The green gold glistens
in the spring light
waving languidly in the breeze
as if to greet friends
seen from a great distance.
poem-Mother’s Day humility May 14, 2017
Looking forward to seeing you this weekend!
the mother wrote.
The greeting card holidays remind children
of filial duties.
Without them, would they ever call?
Text message comes mid-day:
Happy Mother’s Day.
An opening!
Mother replies,
When will we see you?
No response.
Cat’s in the Cradle.
.
Sacrifice. Care. Tuition bills. Sick beds. Pain.
And here,
A lesson in humility.
It’s strange how
Happy Mother’s Day
can feel a lot like
F-you.
A greeting card sentiment,
leaves a slashing wound,
sliced by a weapon wielded in a war
she didn’t know had been declared.
There had been no need to
clean the vase,
dress up for the surprise
brunch,
lunch,
dinner,
visit?
or even stay home to hang around the phone
so as not to disappoint
the kids
who call to wish
Happy Mothers’ Day.
.
.
.
(I’ve got a short story in my brain, but we’ll start with this.)
poem- not May 11, 2017
I am not enough
to fill the void.
A yawning maw,
a gaping hole,
inadequacy piled upon inadequacy
overwhelms
and I
do not have the mass
to shore up against this tide
of weakness compounded
year after year until they got here.
I am battered.
I am broken.
I am not enough.
poem-blood and stone May 10, 2017
They say
you can’t get blood from a stone,
but there you are
grinding
and bleeding from the effort.
There you are
releasing your hard heart
and weeping change.
Oh sure,
it hurts to be stoned
It’ll kill you, if the impact
hits the right place,
but a bloody stone
is only a reminder
of your strength.
Stones were once mountains
Worn by time and pressure
your mountain has become a stone,
and from your tight grip
drips
blood.
poem- shaped May 9, 2017
Your portion of this landscape
reinterprets the shape
follows the lines
but makes them into
something new.
Microcosm makes
macrocosm.
.
.
.
Current project in art class. Each student has a square that contains a scene up close, but when assembled with others, reveals a larger scene (or in this class, spells out the initials of the school.
poem-stranded May 8, 2017
I wanted to go.
I raced out the door.
It’s been a horrible week but it’s over
and I’m coming home to you at last!
Then the signs.
Prepare to stop.
We waited
waited
waited
waited
waited
until the flagger said,
“No one is getting through tonight.”
Highways in all directions sealed
like a disaster movie.
Creeks washed out.
Head-on collision.
Mud-slide.
Avalanche.
The truckers lined up for miles.
I’m tucked up in a hotel with a good book,
safe and dry,
but I’d rather be home
with you.
.
.
.
True story. But it could have been worse! On one side of the slide was the bride; the groom and family were sharing a hotel with me. A story for their grandkids! My commute is usually 22 minutes, but it was 22 hours this time.
poem-point of view May 5, 2017
So often
what I think is a conversation about me
you think is a conversation about you.
My feelings
aren’t just feelings, they’re an attack.
But they’re not.
They belong to me
and they’re allowed to be
what they are.
I long for you to acknowledge
how I feel
what I wonder
what I want
isolated from your sense
of inadequacy.
I’m tired
tired
tired of your issue
always overshadowing
any of my concerns.
Mental illness
is annoyingly
narcissistic.
Please consider other points of view.
It isn’t always about you.
Really.
Sometimes it’s about me.
poem-surprises May 4, 2017
It still surprises me
To uncover these weaknesses
You try to so hard to cover
With bombast and bomb blasts.
Acting out to hide insecurity
Inability
And the itching awareness that
You don’t measure up.
Your brain doesn’t quite hold onto
the words
the meanings
The feelings fill you up
Fear
Frustration
Anger.
Why?
WHY!
Just because
is not enough answer.
Why?
Chemistry.
Biology.
Nature? Nurture?
Better just say
“Because”
You didn’t win the lottery
And everything will be harder.
You’re pushing at the pull door.
But if you quit pushing against it
embrace your responsibility
For your own life,
Take it
I know it will go
Far more smoothly
For you.
You are so much stronger
than you believe
you are.
We just have to pull together.
poem- The Bird by Patrick Lane April 28, 2017
From The Collected Poems of Patrick Lane (Harbour Publishing, 2011)
The Bird
The bird you captured is dead.
I told you it would die
but you would not learn
from my telling. You wanted
to cage a bird in your hands
and learn to fly.
.
Listen again.
You must not handle birds.
They cannot fly through your fingers.
You are not a nest
and a feather is
not made of blood and bone.
.
Only words
can fly for you like birds
on the wall of the sun.
A bird is a poem
that talks of the end of cages.
.
I’m attending a poetry retreat with Patrick Lane this summer, so I’ve been reading his work. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to study with him!
poem- something new April 27, 2017
There is something new in the air
A faint scent of possibility
that wafts past unexpectedly.
There is something making me
wonder about continuity
and what’s coming to be.
Shawn L. Bird 