Your disapproval simmers,
irritation bursting in exclamatory bubbles,
mutter, mutter, mutter
like a lid bouncing on a pot.
haiku storm August 31, 2015
rippling waves
sparkling with emerald, peridot, citrine
storm tossed tree.
Poem- Power I August 30, 2015
The power crept quietly
on a satisfied sigh
on a grin of delight
on a curl of contentment
on a determined advance
on an astonished completion
on undeniable accomplishment,
success of a dream.
poem-drip August 29, 2015
The little tears
that come unexpectedly
swell memories of you
into my throat and
make my eyes drip with a wish
to kiss you once more.
.
.
(just framed and hung my favourite photo of Dad and me- where I’m kissing him at my wedding)
poem- choices August 28, 2015
When you choose what brings you joy
When you choose who gives you laughter
When you choose what makes you sing
When you choose who really matters
Then each moment and each thing
you do, makes happiness deploy.
poem-listening August 27, 2015
Hush.
The evening chorus:
Frogs throat singing
with susurrating trees
Summer serenade.
poem-tracing August 26, 2015
I trace the lean lines of hardened calves,
lingering within the valleys of those rocky quads,
loosening the tension with gentle pressure against
each muscle bulwark of firing fuel..
After another 100k you’re salty sweet and taut.
I push knuckles deep into the tight pockets
of your lower back and listen for your groan,
prepare you for another ride.
.
.
.
My husband is a long distance cyclist who rides about 500 km each week for fun. He is extraordinarily fit. 🙂 (If I had to ride 500 km a week, I’d call it torture, but that’s just me).
poem-one month August 25, 2015
It has been
one
month
since you slipped gently from this life.
How strange
not to have kissed your cheek
for 31 days.
I still murmur that I love you
and follow your instructions
and can’t believe
you’re gone.
poem-vampire
I hadn’t noticed before, but you’re a vampire.
You charm people, but when they get close to you
you suck the life out of them.
A succubus eating through relationships,
and now you’re clinging to that child
as a tool to make that old man stay
while you drain him, too.
I’m glad some of them got away.
poem- touched August 24, 2015
One finger tracing
One hand resting
Two hands kneading
Two arms embracing
Four lips brushing
I’m touched
Shawn L. Bird 