Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-reality June 21, 2017

Eventually

Reality has to intervene.

You’re not destined for the NHL

Or the corps de ballet

Your voice will not sell

A million records.

Simon sends you packing.

 

Reality can suck.

But if playing hockey

Brings you happiness

Why stop just because you’ll never hoist the Stanley Cup?

Dance like nobody’s watching

Sing until you’re smiling.

 

Don’t let reality rob you of the joy

Of the activity itself.

The rush of a beautiful pass and goal.

The beauty of a perfectly formed pirouette.

The harmony than hums in your ear.

Celebrate those moments for ten thousand hours.

 

They say ten thousand hours yields excellence.

Perhaps you’ll need twenty.

Or thirty.

Embrace the joy.

Share in a community of like minds.

Perhaps after forty thousand hours

Your reality will change

And if it doesn’t,

At least you’ll nurture your soul.

Like reality,

Success has many faces.

 

poem-summer July 24, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:31 pm
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Hot day.

The mall is packed.

Swimming lessons need a driver

(kids can’t get anywhere by themselves, after all).

Joggers sweating past.

Gas mower chugs obnoxiously around the yard.

I miss the soft swisha-swisha of dad’s old Rotary mower

when summer was gentler

and filled with children’s laughter.

 

poem-ending June 18, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:16 am
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The end is so close

that I can reach out and touch

the hands of the clock,

tick-tocking away this last class.

A day more of typing

the degree will be done.

This stage of the  journey complete,

where will I go from here?

 

poem-shorn March 21, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:17 pm
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Each year, the mighty willow

on the corner, trunk three feet around,

or more,

hums with the buzzing saws that

trim it to the trunk.

Supple yellow switches, eager for naughty backsides

or basket making pile on either side of the fence,

gathered for scrap not utility,

and a giant stands naked again.

 

 

poem-optimism March 1, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:41 am
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Each year a goose takes roost in

the osprey nest platform above the mill.

I suppose penthouse accommodations entice.

The view is lovely there,

and surely she feels superior to her kin

nesting waterfront (though their

recreational opportunities are greater).

Each year, after a month of goose occupancy,

the ospreys return.

I do not know the depth of the tragedy.

Do the evicted geese simply suffer homelessness,

or do they endure the grief of infanticide, as well?

Sometimes our lofty aspirations

are our undoing.

Our hubris is our hamartia,

but each year, in early spring, there’s a goose

in the osprey nest.

.

.

.

.

Remember your Shakespeare lessons?  Hamartia is the ‘fatal flaw’ of your personality that leads to your downfall (most commonly in literary tragedies).  Hubris is an excess of pride.

 

poem- extra-sensory perception September 14, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:33 pm
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I see through poet’s eyes

life recorded in metaphor

ideas dancing with possibilities.

I hear through poet’s ears

the humming of memory

the clatter of change

the sibilance of serenity

I touch through poet’s hands

hard thoughts,

rough realities,

soft dreams.

I smell through a poet’s nose

freshly mown hay of a summer day

leaves burning in an autumn evening

I taste through a poet’s tongue

the sourness of betrayals

the sweetness of hope

The poet has an infinity of senses

that reach into history

and unravel mysteries.

 

poem- Mom

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:46 pm
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Today is my mom’s 86th birthday, so I wrote her a poem:

.

My mother is a sewing machine

Stitching life together like a quilt.

She can make anything grow

as the needle whirs and punctures

Creating history.

 

 
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