You glow
with a joy
that makes my heart heal
that makes my soul sing
that make me glimmer
poem- procrastination
I plainly do not wish to write
the essay I had planned tonight
Instead I filled the night with song
but at midnight I think that was wrong
No work to show for hours gone by
My eyes are sore, I’m prone to sigh
The essay will not write itself
The due day looms like Dante’s hell
I greatly fear procrastination
has thwarted my determination!
So wish me luck, just one day left
The due date rises like my stress!
.
.
.
I arranged a tune. I made a video. I did not work on my essay. Plainly I’ve been absorbing too much from the teenagers all around me! lol Tomorrow is the last chance. Wish me luck!
music-Skye Boat Song on harp May 29, 2014
Here’s a little break from ranting poems or pugilistic poetry! In honour of the upcoming Outlander TV show, here’s an ‘arrangement in progress’ I’ve made of The Skye Boat Song, which I’m betting is incorporated into the TV show theme.
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For the technically curious:
I am playing a double strung harp. (This was definitely easier before I had bifocals, though it was challenging enough then). There are three octaves on each side of the harp, tuned to the same notes. 44 strings in all. This is a low-head Celtic harp, in the style of the famous Irish Brian Boru harp or the Scottish Queen Mary harp. It is also known as a Scottish clarsach. Specifically, mine is a Brittany harp, built for me by Stoney End 15 years ago or so. (When I bought it the Canadian dollar was around 70c US, so it was pricey!) It still has its original strings! This says it’s a tough little harp, and that I’m a lazy harpist (some people change strings a couple of times a year, to keep the sound bright). It is made from a lovely, shimmery grained cherry and has a Baltic birch soundboard with a pretty inlay strip at the base of the strings. It keeps its tuning brilliantly- rarely needing more than a titch of adjustment here and there. This is a rare blessing in a harp!
Here are The Skye Boat Song lyrics as I say them to myself while I’m playing (which does not in any way imply they are the correct lyrics!)
Speed bonny boat like a bird on the wing
Onward the sailors cry
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
Over the sea to Skye!
Loud the winds blow
Loud the waves crash
Ocean’s a weary bed
La la la la
la la la la (< < < < pretty sure those aren’t the right lyrics)
Watch o’er your weary head
oh (That’s the soft D sounded to start back into the chorus)
Speed bonny boat… (etc)
I always thought somehow Flora McDonald was on this boat with him, but I think that’s just me.
I promise OJ the standard poodle is only sleeping, though he certainly does look dead. He is snoring now, in the exact same position.
poem- last May 27, 2014
You are the quiet voice
who never asks for help.
You struggle to work it out while
the loud kids,
the needy kids,
the busy kids
demand the teacher’s time.
You never cause a stir
so you are rarely served
when funding’s cut
and more needs surround you.
The teacher will
always get to you last
if she can get to you
at all.
We’re not okay with that.
But the government
says teachers
are just greedy.
poem- mowing stereotypes May 26, 2014
The skinny old lady,
grey hair twisted into a bun,
leathery skin, artfully wrinkled,
roars around her yard
in her bikini top,
mowing in the rain.
poem- cat woman
She slashed him.
.
Pain scratched and yowled around his brain,
longing for palliation.
He saw compassion and affection in your eyes
wrapped his hands across your neck and
in the explosion of agonized ecstasy,
you choked down his hurt.
.
She twitched her fingers.
.
With his backward gaze,
he saw anguish curling lithely behind your eyes.
You saw his pitying relief, even as his pain
purred so loudly in your head
it blocked the words
he should have said.
.
.
.
This one is for Amber
poem- musing May 23, 2014
Is it better
to write one poem
each day
for 365 days,
or to spend
365 days
writing
one poem?
poem- yet May 20, 2014
You gather me into you
Entangling limbs and
Tickling kisses on the neck.
.
Your breath tangles in my hair
Escaping through quivering tendrils
Trembling into the night.
.
Your heartbeats drum against my back
Exquisite timpani.
Time stops.
poem-dysmorphia May 19, 2014
In the mirror
the girl is slender,
waist defined
perfect proportions.
In the photograph
the girl is round,
an hour glass balloon
widely distorted.
In the mirror
the girl is round
an hour glass balloon,
widely distorted.
In the photograph
the girl is wraith-like
ribs defined.
Such visual contortions!
poem- change May 15, 2014
I would name you
Summer Sun,.
gift you with warm days,
laughter,
joy.
I would take away your darkness,
fill you with light,
give your words flight,
embrace hope
in your future.
Shawn L. Bird 