Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- flash December 31, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:11 am
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Just like that

you were back.

A flash.

Years had disappeared.

Your hair glistened in the light of the theatre,

our laughter and the crunch of popcorn on the air.

A flash.

Grief seeped through me,

sucking me back to the day they said

you were gone.

.

.

RIP Lloyd. 1964-1997 No one is truly dead until they are not remembered any more.

 

poem-the wave September 16, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:22 pm
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I’m waffle making

and suddenly

the loss of you

is palpable.

Did I ever make you waffles?

Still, your absence at this moment

overwhelms me,

and I fill the emptiness

with tears.

 

poem-ostrich day March 4, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:01 am
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I am overwhelmed

by my responsibilities

and the weight of my grief

that creeps up unexpectedly

to undermine my clarity

to bury me with memories

and underscore my sense of loss.

I’ll hide myself from Helios: find

some sand to stick my head beneath.

 

 

poem-ashes to ashes February 21, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:03 am
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I feel you curled against my back.

I stroke your warm body.

I gaze into your soft brown eyes,

that gaze lovingly back to me.

I wonder whose ashes are in the box:

Conspiracy theories.

Painful realities ring with the alarm clock,

and my contentment turns to ashes.

 

poem-lost moments February 15, 2016

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:19 am
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I had some errands to do,

and it’s always so hard to leave you

after I’ve come home,

so I went to the library,

and the grocery store,

and then to fold my mother’s laundry.

When I pulled into the garage,

he told me you were in trouble,

I rushed to see you.

You looked at me with anguish in your eyes,

your belly hugely distended. I told you to come,

you went straight to the car, because the car is always good.

I raced you to the vet, my hand on your shoulder,

knowing.

I sat on the exam room floor with you

feeling your racing pulse and your icy breath.

I held you as you died.

Thirty minutes of pointless errands

when I could have been with you,

thirty minutes less pain you would have endured,

thirty minutes I will not get back, but will always regret.

I’m thankful for the fifteen minutes I had to hold you.

I’m so sorry for your anguish in my arms.

.

.

.

My heart dog OJ died of gastric torsion on Friday.  He was fine at lunch.  Dead at 5:00.  We don’t know how it happened after 15.5 years, but standard poodles are deep chested dogs that can be prone to bloat, though it’s not in his line.  I had hoped he’d go in his sleep, not suffering so much, but it was easy to request the shot to save him from his agony, though by then it was likely only moments of ease.

 

 

poem-first mourning February 13, 2016

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:58 am
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And so I wake on the first morning

without my heart dog.

No thumping tail to greet me

No clicking nails tattooing down the hall.

No urgent woof encouraging me

No stinky kisses

to comfort me aching.

No rolling for a belly rub

with contended sighs and eyes blinking

nonchalantly, as if you were surprised

to find my hand caressing you.

No need to put my purse up high,

or guard food on the counters.

No rattling as you did dishwasher pre-wash.

No.

Only bits of fluff, still hiding in corners

after your last hair cut,

a hundred photos,

and a million memories of a sweet-tempered,

loving heart that beat with mine.

.

.

.

Oh, how I miss my boy today.

 

 

poem- today

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:57 am
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Today,

grief is a roller coaster,

clicking forward minute by minute

and then with an errant thought

dropping my belly to my knees.

 

 
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