Her belly is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been excavated
and spun into emptiness.
.
Her head is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been desolated
and spun into heaviness.
.
Her life is hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been devastated
and spun into enviousness.
.
Her hope was hollow.
Once it was filled with him,
but she has been extricated,
and spins into readiness
In the day
they brush past one another,
utter essential words,
questions,
instruction.
But at night,
they brush against one another,
whisper non-essential words,
passions,
exhortation.
I sift and skim
reflecting:
Are you strong enough?
Are you fresh enough?
Words combined and aligned
into sensation and celebration
Are you vibrant enough?
Are you true enough?
I sift and skim,
selecting.
.
.
.
Today I am working through a collection of poetry that’s been sorted once by theme, then by non-poets for accessability. Now I’m trying to find the very best to submit for publication. I have to weed out half. It’s a challenge! I feel sad for the ones I pitch. 😉
Whatever is tied up in this gift
unwrap it joyfully.
Pull out difficulty, challenge, and struggle;
laugh at the lessons you’re learning.
Celebrate what has been and what will be
Celebrate what is now and what will be
Celebrate you.
Celebrate me.
Celebrate
what
will
be.
Each day is a gift
New for you to
Celebrate.
You’ve been published in the Malahat Review?
Oh. That’s great. Congratulations.
You’ve been published in the Fiddlehead?
Oh. That’s great. Congratulations.
You’ve been published in the Queen’s Quarterly?
Oh. That’s great. Congratulations.
You’ve been published in the New Yorker?
Oh. That’s great. Congratulations.
You’ve been published in the Literary Review?
Oh. That’s great. Congratulations.
I wish I could say that.
Well, no I’ve never submitted to any of them.
Oh?
Wait.
I should because I could?
Oh.
.
.
Message of the moment. Frequently, the only difference between you and the people who’ve reached the success you aim for is effort and persistence.
and talent.
and luck.
😉
In time
oft heard
silent memories
mingle in the mist
In time
oft mentioned
mysteries dance
upon your tongue.
In time
oft discovered
dreams twist destinies
toward truth.
In time
oft wished
entwined desires
develop into twin
devastations.
Between then and now
Between here and there
Between faith and doubt
Between love and hate
Between us and them
Between you and me
Between life and death
We hover
This morning unfurling itself
I have awoken surly.
The low clouds match my mood
The sky is surly, too.
.
Inside the house,
the Christmas mess mocks
in its surly aftermath.
.
The snow plow
dragging itself through the city
scrapes with surly determination.
.
My surly swirl of grumpiness
has me in good company,
it seems.
When she reached
and found
That was all
there was.
When she stretched
and discovered
That was all
she was
When she trusted
and loved
That was all
you were
I am sure
I told them
We are sure
Yes, we are young
We told them.
Yes, it’s been fast,
But the college is small
and we get to know people
quickly. We’ve seen each other
ten hours a day for months.
We didn’t tell them
about the ice cold walks,
holding mittened hands,
the tears,
the dreams.
We held those to ourselves.
Well, they said,
If you’re sure.
So we said I do
and I do, too
And we leapt off
a precipice
together.
.
.
.
This is the 30th anniversary of the day I met my dear man. By the summer we were married, and still are
falling.
Shawn L. Bird 