Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- flash and substance among sparrows and peacocks August 5, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:09 pm
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The sparrows are insulted

by the peacock’s brilliant tail,

Yet a peacock can not change itself

and sparrows are just dull.

Sparrows sing a gentle song

Peacocks bray loudly when they call

If sparrows are affronted, t’is

not the peacocks’ fault at all.

So if sparrows are insulted

they’ll find their own dull space

while peacocks enjoy themselves

with other bright, loud mates!

.

Sparrows are insulted by

the crows’ great intellect

When problems need resolving

sparrows just don’t get it.

While sparrows stew in vapid pools

the crows make out a plan;

they analyse, they study,

they get in that garbage can!

Sure sparrows will gang up

and drive a crow away

but the crow will just think harder

and devour them the next day.

.

Those sparrows are a feisty lot

though they lack imagination.

Peacocks and crows are the impressive

ornithological creations!

.

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My father-in-law, a former biology professor and an award winning naturalist, kept a sparrow trap in his farm yard when he retired from U of C.  He considered sparrows an over populace species that stole the nesting boxes of the desirable more endangered species that he was trying to encourage- i.e. Purple martins, Western blue birds, Goldfinches, and the like.  I often wondered what the poor, dull little birds thought as they hopped around in the trap (which was a good size- about 5′ cube) waiting to be gassed.  (Humane deaths, all).  I often wondered what they thought of the more ‘exotic’ species that were able to explore his yard with impunity on the other side of their sparrow concentration camp.  What would they have made of the peacocks our friends keep, do you think?   The crows would come by the trap and try to figure out how to get in and have some sparrow dinner, but the opening was too small.  I’m sure the sparrows felt safe, but they were still the ones who were gassed in the end!  (Poor sweet little birds)

 

poem- swimming against the current August 2, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:56 pm
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I dive into a dream

through sloughs of doubtful inheritance

with sure strokes I slice the pool

of the possibility.

Doubts ride the boat beside me

but I swim in imagination

toward the shore of a tomorrow

where anything

can be

 

Poem- Dear Sam Heughan July 31, 2013

As previously posted, Sam Heughan has been cast to play the character of Jamie Fraser in Ron Moore’s TV series Outlander based on the book series by Diana Gabaldon.  Here is a bit of friendly advice for him.

.

Dear Sam

I am

afraid that the Jamie-philes

will compile more

scary photo-shopped dreams.

It seems that in face of

the depraved 

you are as brave

as your homeland.

So lad,

be glad

of this career boost

But go canny, aye?

They’ll grab that manly thigh

and try to catch your eye,

tear kilt askew

aim for the dagger hilt of you,

and hurdle for the spurtle, too!

Are you up for the ride?

For jokes aside,

Jamie is seriously adored,

these books explored

they touch a chord

with inflamed hordes of fans.

They’ll give you fame

but give them James

Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser

Give them frenzied pleasure.

Be the man the fans adore

and they’ll be yours forever more,

those fanatical fannying fans galore.

Thanks Sam.

.

Sincerely,

Fan.

.

A little advice for actor Sam Heughan as the devoted fans of Outlander take over his life (and his Twitter feed)

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August 1. 2013 Note:

This poem was the subject of much hilarity and edification on the Twitter feed when it was posted at about 2 a.m. July 31st.  The line following, “Go canny, aye” was originally about a fan reaching for ‘fanny and thigh.’  Diana Gabaldon tweeted almost immediately to let me know that fanny didn’t mean the same thing in UK as it does in North America, specifically that ‘men don’t have one.’ Then the Scots started posting about their amusement of American usage of the term i.e. falling on your fanny is difficult.  I was sent photos of the beverage called Fanny, which confused me a great deal, because if fanny means vagina, why would you name a carbonated beverage that? (answer: “Scots humour”).  Diana also added that there is the term “fannying around” and that was explained to me by various eager tutors as meaning being silly or goofing off (rather than whoring, which might be the more logical assumption).  So obviously I had to alter a few lines of the poem.  Forgetting that the key was rhyming ‘canny, aye?’ (likely due to the posting of Diana’s infamous Jamie butt pumpkin that evening as well) most tried to think of euphemisms for bum.  This was not helpful at all, but was highly entertaining.  With a few keystrokes, the fanny and thighs became ‘manly thighs’ and the ‘fannying fans’ were added to reflect my new knowledge.   By about 5 a.m. Heulighans from the American Eastern seaboard were waking up, and the responses to the Twitter conversation and the poem went wild.   I update this to honour a wonderful night of giggling over the keyboard with Diana and my fellow fans of her work around the globe.

This post received a remarkable number of visitors- over 450 in the day with many, many lovely comments left for me on Twitter and Facebook.  I thank you all.  I consider myself thoroughly educated and well entertained as well.

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If that wasn’t enough awesomeness,

Diana dedicated her August 5th Daily Lines to ME!

(see Shawn swooning in astonishment)   Read those hashtags:

 #ThisOnesForShawnLBird  

#poetess 

 That’s pretty fantastic support for anyone, don’t you think?  She saw some craziness happening, and this was her response.  I am so glad to know her, to have her support, and to learn how to handle social media hysteria by following her example. “The words get into their heads and drive them mad.”  Yup.  Glad I have friends in high places!  With Diana on my side, I feel almost invincible.

.

And now this poem is the subject of my very first poem video!  Click to see and hear it! 🙂

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poem- you July 29, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:29 pm
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You are illuminated cranberry glass

the glow of a molten sunset

the iridescence of hummingbird wings

You are the dance of kite strings

the song of a mockingbird

the quintessence of possibility

You are all I long to be

the dreams of a millennium

the hope of eternity

You are innocence in a cradle

the wisdom of the elders

the infinity of the finite.

You are bubbles of laughter

the effervescence of everything

the reason.

 

 

poem-deep July 27, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:34 pm
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I love you high

I love you low

I love you near

I love you far

I love you shallow

I love you deep

I love you awake

I love you asleep

I love you now

I love you then

I love you forever

and ever

Amen.

 

Poem-Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003 July 19, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:43 pm
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Shawn L. Bird's avatarShawn L. Bird

This was my second entry on the theme of fire for the Burnaby Writers Society poetry contest. One more month until winners are announced.  I played around with stanza parallelism here, sometimes using strict rhyme, sometimes consonance.  I had never seen this done before, so I was impressed with how well it worked.

.

Okanagan Mountain Fire evacuation, August 2003

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Fears.
A crimson hill glows above.
High from here, grey clouded skies
shower us in ghosts of pine needles
that dissolve at my touch
into powdered ashes,
while I load the van with memories.

.

Tears
Glisten, fill, flow out of,
My father’s grave, clouded eyes.
Cowering and aghast in pain, he huddles
and revolves as he’s nudged,
disempowered, ashen.
While I lead the man, his tremors ease.

.

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This poem was linked to the Poetry Potluck on the theme of history and events.  If you are visiting…

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Poem- love letters between a fan and a light bulb

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:27 am
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Following the model by Sarah Kay- Love letter between a toothbrush and a bicycle tire

Here is a love poem between a light bulb  and  a  paper fan, by me

.

.

With a flick of your curves,

you turn me on.

With the rhythm of that modest arc

flowing

to and fro

to and fro

to and fro

I glow with passion

hot

and round.

I long for you to

wrap your

accordion folds

around me.

Fanny,

you make me want

to channel my heat

to bake a cake

to celebrate

your slender curve,

your snapping

flapping

virve.

.

Oh bulby,

you light up my life.

Against you, I’m a

transparent frame.

I wish

I could really

open myself to you,

but bulb,

I must cool your incandescent ardor

because

if I get too close 

I will burn.

You will leave me

scorched

and smoking.

Oh yes.

I can see right through you.

You’re not on fire;

our love is a

filament of your imagination.

I’ll wave a fond farewell

but be assured bulby,

you’ll leave an

after image.

 

Poem-another sign of love- a kilt story July 17, 2013

She gets these notions, ken?

Strange notions.

That because my great,

great,

great,

great,

great,

grandfather was a Scot

I need a kilt.

.

I won’t wear a kilt,

I said.

I am not connected to

my Scot’s heritage

I said.

That’s all right,

she said,

unloading

eight meters of fabric

and starting to pleat.

.

I won’t wear a kilt

I said.

What kind of belt buckle?

she asked.

So I picked the clan buckle

of my great

great etc

grandfather.

.

I won’t wear a kilt

I said.

Which pleat design?

she asked.

So I picked the pleat to the sett

(or so she tells me)

and she ironed

and ironed

and ironed

late into the night

and then she sewed

and sewed

and sewed

each stitch by hand

for night

after night.

.

I don’t want a kilt

I said.

She sewed

a linen shirt

and knit a lace jabot

and created sock flashes

and sock garters.

I ordered the socks and

the sporran from

Scotland

she said.

.

I really don’t want…

I said

Try this

she said

arranging a leather pocket

dangling from chains

around my waist.

No!

I squawked

It can’t go like that!

That’s like saying

X marks the spot!

She laughed

at my dismay.

.

Just try it all

she said,

arranging

ecoutrements.

I sighed

but did.

Walk up and down so I can see the swing,

she said.

Ooooooh,

she said

and led me back up the hall.

.

For our anniversary

she said

will you wear your kilt?

Yes,

I said

and did.

.

.

True story.

Outlander inspiration is clear.

Diana has a lot to answer for.

But most of it is good.

Verra good.

.

Here’s the proof:

DSCN0563

and the more modern interpretation:

DSCN0568

We should have taken some pictures from behind to show off…

(cough) the pleat to the sett.

It’s verra lovely.

<g>

Always remember “Happy Wife, Happy Life” or as Diana wrote him in the book plate for his copy of  The Scottish Prisoner, “No one looks better than a man in a kilt.”

Diana sign ScottishPrisoner kilt comment

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FYI- Here are a few of the posts written back while I was making the kilt with photos of the process:

https://shawnbird.com/2011/11/16/the-latest-obsessive-project/

https://shawnbird.com/2011/11/19/kilt-progress/

https://shawnbird.com/2011/12/06/all-done/

Note the dates- It’s been nearly 18 months since I finished.  He’s worn it ONCE before today, back for that final drooling fitting.  Plainly I caught him in a moment of weakness today.  Or else he’s been reading Outlander again on his own.  Good lad.

6 years later, here’s a lovely shot of the swing from behind! 🙂

Bird-13

 

Poem-dropped plunder haiku July 15, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:53 pm
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On my deck, a fat

red cherry, bleeding hot juices

from beak shaped gash.

 

Poem-Fire of you July 12, 2013

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:55 pm
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Another re-post of an old favourite, as I try to get some words done on my CampNaNoWriMo project!

Shawn L. Bird's avatarShawn L. Bird

This poem was written as a submission to the Burnaby Writers Society Poetry contest.  The theme was fire, and poets were encouraged to interpret the theme.  Still 2 months before winners will be announced.  

September 2011: This one was a contest finalist! Yay!

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You reached

into the flames

and  plucked an ember

that glowed with

happiness and hope

upon your palm.

.

In the

wavering sphere

of gold and crimson

light, I glimpsed our

future in flickering

depths.

.

But when I reached to take it in my grasp

you clasped

your fist closed,

so the glow

of my hope

spilled

from

your

fingers.

.

“No,” you said.

“It will burn you.”

.

Truth scorched through

the kindness in your eyes, but could not

extinguish my anguish,

even as you wrapped me in your arms

and murmured worthless words of consolation.

.

I didn’t want your wisdom.

I…

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