While he was dying
the nurses at his bedside
chatted with one another.
When he came back to life
he told them what he heard
and they could not
meet his eyes.
.
.
(true story)
poem- returning September 22, 2014
I tried to
return your letters
once,
but they are
still here,
and the hurt
in your voice
still echoes,
when I unfold
pages.
poem- suspended
I am
caught
between breath,
hovering within a moment,
alive in every cell,
dying a small death
until I’m inhaling
you
me
infinity.
poem-lying September 21, 2014
I wake
to feel you lying
stretched along
the length of me.
I reach out my hand
and find not flesh
but fur.
You have been replaced
by canine devotion.
.
.
.
.
This is an interesting example of ‘living poetry.’ People ask how I can come up with a poem every day, and I say I see them everywhere. This morning, completely dazed with sleep, this happened, I muzzily composed this poem as I reflected on the surprise, and then fell back to sleep. When I finally got up, there it was, ready to share.
poem-considerations September 20, 2014
Between you and me,
there is respect,
and respect has room
for secrets.
But let there be
no lies
between you and me,
for what lies
between us
is going to be
growing
timelessly.
.
.
.
Another #Outlander poem.
Re: ch 15
(I confess, I missed this speech in ep 107. I trust it will show up eventually).
poem-warrior weary September 16, 2014
(I was just called a “Warrior Teacher Knitting Goddess”
I think that might be my favourite compliment ever).
.
.
I am weary
Warring with words
is exhausting work
Protect democracy
Fight one battle at a time
under emotional
and financial strain
Ready to go the distance,
and now they announce
a truce, a treaty, an agreement.
The evil despot smiles
and claims a mutual victory
With narrowed eyes
I doubt.
I have seen lies
pour like water from those lips
and I will never trust that truth
comes from her tongue.
The generals say
it is over, if we weary warriors
say it is over.
I am setting down my
metaphorical sword
cautiously
with looks over my shoulder
ready to pick up the picket
and battle again
if the conditions of surrender
prove unpalatable.
Democracy is worth
personal devastation,
but it is exhausting work
being a warrior.
Shawn L. Bird 