I turn on the TV:
Hockey commentary.
I am ten again.
Dad’s in the family room.
Whooping
Groaning
Arguing with the ref.
I feel a rush of nostalgia.
Turn the channel.
poem- hockey night at our house April 20, 2018
poem: The Game April 16, 2018
He serves: I’m working late
She returns: Sounds good. I think I’ll go out, myself
He lobs: Who are you going with?
She returns: Why does it matter?
He stretches, just manages: You might be in an accident. I should know where to look.
She returns to the far corner: So I can stop into the office and see you this evening?
He turns too slowly, can’t reach far enough: Uh.
Zero love.
#NaPoWriMo prompt 16 about a game.
(Still writing poems that connect with my current novel writing project)
poem- at last April 12, 2018
At last
you are shedding the neutral grey and white,
wrapping yourself in a green gown,
sparkling with iridescent dew
tumbling like velvet
into a glassy pool
still ice cold,
quivering on the brink.
Hear the promise:
morning chorus, finches singing
their hopeful hearts to spring.
#haibun (I hope!) for #NaPoWriMo Day 12
I’ve never tried a haibun before. I hope I’ve caught the sense of them.
poem-mercy April 9, 2018
It’s a mercy, they say
nodding sagely.
Mercy it may be,
but I’m seeking grace,
for mercy does not
alleviate grief.
poem-next April 8, 2018
This moonlit night,
snow glowing with
luminescent memories,
I stroll along the old paths
thinking of the mystery you
made of me.
Identity molded like play dough
childhood laughter
leaching from the cracks of yesterday.
I can’t say anymore
who I am.
.
(another character perspective poem about Lydia & Dustin)
poem-is isn’t April 6, 2018
It is.
It isn’t.
Me.
You.
A circle compounding compromises.
Conviction carries us.
I promise.
I pound.
I promise
I pound.
I paint
conviction
carrying
us.
It is.
It isn’t.
Promising.
(A poem for Dustin & Lyda, Jason & Kirindip. These are characters in the current w.i.p. novel).
poem-begin April 5, 2018
The NaPoWriMo prompt today asks us to consider a photograph through the perspective of a poem in another language. The poem I am using is in Finnish: Alku, by Piia Pälä.
Seasons unfold
Silently.
Above,
Truthful music, ancient turning.
Below petals open.
Three full moons glowing in spring sky,
Chasing the sun,
On hopeful wind.
Enter into light, solitary,
Still.
New week
Re-enter reality.
Photo: open door
Original poem:
ALKU:
Kaiken kantanut kausi kumartaa,
hiljaa kääntyvä aika katsoo myötä.
Taivaalla taittuvat tiehyet,
muinaisten tinojen toteutuneet taiat.
Uudemman ajan tiiviimmät terälehdet.
Kolmesta täysikuusta kasvaa kaivattu kevät,
auringon laiduntama rypsipelto ja
toiveikas titaanien tuuli.
Sinne mennäksesi kulje yksin valoa kohti.
Ollen ajan oma, ja silti.
Sinun todellinen hetkesi on tässä.
~Piia Pälä.
poem-when? April 1, 2018
Oh winter!
Release your tenacious grip!
Quit dripping this mix
of snow and rain,
that piles up in my yard.
It’s making me insane!
It’s April now, and white
should be from blossoms,
not snow falls; this isn’t right!
Oh, winter, we’re through with you here;
go visit the Southern hemisphere!
NaPoWriMo 2018 #1
poem-narrow March 27, 2018
Read and understand,
my children.
The world is not as narrow
as your mind.
If you live a life,
mired in the same mud,
you will never know the
glories of a mountain peak,
power of ocean depths.
Read and understand,
my children.
What you have seen
is not all there is.
What you have felt
is not all there is to feel.
See and understand,
my children.
There is more.
So much more.
Than what you know.
Open your eyes,
to the world
my children.
See and understand.
haiku-still March 12, 2018
Diva Winter grips
her sequined white cloak. Clinging,
while we wish for Spring.
Shawn L. Bird 