let’s workshop this.  What do you think?  What would you do to the last line to continue the battle metaphor, but convey the quaking ground and rattling windows?

 

poem- time tree August 11, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:20 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

The tree outside my bedroom window

was the diameter of my skinny child legs:

smooth skinned trunk,

sweet green leaves.

Now, I reach my mother arms

around rough bark,

scrape my wrists as

I stretch to touch

my finger tips together.

There’s summer sun in the scent

of poplar leaves.

I look into the window

searching for my youthful face

gazing out at the future.

 

poem- flash and substance among sparrows and peacocks August 5, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:09 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

The sparrows are insulted

by the peacock’s brilliant tail,

Yet a peacock can not change itself

and sparrows are just dull.

Sparrows sing a gentle song

Peacocks bray loudly when they call

If sparrows are affronted, t’is

not the peacocks’ fault at all.

So if sparrows are insulted

they’ll find their own dull space

while peacocks enjoy themselves

with other bright, loud mates!

.

Sparrows are insulted by

the crows’ great intellect

When problems need resolving

sparrows just don’t get it.

While sparrows stew in vapid pools

the crows make out a plan;

they analyse, they study,

they get in that garbage can!

Sure sparrows will gang up

and drive a crow away

but the crow will just think harder

and devour them the next day.

.

Those sparrows are a feisty lot

though they lack imagination.

Peacocks and crows are the impressive

ornithological creations!

.

.

My father-in-law, a former biology professor and an award winning naturalist, kept a sparrow trap in his farm yard when he retired from U of C.  He considered sparrows an over populace species that stole the nesting boxes of the desirable more endangered species that he was trying to encourage- i.e. Purple martins, Western blue birds, Goldfinches, and the like.  I often wondered what the poor, dull little birds thought as they hopped around in the trap (which was a good size- about 5′ cube) waiting to be gassed.  (Humane deaths, all).  I often wondered what they thought of the more ‘exotic’ species that were able to explore his yard with impunity on the other side of their sparrow concentration camp.  What would they have made of the peacocks our friends keep, do you think?   The crows would come by the trap and try to figure out how to get in and have some sparrow dinner, but the opening was too small.  I’m sure the sparrows felt safe, but they were still the ones who were gassed in the end!  (Poor sweet little birds)

 

poem- you July 29, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:29 pm
Tags: , , ,

You are illuminated cranberry glass

the glow of a molten sunset

the iridescence of hummingbird wings

You are the dance of kite strings

the song of a mockingbird

the quintessence of possibility

You are all I long to be

the dreams of a millennium

the hope of eternity

You are innocence in a cradle

the wisdom of the elders

the infinity of the finite.

You are bubbles of laughter

the effervescence of everything

the reason.

 

 

poem- when I loved you July 26, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:26 am
Tags: , , , ,

When I loved you

I gathered hope

into a basket.

I saved your smile,

your voice

your messages,

your kiss,

your letters,

your music,

all wrapped in

mingled memories.

I saved you,

an artefact of artifice.

On rainy days

you tumbled onto

the table of

my mind,

a shining

collection of what

was never real,

a perfect impression

of impossibility,

from a basket

of wasted dreams.

 

Poem-soap July 20, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:05 pm
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Sitting on a soap bubble

floating in sunshine

reflected glare on the surface

of my seat

blinds me.

I rise on

the iridescent

clarity

of the emptiness

that is my only

safety

from the

inevitable

bursting

fall