In the US,
Girl,
nine,
accidentally
kills her
shooting instructor
with an uzi.
.
In the US,
Kinder eggs
are illegal.
.
.
poem- middle August 26, 2014
For centuries
you were either rich or poor.
You had lots of power or none.
Until the merchant class
developed.
They educated their children,
and the middle class
evolved.
Now a minuscule percent of the population
holds the majority of the wealth, and the middle class
is crumbling.
The rich fight to grab
more and more wealth,
more and more power.
They fight to destroy
public education
and the health system
with elitist ideas about
who deserves what.
Sharing is better
than hoarding.
Spreading wealth
makes society better for all.
Teach everyone.
Heal everyone.
Crime goes down.
Life improves for everyone.
The feudal system
is futile.
poem- once more August 24, 2014
If I could
see you once again
I’d hold you tightly,
memorize the sensation
of your arms,
inhale the scent of your hair,
squeeze my love into your bones,
and pray the moment
does not end.
poem- love is August 23, 2014
You are riding 140 km
on your bicycle this morning.
Upon your return
I have promised to have
fresh baked oatmeal raisin cookies
waiting for you.
.
.
How’s this for timing? Hubby comes up the stairs, stumbling a bit after pedalling 142.5 km, just as I pulled the first cookie sheet out of the oven. He was a happy man.
poem-squirrel rant
That squirrel
is ranting like a
furious squeaky toy.
Ten minutes of
castigating harangue
from the willow tree
and no audience but me.
Sometimes
it’s not about a solution;
it’s just about
being heard.
poem-shapely August 22, 2014
I was a line
a squiggly line
a wiggly line
that grew
and grew
into a sphere:
a bubble floating
a tire rolling
I bent elliptically
under pressure,
curves contained
in shapely strain.
poem- disappear August 21, 2014
.
I want to
disappear
into tomorrow
to explore
Imaginary
corridors across
your incendiary
borders
into
somewhere better
than your
artificial
reality.
.
.
In response to the Monday Meme photo prompt
poem-crow on a hot tin roof
There’s a crow
on the hot tin roof
of our shed,
tap dancing
and glancing around
the yard
in search of applause.
The dogs catch his eye
but turn away,
well acquainted
with the vain ways
of crows.
poem-night light August 20, 2014
All evening
the hills have been
illuminated by a
laser light show,
and now
the skies are
streaming;
white mist
hides the hills,
enfolding us
as the heavens
flash and crash
above.
poem-wading August 19, 2014
Wading through
trash
in search of gems.
Letters from you
lost in the
dump
since Yahoo
decided everything from
WordPress is spam.
I’m journeying
into a black
Carpal tunnel.
Shawn L. Bird 