The popcorn maker
called the scavengers to feast,
now only I eat.
poem-popcorn haiku February 25, 2016
The popcorn maker
called the scavengers to feast,
now only I eat.
poem-journey February 24, 2016
There is anticipation
in the preparation
equal to arriving
at the destination.
poem-hopes and fears February 23, 2016
You know everything
at least you think you do
and constraints of adult expectations
are irritation to you.
So that older guy on social media
successfully calls you
offering freedom and attention
and you leave confidently,
but we fear your bravado
will crash into a predator
and send you cringing home
your security crushed
forever, by the wisdom gained
too late and too painfully.
poem-ashes to ashes February 21, 2016
I feel you curled against my back.
I stroke your warm body.
I gaze into your soft brown eyes,
that gaze lovingly back to me.
I wonder whose ashes are in the box:
Conspiracy theories.
Painful realities ring with the alarm clock,
and my contentment turns to ashes.
poem-7 February 19, 2016
The ancient Greeks formalized education.
Men should seek the seven liberal arts.
They must know grammar,
rhetoric,
dialectics.
Then move on to
music
arithmetic,
geometry,
astronomy
and always consider the tenets of philosophy.
You must begin knowing how words connect,
how to persuade others,
how to think logically and analytically,
then explore
sound,
numbers,
shapes,
and stars.
poem- hovering February 18, 2016
It’s a shadow
she can’t quite see,
just behind her head.
A sensation of suspicion
quickening between
her shoulder blades.
A darkness settling in
a midnight coloured cape.
Oppressive premonitions
that demand she hides, fades away.
No energy for fight or flight
when confronting the black horror
of night.
poem-farewell February 17, 2016
It is not there
the farewell that
lingers upon lips.
Your dawn departure
is made in stealth.
She wakes without the
warmth of your breath
resting with gentle touch
upon her cheek.
You’ve left; yet another
morning she finds herself
bereft.
poem-lack February 16, 2016
How strange
that the lack of something
weighs more greatly
than its presence.
poem-lost moments February 15, 2016
I had some errands to do,
and it’s always so hard to leave you
after I’ve come home,
so I went to the library,
and the grocery store,
and then to fold my mother’s laundry.
When I pulled into the garage,
he told me you were in trouble,
I rushed to see you.
You looked at me with anguish in your eyes,
your belly hugely distended. I told you to come,
you went straight to the car, because the car is always good.
I raced you to the vet, my hand on your shoulder,
knowing.
I sat on the exam room floor with you
feeling your racing pulse and your icy breath.
I held you as you died.
Thirty minutes of pointless errands
when I could have been with you,
thirty minutes less pain you would have endured,
thirty minutes I will not get back, but will always regret.
I’m thankful for the fifteen minutes I had to hold you.
I’m so sorry for your anguish in my arms.
.
.
.
My heart dog OJ died of gastric torsion on Friday. He was fine at lunch. Dead at 5:00. We don’t know how it happened after 15.5 years, but standard poodles are deep chested dogs that can be prone to bloat, though it’s not in his line. I had hoped he’d go in his sleep, not suffering so much, but it was easy to request the shot to save him from his agony, though by then it was likely only moments of ease.
poem-one rose February 14, 2016
I remember
the busy university campus
where you bought a single rose for your new wife
to celebrate our first
Valentine’s Day.
And all the years that followed,
when I just got out my silk roses,
arranged them in a vase, and people
presumed they were from you
and that they were real.
I let you get the credit.
We’re cheap in our old age,
and resigned.
Shawn L. Bird 