Dad came for a visit
and we discussed laundry soap
in my dream.
He didn’t ask about Mom,
and I didn’t tell him.
poem-princess? February 6, 2016
She says she’s not waiting for a handsome prince
and laughs like she’s joking.
But she had a handsome prince
and she she treated him like a frog,
so if one was to come along now,
I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t even recognize him.
poem-flocked absence February 5, 2016
The world is flocked white
and I stretch my toes searching for your lingering warmth.
Absent.
It’s slow on the road today,
highway’s slick and I wish I could take a sick day.
Absent.
The world is flocked white
like it’s powdered me on the trees; I’m empty.
Absent.
The world is flocked white
I want to abrogate responsibility and hibernate.
Absent.
poem-dotty February 4, 2016
Star speckled sky,
orbs orbiting,
motes in the sun beams,
circles circling,
dots on the shoes.
The most beautiful things in the world are round,
so I will celebrate my celestial shape.
poem-overwhelmed February 3, 2016
Stacks of articles, demanding my brain
focus and think logically.
Assignment instructions I just want to avoid.
My students drive me crazy when they show this sentiment.
But then, I’ll actually get the work done
(on time)
despite the procrastination,
which they frequently do not.
So many papers. So tired from report cards and marking stacks of late assignments and prepping for a new semester and February.
So.
Tired.
But the end is in sight.
I can’t give up now.
poem-early spring February 2, 2016
The ground hog says
it will be early spring
but even if he did not,
the blue sky and balmy breeze
today asserted its own opinion.
poem-torn February 1, 2016
There at the bottom of the bag
is that precious photo
of the beloved man, now gone.
You have torn it into shreds,
torn my respect for you,
torn my love of you,
torn my heart in two.
It was not enough that he adored
and worshipped you?
You were blinder than him,
though he had the account with CNIB.
Your bitterness is poison
and I will not drink it.
poem- rockery January 29, 2016
We played in the rockery
and you always skinned your knees
because adventure was so much better than caution,
and my mother wasn’t likely to smack you
for disturbing the hen and chicks blooming
in the crevices.
poem-lasting January 28, 2016
Don’t be a rose,
be a carnation.
Roses have thorns and
are wilting within a day.
Carnations have character
and they stick around for weeks.
There’s no pomp about carnations
they’re happily frilly and fun.
Rose are high maintenance
and will make you bleed.
Shawn L. Bird 