On the outside:
calm, controlled, confident.
Beneath the surface:
quivering, quaking, confused.
How many stress-based illnesses
tension fueled troubles
surface in our bodies and minds?
How hard do we fight
to carry on?
poem-fluff November 16, 2019
Tight black ball
warm, curled against my hip
tail twitching in dreams.
Serious affection or just fluff?
It’s all the same to me.
poem- warrior woman September 30, 2018
Warrior,
stands, raised hand
answer every question
to bring justice to a depraved land.
Warrior stands
warning of the beast eager to devour.
tells how it mauled,
and it whines, growls, evades
responsibility.
The beast does not know it is a beast,
but the warrior knows.
The warrior warns.
As the beast prowls and pretends
to be a kitten, a puppy, an innocent thing.
The warrior knows.
The warriors know.
Are you listening?
Or will you open doors and invite it
to devour you?
poem- prep July 14, 2018
Beneath a cloudless blue sky
I feel the storm coming,
black clouds gathering.
Could they reflect black shirts?
I ponder,
seriously,
if I should be building false walls
to hide those who will be escaping tyranny.
I wonder,
if I am far enough from a border to avoid
occupation.
A century ago,
they didn’t understand the signs,
but now we do.
Those who read are the first removed
when the evil rises.
Do all those kids who demanded,
“Why do we have to learn this?”
remember that their teachers said,
“So you’ll see the signs.”
“So it will never happen again.”
“Remember, they elected Hitler;
“they heiled and fell for his lies,
“because they wanted to believe their superiority,
“wanted a scapegoat for their troubles.”
There can be no excuses.
Shall I buy bricks or drywall?
Where will I construct false bottoms?
Where will we hide in the resulting rubble,
when the jack boots stomp through?
Another cristelnacht, this time in New York?
The hammock swings its consolation:
It can’t happen here.
It won’t happen here.
How many said those words a century
ago?
How many grew to knowing the meaning
of fear?
poem- sit April 3, 2017
Isn’t it
lovely to just sit
some days
and watch the world go by,
just spying and rumination
without any kind of expectation.
Isn’t it
lovely to sit
for just a little bit.
rhetorical poem- often January 15, 2017
How often
does our prayer to
accept the things that cannot change
become an excuse for complacency?
How often
do we turn away from the possible
just because it’s difficult?
How often
to we tell ourselves ‘it’s always been’
and fail to see that something else could be?
How often
do we rail against those
who gentle encourage change when
they demonstrate another way?
How often
do we shout our certainty
when we should listen and see
wider horizons of possibility?
poem- again December 8, 2016
The never ending circle
of expectation raised
no effort was applied
of failure achieved
makes me want to scream.
What makes the difference
between students who give up
and those who persevere
to find success?
Perhaps it’s in their mantras:
I don’t care
versus
I care.
Those who say they don’t care, do,
but they simply don’t believe
they can.
poem-odd August 27, 2016
I remember the Christmas
she gave me
a set of hotel toiletries
from her vacation to Portugal.
Gold embossed tiny burgundy bottles
shampoo,
conditioner,
lotion,
and an elegantly packaged
shower cap.
Should we have known
there was something
wrong with her
then?
poem- cleaning August 11, 2016
So many bottles
in gift baskets:
body shampoo
lotion
bath oil
bubble bath
body scrub
Why do all these people think I need
so much help to get clean?
.
.
(cleaning out the bathroom cupboards today)
poem-choosing March 31, 2016
Will I choose you?
Or you?
Or will I choose at all?
Am I ready for this work
of nurturing potential?
My world is wound tightly
with possibility,
fighting emotionality with
rationality.
Shawn L. Bird 