I.
On the side of the highway
an outstretched wing
unfurled black
feathers twitch in the breeze
that no longer lift it.
.
II.
On the side of the highway
unfurled curls of black
tires lie.
In the wind of passing traffic,
unwound wires twitch.
I blink.
What
exactly
did I see?
The yard is speckled
with black spots
as if a coal train tipped on a fast corner
and sprayed lumps.
Twenty or thirty have spread out and bob
in search of hidden meals
or trouble
as is the nature of crows.
They’re strangely silent this morning,
like blurry eyed truckers
who’ve driven all night
and just want some breakfast
before the day begins.
Astonished eyes
Gushing mouths
They say, “You’re so beautiful.”
Compliments deserve courtesy
“Thank you.”
Warm smile.
Their words are bees,
around a flower.
Droning pleasantries.
You are the only one
who needs to say the line,
and you
do not.
What is beauty?
What fear lies beneath refusal
to see it?
What interpretation of honesty
forces you to decline
to observe it?
Autumn is here
Trees are red tipped or golden.
Mornings are frosty.
And finally the cosmos,
three feet high green lace,
is budding.
A slow universe,
taking its time to unfold
summer pink blooms
on my porch.
Autumn is here,
but
better late
than
never.
Apparently
if you write in verse
on the provincial exam personal composition
you receive a zero,
no matter how cogent your argument
or relevant your allegory.
It’s worse that writing drivel, that doesn’t address the question!
How incredibly
perverse.
How much of the stuff that they make you teach us
Do you really want to teach? He asked
What are you talking about? I reply.
I LOVE this stuff!
We’re passionate about our subject,
glory in the possibilities,
long to share wisdom!
Do you know how many years I studied this stuff?
I adore it all!
Oh,
how wonderful when we connect students to our subject
so they are empowered by it, too.
She wakes to the empty house
searching room by room for traces.
Has he gone?
But surely before such a journey
there would some formal leave taking?
A kiss?
A note?
He slipped away without a word,
and she is left bereft,
wondering why he finds it so easy to leave her,
wondering if she’s been devalued like Greek currency
or Bre-X stock.
No gold to mine after all.
Every couple crafts their own normal.
What’s familiar is what’s all right,
except when it’s not.
Being alone
Being lonely
There will always be too many cracks for
that broken pot to hold water;
it’s fine for bread,
though you
can’t live on bread alone.
Traces of something else,
gold veins of nourishment
are drawn with gestures
too easily forgotten,
so driving away is as simple a turning the key,
not as complicated as farewell.
It walks like a duck
And talks like a duck
except
when it
woofs
like a retriever
Sometime Occam fails to slice
the correct solution with his razor.
Geese trying a new vocabulary
fly in W formation
I wonder
what will winter wind
waft or wallop webbed wonders
wandering west and south along waterways?
Shawn L. Bird 