Unexpected art,
flipped, repeated.
The press
stamps images
unique to me.
poem-imprinting May 18, 2016
Unexpected art,
flipped, repeated.
The press
stamps images
unique to me.
poem- going to bat May 17, 2016
When things seem impossible
it is a wondrous thing to have someone
willing to bat for you.
Stand up and be responsible
for giving you opportunity for a home run
get you what’s your due.
poem-entranced May 16, 2016
The swish of skirt swirling
in desert winds, beneath stars
that breathe her name,
captures your ear, and
urges you to hear murmurs
from heaven.
.
.
(Reading Jerry Spinelli’s Stargirl in class)
poem- knowing May 15, 2016
She knows
what paints the gold in your eyes
whispers voices in your ears.
Perhaps it is darkness?
Others know the intermediary
of your change. Respect and memories.
Lost wisdom
Lace of ages
You have been chosen.
.
.
(Reading Robert Jordan’s Eye of the World)
poem-drooping May 14, 2016
The flowers in the vase
sit in green water,
heads drooping,
stems rubber,
celebration of beauty
worn by time, fading into
compost for future
blossoming.
poem- story making May 13, 2016
I did not realize
I was writing a story
when I took your words
and wove them into fantasy
so compelling
I believed you were real.
poem- memory May 12, 2016
The scent of dinner,
Your favourite,
brings you back to life,
calls you from beyond
in a gush of anguish.
Oh, I long to look
into your sparkling eyes,
and serve you soup.
poem- possible May 11, 2016
There are possibilities in front of you
Opportunities unbounded
By anything
but your determination.
Nothing will happen if you attempt nothing
But something can happen if you do some
Thing–
Any
Thing–
To embrace what might be
Possible.
poem-evacuated May 10, 2016
The city is empty
save for the fire fighters.
Lines of vehicles
………….. ………wind past
………………………. ………wind through
………………………..wind by
devouring walls of flame
fanned by wind;
neighbourhoods empty
except for the crackle
of destruction.
poem- old words May 9, 2016
Sometimes it’s clear
there wasn’t much to say.
Some days words are woven into tapestries
of vivid hues and diamond bright
But other days words are wrapped around night,
just vast blackness,
nothing for a reader to hold onto
to pull themselves into the light.
Shawn L. Bird 