Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-shouting late October 27, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
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She’s eighty-nine

and now she tells the story of rape,

of giving up a panopoly of dreams

for the baby boy.

(Shot gun wedding)

Love and happiness can’t be forced,

like sex.

Society forced her silence,

condemned divorce,

when she refused abuse,

and sought in the ashes of her dreams

for a phoenix.

Bitter choices,

dream fragments,

cobbled into a life,

grumbled about now.

Dream stealing beast,

a boy who wouldn’t hear no,

seven decades of curses

don’t erase the bitterness

of loss.

.

.

(true story)

 

 

 

 

poem-what has changed September 29, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:25 pm
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Since “me, too!” has spread,

What has changed

is that I see you differently.

I see me differently.

I hear, “She does that stuff; I’m working”

and I’m filled with fury at yet another man

who does not see what work is,

how everything he is able to do

is because his wife carries him on her back.

and I say, enough.

If we are going to be beasts of burden,

let us be more than mules with bits in our mouths.

Let us be more.

Let us be the partner who is heard.

Let the children be his concern as often as they’re ours.

Let the pink jobs and blue jobs become purple jobs

as they swirl in a kaleidoscope of

our jobs.

Our mutual obligations.

I’m glad you do the laundry and clean the kitchen,

because I hate those jobs.

Thank you for agreeing that poetry

and winding words are more important than dusting.

When your words reflect a patriarchy, I will remind you

who I am.

When my words cut, you may wrap your arms around me

and remind me that you have feelings, too.

Let’s stand as role models that being a man does not give

you rights over anyone else,

anyone else,

anyone.

Listen men, to what she says.

Keep your hands to yourself

(and other pokey bits, too).

If she says no,

Channel your unwanted urges

into art.  Wash them away in

cold showers of reality.

Let your futile frustration seethe

like generations of women seethed.

What has changed, boys?

The very air you breathe.

 

 

poem- belittled January 10, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:11 pm
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Short temper erupts

Tiny trouble surrounds

Small smiles: faked.

Insidious misogeny ignored

We knew.

#MeToo told us nothing new.

Those men want us to

Be little.

But something’s brewing.

It’s going to be big.

 

 

 

 
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