I believed me
when I told myself I couldn’t do it.
I believed me
when I told myself nothing could be done.
I believed me
when I told myself nothing could change.
I believed me,
but I was wrong.
shrinkage January 12, 2017
Within old skin
undoing
rebuilding
becoming
rebounding
safe growing places
bright glowing spaces
this microcosm populated
by homunculi
stitching new skin.
poem- slow January 4, 2017
I’m moving through molasses
going slowly,
thinking like my thoughts are spilled ink
too dark to decipher.
Winter weather draws the sky closer,
closeting us in cloud,
so much white is blinding.
Days are short, but oh, so, slow
and cold.
poem- count down December 16, 2016
We’re counting down now.
Hour by hour.
Minute by minute.
Escape’s almost in our power.
poem- suspended December 15, 2016
We are waiting.
The cloud reclines darkly above the lake.
The snow line drops lower.
The cold creeps and seethes.
Inside, bricks channel the chill.
Children vibrate, “It’s coming! It’s coming!”
It’s so hard to sit still and concentrate.
Adults sniffle and cough, mutter, “Soon. Soon.”
They dream of freedom, warmth, of sleeping in.
Christmas holidays can’t come
quickly enough.
poem- obliviously December 14, 2016
Max and Jenn were in our grade eight classes
and our grade nine classes,
but then, they were not.
Where are they? asked the teachers.
Whispers replied to one another in the back rows,
I saw them outside The Royal Anne.
They’re turning tricks. Doing drugs.
We blinked at one another that our peers
would make such choices,
muttered, How terrible.
We slowed down our lives to peer into the
accident scene of their lives
from a safe distance,
but did any of us go downtown,
and offer them a different option?
.
.
.
This is a forty-year old memory. Where are they now, I wonder?
poem- deep December 12, 2016
I’ve fallen into a fog
that fills my head with cotton
and adds sandpaper to my throat.
Bed sounds like such a good idea,
but work requires my presence.
Mentally, I’m home, buried under quilts.
Physically, I supervise workers,
who all wish they were home in bed.
We may lack spirit for spirit week;
but today is pajama day.
How apropos.
poem- label maker December 9, 2016
Draw from the bowl your persona.
Choose your labels.
Proclaim your choices.
I’m a slut!
I’m a slacker!
I’m a star!
No confirmation analysis.
No concerns for stolen
identity.
poem- again December 8, 2016
The never ending circle
of expectation raised
no effort was applied
of failure achieved
makes me want to scream.
What makes the difference
between students who give up
and those who persevere
to find success?
Perhaps it’s in their mantras:
I don’t care
versus
I care.
Those who say they don’t care, do,
but they simply don’t believe
they can.
poem- acid December 7, 2016
Boy hiking out of bounds slips into acidic hot pool at Yellowstone
dies.
Huge flock of snow geese land in an old, acidic open pit mine
well over ten thousand birds
die.
She lands into a relationship, ripe with promise, is tripped
by his acidic wit, and a bit of her
dies.
One never knows when the innocuous will turn
perilous.
.
.
.
http://gizmodo.com/thousands-of-snow-geese-die-after-landing-on-toxic-mini-1789760515
http://time.com/4574226/man-dissolved-yellowstone-park/
Shawn L. Bird 