That way lies madness, dear.
Keep your eyes on the path you chose.
What might have been?
What could have been?
All dangerous conjecture.
Embrace today.
Celebrate this self, right here.
Right now.
Embrace what is.
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.NaPoWriMo Day 2 The official prompt from napowrimo.net today: Explore your own “Road not Taken”
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Ignore any ads below. Unless for Fluevog shoes, I do not endorse them.
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Oh, yeah.
I used to gleam.
Shining sparkling day-glo shimmer
You know what I mean?
But Covid, man.
It’s worn me out.
Dulled my bright-light
What’s this exhaustion about?
It’s just going to work,
same as before
Just wearing a mask
washing hands, washing hands, and washing some more.
What’s so tiring about that?
I have absolutely no clue
But I’m heading to bed now at dinner time.
How are you?
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#NaPoWriMo Day 1. The official prompt from napowrimo.net was a video that triggered my TBI sensory over-load so I couldn’t watch it. 
I’ve come home from work, and again it’s not even 6 p.m. and I’m ready to crawl into bed with an eye mask, a heating pad, and an audio book. I can’t believe how exhausted I am all the time now! How’s a girl supposed to get poetry written, let alone books and stories! Arg. I hope you’re feeling less exhausted.
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Ignore any ads below. Unless they’re for Fluevog shoes, I don’t endorse them!
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Geese call
mournful fly past.
The year is reborn
Why does my heart
hear autumn’s sorrow?
Here is a ‘black out’ poem, aka ‘erasure’ poem. This is a type of found poetry. The text from this one comes from Janet Whitehead’s book Beyond All Imaginings.
I just received my Writerly Kit, and was delighted to discover this month’s cool item: Paint Chip Poetry. Here is my first poem.
Far, far away
hot lava, fire, ember
jasmine tea leaves
lost balloon
I sit down across from them
meet his melancholy eyes,
give him a sad smile, whisper
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He nods, glancing longingly at his wife
before I remember,
he’s the one
who’s gone.
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(RIP Rob. Thanks for the dream visit).
Oh my!
Blue sky!
If only the promises could be true
that this is is just a preview.
Has spring finally arrived?
Our words
are legacy.
Our hopes, fears, and
dreams pirouette on pages
They jeté into hearts and minds
even after we’ve returned
Á terre.
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(In memory of poet Patrick Lane who left us one year ago today. A lesson I learned from him, “Use specificity in your poems. Don’t just dance, tango!”).
Balmy day
they said.
I shiver in my sweater, wondering
if the air in my classroom is actually warm.
Outside, clouds climb the mountain
I wish I were in front of a fire,
clutching a cup of cocoa,
wrapped in a blanket and your arms.
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(Let’s hope spring will come soon. I am weary of winter weather).
Plugged.
Beats stop.
He drops.
Brain dies.
One heart broken
So many hearts grieve.
A Valentine’s Day massacre of our joy.
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RIP Rob
Shawn L. Bird 