Out, out brief candle
The spark of light
Is too difficult to handle
Beyond the might
Of simple mortals.
So much better to embark
through gleaming portals
into eternal dark.
today haikus March 13, 2013
It’s just one day, but
one is all it takes to change
everything. Today.
.
Today is just one
day, but one is all it takes
to change everything.
.
One is all it takes
to change everything. Just one
but it’s today.
.
To change everything,
just one is all it takes–just one,
It’s one day: today.
.
♥
This is my 900th post on this blog! Yay!
Thanks for being here with me to celebrate the moment!
reneged engagement March 11, 2013
He lies broken
pain unspoken
Splintered into pieces
Splattered into feces
Love rejected
Hope ejected
He lies broken
Pointless token
A golden dream
Not ring but phleame
His blood is let
His face is wet
The diamond cuts
into his guts
From sleep awoken
He is broken
.
.
(What does it feel like to be the guy proposing on the big screen, when the girl says no? Ouch.)
This poem is mostly written in trochaic dimeter- STRESS-unstress X 2. The exceptions are the second couplet, which is trochaic trimeter, and the penultimate line which adds an unstressed beat at the beginning).
need a poem March 10, 2013
(Read this one aloud, in slam style)
.
I need a poem.
I need to feed on bones of poems.
To seed strong reeds that groan like bones and sound like poems,
I need to lead the words that alone clone more poems.
I need a poem to seed, to grow.
I need a poem to read, to know.
Beyond fat groaning tomes I need the brevity of poems.
To be complete, to seek, to speak,
I need a poem.
Did I miss anything? February 26, 2013
I was a new teacher, substituting in an English class when I came across Tom Wayman’s poem “Did I Miss Anything?”. Every teacher hears the question several times each week as students who’ve missed a class come to see whether their grades will be impacted by their absences. It gets frustrating. Wayman’s poem reflects the frustration of teachers called to respond to that question.
Of course, the student missed something! If I am doing my job properly, just knowing the task assigned is not sufficient. It is in the preparation for the assignment and the discussion around it that the greatest learning can take place. The opportunity to consult with peers, to explore their understanding as well as your own helps you to grow as a learner. Of course, students miss something when they are not in class; moreover, the class misses something as well.
Your presence improves our learning, too. We miss you. You miss us.
In most cases, the world will not change dramatically because a student isn’t in class, but Tom Wayman imagines a time when that could be the case. His ironic tone matches those felt by those harried teachers who must attempt to synthesize instruction and discussion into a few seconds when they tell the student about the missing assignment while readying the class for the new lesson.
Read Tom Wayman’s poem: Did I miss anything? The answer is, “Of course, you did!”
Broken girl February 13, 2013
You saw a broken girl
Eyes wary
Feet swift.
I saw a dangerous girl
Eyes calling
Feet daring.
They saw a cunning girl
Eyes lying
Feet sneaking
You saw a broken girl
And remembered
Yourself.
inkless poems February 11, 2013
You do not write
love poetry in ink.
You write me
love poems
with wrenches,
screwdrivers,
and snow shovels.
You are
a breathing
love poem.
pillow thoughts January 30, 2013
He reaches
to her slumbering form,
gathering her
within his arms.
Brushing her hair
with his breath,
he pulls her
against his heart,
too full of
her
to search
for words.
words January 29, 2013
Splashing in the bathroom
awakens her
to a sorrowful knowing.
Her eyes are closed against it.
His baggage rustles.
“Come kiss me good-bye,” she says
blinking blurrily.
Compliant,
he leans and offers
a perfunctory pucker
upon her sour morning lips.
“I’ll call you tomorrow
to tell you whether I’m coming home,”
he says.
“Call me today
to tell me you’ve arrived.”
“I can do that,” he agrees
moving down the hallway.
Eyes clamped closed again,
she hears the firm crunch of
doors and humming rumble of the engine.
As the car leaves,
she leans into her pillow,
wondering at the words,
he didn’t say.
Shawn L. Bird 