Release the potential
Untether the ropes
Watch
Celebrate
poem- happiness is November 24, 2014
Joy is
is happy feet,
creamy leather
ornate scrolls
and cryptic snippets of
soleful inspiration,
sliced off at the edges:
Be proud in the love you have been given
Ask why you’re doing it.
Your car drive fluevog
to be human
you go give thanks
your sole will direct
and p ills outwards the rest
Spills outward the rest
deeply funky let your life shine in dark
human is to be divine
style is grace
Yes, Sight is a Miracle.
Like the bag says,
“you can’t buy happiness,
but at least you can buy Fluevogs.”
and contemplate
cryptology in your sole.
.
.
The shoes are Fluevog Miracle Sight in cream.
The socks are over the knees from http://www.sockdreams.com.
They’re like a match made in heaven, aren’t they?
poem- hockey players November 23, 2014
One by one
the hockey players walked past
assorted young men in suits
older men in team jackets
family and friends trailing behind.
The Chicago Blackhawks lost to
the Vancouver Canucks tonight.
There was no celebration in the lobby
as they filed by.
Some people were excited,
but since I don’t watch hockey,
they didn’t impress me.
They were just well dressed young men,
less well dressed older men
and dejected friends and family,
hanging out in the hotel.
poem- journey
Snow falling
dancing white specks
journeys from heaven
quickly absorbed
in mundane.
.
Plane flying
leaving white trails
journey from you
quickly absorbed
in fast lanes
poem- accomplishments November 22, 2014
The litany of what could be
is not as important as
what is now.
What was before
is not as important as
what is now.
For now is all
you ever have.
poem- addresses November 21, 2014
Cards
letters
Envelopes
Christmas stickers
Festive tradition
The only one left
now there’s no tree
no lights,
no dinner,
no presents.
Just the thing
that matters most:
warm hearts across the miles.
poem-going November 18, 2014
You’re going and now I think
of all the things that could have been
and all the things that should have been
and all the things that would have been
if only you’d been forthcoming
before you left.
poem-welcome November 17, 2014
You came on evening light
uttered soft greetings,
“Tell my tale,” you whispered,
and so begins
another
adventure.
.
.
.
This weekend, as I was drifting off to sleep (see yesterday’s poem), I was introduced to Dustin who wanted to tell me the story of his life with Lydia. I had not intended to start a new novel (if that’s what this is) before finishing the projects already on my plate, but Dustin was pretty insistent. So, instead of doing what I planned today on my Sunday off, I lent my fingers to Dustin. I have no idea where this will lead, but it looks like it will be an interesting journey.
poem-writers’ bed November 16, 2014
The poetry is loud tonight,
smashing and crashing through
synapses of my neocortex,
drowning the bovine bellows
of my bedmate.
Short stories are shouting.
Poetry is proclaiming itself.
Words are wailing.
They are insistent
in the seams between sleep,
and will not quieten
until I write them down.
.
.
(This is post 1717 on the blog. It was very loudly proclaiming itself when I tried to go to bed last night, and would not stop until I got out my little book kept beside the bed, turned on the little book light, and wrote down the essentials). Do you have this problem, too?
Shawn L. Bird 