Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

Review- Art of the Fold February 21, 2019

Filed under: book reviews,Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:16 pm
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A fantastic resource for poets and book artists to make beautiful chapbooks.

I have a writer-artist friend on Pender Island who posted this book that she got for Christmas. I was so impressed that I bought a copy of my own!  With great thanks to Andrea Spalding, I’m delighted to share this book with you.

Hedi Kyle & Ulla Warchol have compiled a variety of techniques in Art of the Fold.  This is a GORGEOUS book! It will teach you how to make amazing folded art books that you can use with beautiful papers to create stunning, one of a kind, art books for your poetry and other special words.  Here’s a video of me showing some of the little practice books I made, while learning the techniques, with a peak at the book itself.

 

The beauty of this book is how Kyle and Warchol give you the bones of the books, but the scope of how you can apply the examples to make your own project is unlimited.  I am SO excited to buy special paper and make some lovely art books to give to special people in my world.  What a great resource for learning techniques of book folding.  I am so excited to use these with my English students!

You can buy Art of the Fold on Amazon, and you really should!

(I’m an Amazon Affiliate, so buying from the link gives me a penny or two for the recommendation).

(My dog decided to wrestle his bed all over the living room while I was recording the video , excuse his enthusiastic growls and brief appearances in the background! lol He finally abandoned it against a chair. Silly boy.)

 

poem-yoga in real life December 18, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:00 pm
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You are twisted in knots

pulled here, there, everywhere,

responsibilities,

avoiding hostilities,

paying utilities,

cleaning facilities.

You are wound tight

tossed left and right

crushed under mighty

feet, but step into this

darkened space

seek solace from the thoughts

that race,

trace peace.

Surcease.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Release.

.

.

for Lorien

 

 

poem-sparkles May 23, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:36 am
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The light of you

twinkles on your skin

sends shooting stars crackling from the top of your head.

The light of you

glows blue green like  phosphorescence

attracting, inviting.

You are bio-luminescence

shimmering on an ocean,

trails flowing after you  like an evening gown.

I reach to dip my hand into the water and watch the light

die in my palm.

I long to live in your light,

bathe in the beauty,

float in the flotilla of the mesmerized, microscopic worshipers

flowing after you.

But you go your way

and I go home.

I gaze after you, and wonder if you’ve shared enough of you,

for me to generate light

of my own.

.

.

.

(for Sheri-D)

It’s always a let down at the end of a conference to leave the like minds of other writers, and return home to quotidian life.  This was a particularly good conference for me, with lots of messages from the universe (or rather one that just kept coming up over and over).  I am hopeful the words will be off on interesting journeys as a result of the learning.

 

poem- extra-sensory perception September 14, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:33 pm
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I see through poet’s eyes

life recorded in metaphor

ideas dancing with possibilities.

I hear through poet’s ears

the humming of memory

the clatter of change

the sibilance of serenity

I touch through poet’s hands

hard thoughts,

rough realities,

soft dreams.

I smell through a poet’s nose

freshly mown hay of a summer day

leaves burning in an autumn evening

I taste through a poet’s tongue

the sourness of betrayals

the sweetness of hope

The poet has an infinity of senses

that reach into history

and unravel mysteries.

 

poem- Beatsalad at Woodhaven 2015 July 12, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:01 am
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Did the Beats start their sets on time?

I waited for the cool jazz, for a dancing upright bass in the dappled green, backed against hill,

cool beats, words playing with rhythm, strings and syllables descrying the human condition.

I waited, wondering why audience here must wait for audience there.  Thirty minutes late, dudes!

but when D-man struck a chord and finger-danced on guitar strings

I forgave jazz absence, tardiness, miserable neighbours, and cane wielding attendees being forced

to hobble down uneven lanes (blue bruises today from the straining).

At least this year it wasn’t raining, the splatter was patter of voices being cool in the heat.

The poets read The Beats or the wanna-be Beats or the bed-mates of Beats, and I watched

an ant wrestle a kernel of corn across the ground to their long ago voices.

I do not wrestle railway container cars, but that ant had high hopes, until he abandoned it

to drag off a fallen comrade whether for cannibal feast or sacred burial in Antshillvania, I didn’t care.

A week on campus, rock bed, longing for the man at home,

my heart gave up poetic posing. I admitted tonight my heart wasn’t in this verse game.

After more hobbling down the long, dangerously uneven lane

for someone walking with a cane, cursing parking and cars.

I turned at my old high school, gasping at the glinting copper sun that hung

a molten disk, poetic sky writing the poets under trees were missing,

like that sky was kissing me good-bye while I traced the highway north

with high apple pie in the sky hopes of my own.

 

poem- not a poet July 11, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:25 am
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I’m not a poet she said

I don’t get poetry.

But

everything she says is poetical

She views the world in deep metaphors.

She embodies poetry.

Giving something a name

gives it power, she said.

Am I a poet

because I accept the name?

.

.

(Write about that abalone, Tina!)

 

poem-wording December 8, 2014

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:01 am
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She was told,

“You are a poet.”

She wrote,

“If only words could make it true.”

I laughed,

because of course,

only words

can

make it true.

Is there any other way

to make a poet?

 

 
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