Claws in the hall,
a staccato jack hammer,
burrow into my brain.
The A/C unit
roars and reverberates
in my skull.
Dull morning light
pierces through my eyelids
burning like a laser.
A storm roils
in my stomach washing up waves of
star studded agony.
Heat washes over, steam rises.
A freezing blizzard follows.
Desperately I seek
the peaceful
oblivion of sleep.
.
.
.
(Not having a good day!)
I need new pyjamas.
The effort of hunting through stores
hurts my head.
I have fabric, thread, pattern
and machines.
It’d only take an hour to make,
But just taking
the serger out of the box
seems too great a challenge.
I think finishing my last novel
was more exhausting than
it seemed.
You are a
panther of poesy
lithely elucidating
your erudition,
stalking grandiloquence,
vaulting verbiage in your
versification
until you are
a kitten tangled
in tautology.
It was a moment,
a frozen smile
caught forever.
A photograph
recording you
as I longed for
you to be.
A moment when
happiness pushed
away illness and
illuminated
all our dreams
When you crunch
into that apple
eyes twinkling,
cheek dimpling.
I am Eve,
and that smile,
glistening with juice,
is paradise
to go.
One project sent;
another moves
into priority position.
A circle of
unending creative
activity,
crafting worlds
from nothing but
imagination
and time.
.
.
.
I sent my latest YA title, While I Was Out off to the editor this morning at 6 a.m. Later this week we’ll meet to discuss it, and hopefully by the end of the summer it’ll be off to my agent.
Now I’m back to selecting pieces for my poetry collections which I also hope to be sending off to publishers by the end of the month.
As well, I need to pull together the last workshop I’m presenting at When Words Collide.
You’re down the hall
sleeping
and I am awake
missing you
wishing you
were here
to assuage
this ache.
Look at that lovely pink sky.
Huh.
So that’s what a sunrise looks like.
Looks like it’s time
I went to bed.
Your breath
on this hot day
softly
panting
beside me
is so putrid
I can’t explain
why I adore
you.
.
But
I
do.
.
.
.
(dog love)
I did not know
that a crow walking
on my skylight,
pecking to come in
sounds exactly like
a barfing dog
or a toilet
backing up.
Strange talent
that.
Shawn L. Bird 