Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-forgiveness November 4, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:45 am
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This is forgiveness.

Left alone, forgotten, until you

became a dessicated husk.

Discovered, remorse poured on you,

and you rested, recovering,

absorbing all you needed to heal.

One year.

Regret poured onto you.

Two years.

Faith surrounded you.

Three years

You offered a single bloom to give us hope.

Another year.

Patience.  Trust.

This is what time and forgiveness bring:

full flowering!

Ah, the anticipation of your full celebration

makes me dizzy.

.

.

20181104_103441[1].

True story. Took my Christmas Cactus outside to enjoy some summer sun (2014?). Forgot it there.  Come fall, it was a wizened shell.  It’s taken years to recover, but it HAS! What a metaphor for tragedy in our lives and the patience we need with our recovery.

 

 

poem-gathered November 3, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:03 pm
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Three

gathered around a table,

finding worlds

in words.

Three

gathered in a moment,

plotting destinies,

with pens.

Three

gathered in contemplation,

changing everything

with imagination.

 

poem-squish November 2, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:18 pm
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The band around the head

compresses.

Waves,

lost ideas,

press in,

squish out.

Opportunities extruded

and left behind.

.

.

(Expect more than a few concussion related poems this month)

 

poem-thou dost protest too much November 1, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:13 pm
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Each act ahead comes

from what’s behind.

We are all walking wounded

trailing bandages

that tangle us,

tie us,

trip us

into our future.

Wear a blind fold:

we cannot look into a mirror to see the pain

etched across our faces.

See the bandages?

Trip over them

leaving the bar.

Scream yourself hoarse,

stamp your feet.

Shout “I’m fine, fine, FINE!” *

Ah. Methinks,

The lady doth protest too much.*

.

.

(*Allusions: In Louise Penny’s wonderful Inspector Gamache books, Ruth Zardo has written a book of poetry where FINE is an acroynym for F*cked up, Insecure, Neurotic, Egotistical. I’d say that applies here, too. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much” is from the play within a play in Shakespeare’s Hamlet).

 

poem- work party October 23, 2018

Squirrel boss curses

clumsy workers as chestnuts

clatter past branches.

 

Class assignment:

Find an example of

alliteration

assonance

onomatopoeia

personification

Find 2 examples of consonance.

Go! 🙂

 

 

 

poem- warrior woman September 30, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:49 pm
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Warrior,

stands, raised hand

answer every question

to bring justice to a depraved land.

Warrior stands

warning of the beast eager to devour.

tells how it mauled,

and it whines, growls, evades

responsibility.

The beast does not know it is a beast,

but the warrior knows.

The warrior warns.

As the beast prowls and pretends

to be a kitten, a puppy, an innocent thing.

The warrior knows.

The warriors know.

Are you listening?

Or will you open doors and invite it

to devour you?

 

 

poem-what has changed September 29, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:25 pm
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Since “me, too!” has spread,

What has changed

is that I see you differently.

I see me differently.

I hear, “She does that stuff; I’m working”

and I’m filled with fury at yet another man

who does not see what work is,

how everything he is able to do

is because his wife carries him on her back.

and I say, enough.

If we are going to be beasts of burden,

let us be more than mules with bits in our mouths.

Let us be more.

Let us be the partner who is heard.

Let the children be his concern as often as they’re ours.

Let the pink jobs and blue jobs become purple jobs

as they swirl in a kaleidoscope of

our jobs.

Our mutual obligations.

I’m glad you do the laundry and clean the kitchen,

because I hate those jobs.

Thank you for agreeing that poetry

and winding words are more important than dusting.

When your words reflect a patriarchy, I will remind you

who I am.

When my words cut, you may wrap your arms around me

and remind me that you have feelings, too.

Let’s stand as role models that being a man does not give

you rights over anyone else,

anyone else,

anyone.

Listen men, to what she says.

Keep your hands to yourself

(and other pokey bits, too).

If she says no,

Channel your unwanted urges

into art.  Wash them away in

cold showers of reality.

Let your futile frustration seethe

like generations of women seethed.

What has changed, boys?

The very air you breathe.

 

 

Concussed September 14, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:20 pm
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This concussion is a constriction

squeezing my head like a snake

hugging my eyes closed.

Light pressure. Dark daylight.

Just a little inconvenience.

 

poem- twisting September 7, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:26 pm
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White,

twisting,

writhing,

flashing.

Black,

sizzling,

scorching,

smiling.

Red,

faith,

courage,

blood.

Yellow

bright,

hopeful,

dreaming.

Blue

bubbling,

pushing,

pulsing.

Colour me

a turning rainbow

sensational

essence

life.

 

poem- lying to yourself September 1, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 6:49 pm
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You make it

so

inside your head.

Convince yourself

you’re right

and true.

Ask for advice,

but

debate each position

deny each observation

sputter

rant

and grumble about lack of support.

If you don’t want

to hear,

don’t ask.

If you won’t consider

perspectives,

don’t request them.

If you only want approval,

just say,

“Aren’t I great!”

and don’t be surprised

by silence.