Mother’s fingers
always gripped tightly to your small ones
amid the crowds.
Now she’s letting go
and you wish your grip was tight enough
to make her stay.
.
for Lori.
poem-promise December 3, 2016
Snow hugs the hills and
draping lower with slow purpose.
Flakes flip and fall, settle for a moment
Their white crystals paradoxically painting pavement black.
Winter is coming closer with every flake.
poem-double thinking December 2, 2016
Image (c) Evan Buhler used with permission. “Feed the Birds”. Mary Poppins Shuswap Theatre 2016.
In the wings,
tickling throat,
I’ve been coughing all day.
Self-talk.
This is going to be awful.
What if I crack on the high notes?
What if I can’t find my first note?
Oh, no. None of that.
It’s going to be great. You can do it!
Enter to the cue.
Gaze around the stage at imaginary birds.
Take the mark, spotlight on.
First note. Yay! Perfect.
Look at the audience. Let’s make them feel the pathos.
Okay.
This is going surprisingly well.
Uh oh.
That means I’m bound to screw up something soon.
First section over.
Other actors dialogue.
I am miming in my space.
Next section is the high section.
I’m doomed. My sore throat will catch.
You’re going to find that tricky start note.
You can do it.
Other actor finishes beautifully.
As usual.
She passes the song back to me.
Will I get it?
Oh, yay! That was it!
Perfect!
The wide interval, the interval, the interval.
I hate this interval. I always flatten it.
No! You’re going to hit it tonight.
Oh! That was fantastic!
That was the best I’ve ever done it with an audience.
I’m going to screw up the end now.
Stop that! It’s going to be fine.
You’ve done it a thousand times!
Other actor sings her part.
Breathe.
You got through the hard part.
Just the high note for the ending to find.
Whew. That’s the note. Send this note to the back row.
Up. Up. Up.
Oh, crap. Here comes the harmony section. How does it go again?
I DON’T REMEMBER!
Relax! You know this.
There.
Hear the chord? Lovely.
Timing on the ending. Arg. This is always a crap shoot.
You can do it. Listen for the beat.
There. Nailed it. There. Nailed it. There. Ha.
Soar up to ending.
Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold. Hold.
Gaze out to the audience.
Deep breath.
That was amazing.
Don’t rush off. Listen. Take the applause. Embrace this moment of success.
Off the stage.
Fast costume change.
Shed one persona, don another.
Inside grinning, grinning, grinning.
I was GREAT tonight!
That was the best rendition I’ve done for an audience.
Sigh.
.
.
.
In the midst of my performance last night, I noticed the commentary happening in my head. It was as if there were two of me or maybe three in there commenting on the action! I thought it’d make an interesting poem. I’m not sure I’ve managed what I was aiming for, but that’s the general idea, anyway.
poem- frost November 30, 2016
Outside
crunching air announces autumn’s
departure.
Inside
your frosty glare says
winter has arrived.
poem- noise November 29, 2016
Wherever I put you
you erupt in explosions of sound
You are a Tower of Babel
oblivious (or indifferent) to the distraction you are.
The constant cries sound like
See me! me! me!
It’d be nice if you looked at others for a while,
perhaps they need to be seen, too.
poem-there November 28, 2016
In the early morning
the view is clear;
we can see for miles.
As day emerges,
clouds obscure our vision,
our perspective decreases.
Clarity before obscurity.
Peace before busyness.
One to hold the other at bay.
poem- ominous omnipotence November 24, 2016
The clouds sink
obscuring hills with billows:
silver, grey, charcoal, black.
Heavy clouds in cold air
ready to coat the highway with danger.
We gaze out our windows
wondering whether we’ll get home before
the first storm of this winter.
poem-wings November 23, 2016
Creeping along, devouring everything in sight,
unsatisfied,
wrapped up in strings of your own making
wound up in yourself
chrysalis
waiting for wings.
Patience is a virtue.
You break free, stretch,
the new you quivers with discovery.
You fly, fill life with sweetness,
bring joy to those who watch you
waltz with the wind
until
you fall life-less.
The core of you crumbles,
but the breeze captures the wings left behind
and carries them,
curling and flipping
to the sky.
poem- free November 21, 2016
Blocked by memory
Limited by opportunity
Afraid of mobility
Paralyzed by stupidity?
Freedom to choose badly
Freedom to bully
Freedom is a power to manipulate evilly
Two and two is four
prove freedom is slavery.
Shawn L. Bird 