While water washes shore
on a moon misted morning,
summer surrenders
to golden kisses
and scarlet sighs.
.
.
(I am finding my commute above Shuswap Lake to be very inspiring! At some point I will have to stop to take some photos for you. It is positively GLORIOUS! In the meantime, this photo in words will have to do).
I see you
in the distance
across a roomful of heads,
tall and silent
watching them with a
pleasant blankness-
a smile that turns your mouth
but doesn’t light your eyes.
You stand above
conversation,
listening without interest,
putting in the time
required for politeness.
My eyes call to you
and you turn,
one eyebrow raises a greeting
and your lips rise with it,
I see the flash of gladness,
as you incline your head
and step toward my love.
Some years,
September exits in a swish of scarlet, and
October dawns dappled in gold.
But this year,
October is opulent in shimmering emerald velvet.
Forests hold back their adornment.
The morning whispers on wisps of fog beyond
“I will wait.”
All around the lake, summer aches for more time,
grips tight to verdant hues,
and as October embraces green
its ochre arms
bide
the firey glory
of autumn.
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?
Following the model by Sarah Kay- Love letter between a toothbrush and a bicycle tire–
Here is a love poem between a light bulb and a paper fan, by me
.
.
With a flick of your curves,
you turn me on.
With the rhythm of that modest arc
flowing
to and fro
to and fro
to and fro
I glow with passion
hot
and round.
I long for you to
wrap your
accordion folds
around me.
Fanny,
you make me want
to channel my heat
to bake a cake
to celebrate
your slender curve,
your snapping
flapping
virve.
.
Oh bulby,
you light up my life.
Against you, I’m a
transparent frame.
I wish
I could really
open myself to you,
but bulb,
I must cool your incandescent ardor
because
if I get too close
I will burn.
You will leave me
scorched
and smoking.
Oh yes.
I can see right through you.
You’re not on fire;
our love is a
filament of your imagination.
I’ll wave a fond farewell
but be assured bulby,
you’ll leave an
after image.
For Outlander author Diana Gabaldon:
.
You
were not
just kissed
by the muse,
Diana, huntress,
goddess of the moon.
You were ravaged.
You were embraced;
your buttocks clutched
and hoisted high,
as the muse impaled you,
roughly pierced your soul,
raised hairs the whole length of you.
Seized by such divine inspiration,
you stretched, back arching,
and received the pulsing
thrusts of
.
w
o
r
d
s
,
w
o
r
d
s
,
w
o
r
d
s.
.
Excruciating
ecstasy
that called forth
rippling quivers,
left you heaving,
complete,
replete,
and pregnant
with story.
.
.
This post began with a random comment made on Diana Gabaldon’s Facebook page yesterday, and here we are! My first erotica! ((blush)) lol
.
For those who wondered, yes, Diana has seen this, and I even have a recording of her laughing lustily about it, as we were wrapping up our blue pencil at SIWC 2013. 🙂 Her comment, should you not be able to read the image is, “Wow! That’s a GREAT poem Shawn! I’m truly honoured #mindIusuallyhavetodomoreofthework”
In August 2013 she dedicated her Daily lines to me:
The daily lines in question can be read here:
http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1rlp46l
And if you’re a fan of Outlander and are now watching the TV series, you may enjoy the poem Dear Sam Heughan from August 2013 when Sam was first cast to play Jamie: Diana has seen this one as well, and coached me through some necessary vocabulary alterations (see notes at the end). 😉
You are a poem
that only angels know.
You move with the ocean’s pulse
waves kissing the shore
twice a day,
touching sky,
swelling with promise.
You are a poem
only the angels know,
but I am listening
for your words
on the wind,
reaching to catch
the rhythm,
in the rolling tide,
stretching to hear
the angels whisper.
You are a poem
I long to know.
Starling:
speckled iridescence
disco strutting along the highway,
bobbing to the beat.
I hear your music.
You make me wanna
♦ d a n c e ! ♦
Shawn L. Bird 