The clouds have come to Earth,
obscuring our panorama
narrowing the perspective
until the view is simply you and me:
this nebulous emergence,
hope and mystery.
poem- first flight September 25, 2020
A leaf grips tight
to where it sprung,
all through the summer storms.
But when autumn comes,
a leaf’s released,
to discover sky and more.
poem- hollow September 21, 2020
I can hoo-hoot in the empty rooms
a lost owl listening to an echo
where there used to be you.
poem-siren call September 3, 2020
It used to be
a howling ambulance
made me hold my breath
waiting to hear if it flew to you.
Now you’re past their aid,
so I send a blessing
to the stranger in need
and into the sky in memory
of you
poem-fuel August 29, 2020
Inspiration:
green mountain sides
blue skies
spruce scented air
Danger:
summer lightning
immolation
devastating beauty
Prescription:
diamonds dancing
mountain lake
water-bomber
Metaphor:
change
desire
this
Poem- Summer storm August 1, 2020
This air is thick enough to drown in
Wading through your words
Lightning flashes in the hills like my
anxiety after the press conference.
Summer storm raging.
They announce back to school plans.
I’m watching the hills for forest fires,
fearing the burning.
Brief respite: rain splatters on the back deck,
before oppression descends again,
and our power goes out.
poem-grey June 8, 2020
The first day
my mother did not see
dawned grey and heavy
with dew.
But still the finch greeted me
with its joy at waking to
the new.
poem- fade June 2, 2020
Certainty sits in my throat while
rain weeps uneasy farewell
to the ambulance.
She will not fare well.
She is failing, fragile.
Rain washes tenuous existence
down the street in ripples
and rivulets.
It’s all downhill from here.
poem- seeing May 31, 2020
I see a new person now.
The years’ baggage-
so much bitterness and resentment-
has disappeared like lost luggage.
She stands at the Baggage Claim,
befuddled
then teeters down the hall,
oblivious to its loss.
This peaceful creature
is new.
There is no room to hold the past
against her.
poem-flick May 28, 2020
Strike the match;
light that candle;
defeat the dark.
Spark.
Sputter.
That tiny wick
won’t brighten
anyone’s despair.
Spark.
Sputter.
Little wicks are a waste of wax.
Candle melt-down.
Find a wick you can trim
For light that won’t dim.
Shawn L. Bird 