“Score one for the pig,” she said,
but a hunter limping, partially gored
not prudent from the perspective
of a boar.
A roar marks the victory:
Geordie’s blood stains the earth
entrails pour onto leaves
at what is the more satisfying score
for the boar.
.
.
An Outlander poem, based on TV show ep 104 “The Gathering”
Usually
I have patience to tolerate
your negative energy.
I can listen to your whining
self-indulgence
without comment.
I can ignore your
ignorance, and gently
try to inform you.
But right now,
my world is a storm
of negativity, raining from
despots, thieves, and liars
who have too much power over my life.
I am holding up a very small umbrella
to hold off the stress.
If you blow that negative air at me,
you will turn my umbrella inside out
and so you’ll excuse me
if I leave you
standing in the rain
by yourself.
Yarn
strung along
twisting, wrapped,
dropped, turned,
knit, purl
Entanglement
is what brings
comfort.
My gaze settles
on a dimpled grin
eyes laughing
amid the crowded din
Your eyes find mine
grow hooded,
and your smile
stretches languidly.
The din disappears
as we spin a web
between us.
Who is spider?
Who is fly?
There could be no fewer steps
than those he trodded toward you
straight limbed and unencumbered
directly into destiny.
There could be no fewer steps
than those away from dreams
point-less apparitions
of troubled consciousness
directly into destiny.
.
.
.
(I don’t know what it means. If you have an idea, feel free to share!)
Toe catches
Body crashes
Chair slides
Glass rattles
Hands smack
Knees crunch
Pain punches
.
.
.
Ouch. I’m going to feel this tomorrow!
In the middle of everything
wishes whispering,
It is war.
Winning
is relative.
Whispering wishes,
Everything in the middle.
She has a history
of running down unionists
With gleeful righteousness
she watched them bounce
off the hood of the car
back in the 80s.
Last dispute,
this sweet little old lady
offered the strikers
a most unlady-like
finger.
This dispute,
she has stared
down the road with
patent disregard.
Workers should work.
Today,
she waved enthusiastically,
and a victory dance
was held on the picket line.
One more newly informed person
waking up.
.
.
.
True story
Day 1.
fuzzy explorer
leaving flower pot,
dessicated remains of summer
do not make much of
a feast.
.
Day 2.
fuzzy explorer
stretching from the flower pot
a little further today.
Oops. No caterpillar,
just a fuzzy leaf, expanding
territory. Even the weeds
abandon my garden.
.
.
Spotted the fuzz in the pot as I pulled out the drive way. This is an example of where I ‘come up with poems.’ It’s also proof that perspectives on a situation change from day to day!
Shawn L. Bird 