Shawn L. Bird

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

poem- room February 17, 2022

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:19 pm
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there is space here

enough for me

enough for you

if you’re kind, thoughtful

and respectful; we have room.

you don’t have to be beautiful

or conform to notions of who you should be

so long as others’ genuine needs

are okay with you,

too.

 

poem-Why aren’t you playing? February 10, 2022

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:43 pm
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Ramona spent the weekend racing around

The agility arena with her latest training partner,

Sewing personalized dog coats for friends,

Feeding a platoon of poodles

And a concert of birds,

Laughing,

Doing,

Playing.

Ramona didn’t dwell on the degeneration

That made most days painful;

She didn’t focus on the losses,

The quotidian agonies of aging.

When I posted a plaintive photo of my dog captioned,

“Play with me, Mom?”

Ramona asked, “So why aren’t you playing?”

Mere hours later, Ramona left the earth.

Her last words to me ring a challenge

Amid these pain-filled days.  We have just one life to embrace

What brings us joy.  Despite all the grief,

The sun still rises; there are things to do.  Today, find time

to play.

.

.

.

Rest in Peace, Ramona Stirling

 

poem- O My Cron January 5, 2022

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:54 pm
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“We don’t know
what we’re doing next,”
they said.

“Just expect
that you’ll catch the virus,
so leave instructions at your desk.

“There may be no one
to cover your job;
sorry about that.

“Don’t let uncertainty (or fear of death)
dull your passion
for the work.

“We so appreciate
everything
you do.

“Don’t worry, just relax;
what doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger.”



.

(This is a triversen poem. Each stanza is three lines that make a complete sentence)

 

poem- Daddy’s sweater December 17, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:29 pm
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I am zipped up in Daddy’s green sweater.
Mom knitted, purled, cabled together
some semblance of love.
He wore it with joy almost every day,
telling all admirers how it was made with love.
It’s wrapped around me,
but it’s not his firm arms,
not his smell (which wasn’t peppermint
or aftershave, but just him),
not his whisper in my ears,
Love you so much.
How can another year have past
without him? How can a sweater
be both so full
and so bereft of him?

 

Karmic dino court November 19, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:31 pm
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In an alternate Earth
injustices do not exist.
The universe feeds liars
to tyrannosauri rex,
which devour slowly
or quickly as befits.

 

poem-gone August 3, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:53 pm
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Beyond us

the world has gone

swallowed in grey

a haze that glows orange

at night, around the edges that once

were mountains.

We cannot breathe.

Beyond us

the world has gone.
.

.

.

.

Purpleair.com reports our air quality has improved today. We’re down to 389 from 450s (out of 500) earlier in the week. Still “extremely hazardous.” Wildfires are most unpleasant, particularly where valleys converge and smoke from several fires gathers. The smoke is visible in the street and yards. 254 active fires in our province, over 40% of them out of control. 4 large fires in our local region. Thousands of people evacuated or on alert. Hoping for a weekend of lightning-less rain to wash the sky and allow for deep breaths again! Our lovely 30 degree Celsius summer is wasted when one can’t be outside.

 

poem-what’s falling July 29, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:12 pm
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In the porch light

ash is illuminated

specks of falling sky

pieces of evergreen needles

drop onto my arm

leave lines of black.

It hurts to breathe this grey air;

forests blazing hurt the heart.

Pray for rain, or better, snow.

(because, you know, snow

doesn’t bring lightning
or more fire).

 

poem-other places July 22, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:33 am
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the internet shows

there is rain elsewhere;

people celebrating

with summer fun.

it is not armaggedon

outside their windows;

no red sun an eery ball

in a tawny coloured sky,

no ashen needles settle

on sunflower leaves.

where they are

no threatening glow over the hill

disturbs their hope of sleep

while smoke kisses the suitcases

and bags stacked at the door,

for when the word comes.

.

.

.

Forest fire season in BC! In the last 5 years the summers have been getting consistently scarier. 4 of the 5 were horrible smokey years. While we’ve always had fires in the summer, generally it was rare to have one near communities and one bad fire summer would be followed by many fine years. I don’t remember my childhood in the Okanagan filled with smoke. But now it is the norm. Climate change sucks. A fire that started with a car accident about 38 hours ago is now a raging 800 hectare (~2000 blaze) only 25 km away from us. Very, very, very scary). Our bags are packed and we’re ready to load up if we are put on alert.

 

poem-Of elephant and blind men July 20, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:55 pm
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While you are shouting you’re right.

Check

who else is.

There’s always

more to

know.

 

poem-who are you, really? July 19, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:00 pm
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I’m a good person!

I don’t cheat

(well, except that test,

but it was an important one, I couldn’t afford to fail!

Oh, and with that girl at the bar that one time when

the wife was out of town, but that was her fault)

I don’t lie

(well, except to my mom, she couldn’t handle knowing

and would raise a fuss).

I don’t steal

(Hey, those pirate book and video sites aren’t stealing,

those folks don’t deserve to be paid for their work!)

I don’t drink too much

(that time doesn’t count, we were celebrating!)

I’m not violent

(you can’t say she didn’t deserve that black eye).

I’m a good person.

I’m just like you, right?

What does ‘good’ mean, anyway?

 

 
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