I’m crafting a world
and living in it.
You’re part of the narrative,
if only,
you were there.
poem- today October 13, 2016
This is my only today
One opportunity to be
One chance to choose my way
One day to seize opportunities
This is my only today
.
This path is not the only way
I may choose other vistas to see
I may have new speeches to say
I may see what’s ugly beautifully
That path is not the only way.
poem- valve October 12, 2016
Every day
release some of the pressure,
let the steam of words blow
rising like mist
falling droplets of thought
caught.
You can make room for new
opportunities
ideas
possibilities
to pen
if you drain your brain
daily.
.
.
Lots of poetic devices in action here, as well as good advice. Thanks syl for the image!
changing hats October 9, 2016
Oh, temptress.
Oversized grey fedora
White top hat with feathered pin.
Black newsboy cap.
These hats cry to come home with me.
I.
Must.
Resist.
Oh!
Purple cloche,
how adorable you are;
you are
entirely
irresistible.
Fine.
I give up.
I’ll wear you home.
.
.
The Irresistible itself, a “Canadian 1918 Hat”
A cloche hat always makes me feel like I’m channeling Phryne Fisher! 🙂
poem- quivers October 6, 2016
Your anxiety
ripples the air
pushes and pulls me,
threatens my calm.
I’d breathe you my peace
but you inhale all I have
then you rustle and quiver,
vibrating me
into your distress.
The airlines say,
put on your own oxygen mask first.
I need my air.
poem- winged October 5, 2016
I.
On the side of the highway
an outstretched wing
unfurled black
feathers twitch in the breeze
that no longer lift it.
.
II.
On the side of the highway
unfurled curls of black
tires lie.
In the wind of passing traffic,
unwound wires twitch.
I blink.
What
exactly
did I see?
poem- crows October 3, 2016
The yard is speckled
with black spots
as if a coal train tipped on a fast corner
and sprayed lumps.
Twenty or thirty have spread out and bob
in search of hidden meals
or trouble
as is the nature of crows.
They’re strangely silent this morning,
like blurry eyed truckers
who’ve driven all night
and just want some breakfast
before the day begins.
poem- beautiful September 29, 2016
Astonished eyes
Gushing mouths
They say, “You’re so beautiful.”
Compliments deserve courtesy
“Thank you.”
Warm smile.
Their words are bees,
around a flower.
Droning pleasantries.
You are the only one
who needs to say the line,
and you
do not.
What is beauty?
What fear lies beneath refusal
to see it?
What interpretation of honesty
forces you to decline
to observe it?
poem- late bloomer September 26, 2016
Autumn is here
Trees are red tipped or golden.
Mornings are frosty.
And finally the cosmos,
three feet high green lace,
is budding.
A slow universe,
taking its time to unfold
summer pink blooms
on my porch.
Autumn is here,
but
better late
than
never.
Shawn L. Bird 