Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-ghost stop August 9, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:44 pm
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In my old neighbourhood

I stop at a light-controlled intersection

that didn’t used to be,

On the corner

I see a glimmer of a younger me

in my safety patrol vest,

the stop sign at my back,

waiting for the whistle to spring to action

decades ago.

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poem-wandering August 7, 2018

It is

It isn’t

Round and round

I can!

I can’t!

You do

You don’t

and trying

trying

trying

doesn’t make it easier

to pull your broken brain away

from turbulance

I don’t know you anymore

I don’t like you anymore

Loyalty keeps me doing

because I promised him

and you can’t help being broken

I know.

It is

It isn’t

Time ticks by

I try

I try

I try.

 

poem-ka-ching July 21, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:12 pm
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Ka-ching

She rings a bell, sings to tell

the world.

Ka-ching

He rings the knell, swings to tell

a world swirled in garnet garlands

Ka-ching

Fling things!

Ka-ching

Flash bling!

Ka-ching

Ring, ring, ring

Sing, sing, sing

Ring, ring, ring

Swing, swing, swing

Ka-ching

Ka-ching

Ka-ching.

 

poem- prep July 14, 2018

Beneath a cloudless blue sky

I feel the storm coming,

black clouds gathering.

Could they reflect black shirts?

I ponder,

seriously,

if I should be building false walls

to hide those who will be escaping tyranny.

I wonder,

if I am far enough from a border to avoid

occupation.

A century ago,

they didn’t understand the signs,

but now we do.

Those who read are the first removed

when the evil rises.

Do all those kids who demanded,

“Why do we have to learn this?”

remember that their teachers said,

“So you’ll see the signs.”

“So it will never happen again.”

“Remember, they elected Hitler;

“they heiled and fell for his lies,

“because they wanted to believe their superiority,

“wanted a scapegoat for their troubles.”

There can be no excuses.

Shall I buy bricks or drywall?

Where will I construct false bottoms?

Where will we hide in the resulting rubble,

when the jack boots stomp through?

Another cristelnacht, this time in New York?

The hammock swings its consolation:

It can’t happen here.

It won’t happen here.

How many said those words a century

ago?

How many grew to knowing the meaning

of fear?

 

poem-espresso June 27, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:30 pm
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I express myself

in languid liquid

tiny cup

great potential

rocket fueled fuming

consuming conflagration

fire eater me

Oh you

sip seductively

out of reach

but teach me

no one needs to see me

for you’re devouring words

making a meal of my brain burst

You don’t see me

but you feel me,

say the tears dripping down your cheeks.

I wield a mighty weapon,

anonymously.

 

poem-when May 29, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:56 am
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(An early Father’s Day poem)

.

When I was little

your face was behind a camera

capturing moments of my small life,

fearlessly climbing the steps on the tallest slide,

thigh high stretches for a toddler,

far above your head,

not afraid;

no pain had touched me.

Your greatest gift was security

to grow up confident in your love.

No one else ever loved me so well

or with such shameless devotion.

Oh, how great my loss.

When I miss you,

as I often do,

my memories are lit with

gratitude,

gratitude,

gratitude.

 

poem- headphone man May 16, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:39 am
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Hey, headphone man

with your head cast down,

I drive past you each day as you soldier on your way,

Always in the same place, unless you are late,

or I am early.

I try to catch your eye, but you march with determination

toward your destination.

I want to share our small connection, give a wave, or smile,

but you just stare at the ground, absorbed in the sound in your head.

Hey headphone man!

Look around!

.

.

I’ve been working on this one for ages, as I do pass this guy every day on my way to work.

 

 
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