He relies on the strength
of her heart strings.
She winds them around him
to hold him together
when he might rattle apart
in the shaking, quaking times.
When she is weak and broken,
when she can not stretch her arms,
wide enough
to wrap heart strings around him,
he trembles and crumbles
apart.
When she is weak and broken,
he does not consider
that he could pretend
to be strong.
He could hold her heart strings,
and spin into her.
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. 😉
Today’s sight
is a palette of black and white.
Today’s dichotomy
will be tomorrow’s
possibility
She was wrapped up in herself
and he had a bad rap
But they were enraptured
and joys they unwrapped.
,
,
Some wordplay this afternoon, just for you!
Ice blue skies
white ground
I see the breath
of passers by.
Today I’ll hide
warmly dressed
snuggling next to you
by the fire, inside.
Row on row
books rest, wise and eager
waiting for a hopeful reader
Someone seeking information
or an escape into fiction.
In racks and stacks
new worlds await
and the library is the gate.
A cut black silhouette
oozing around corners
hovering at windows.
I feel your gaze drilling
between my shoulder blades.
You vanish when I turn
but I glimpse your intent.
Your presence smothers
sparks of happiness.
Wariness wears tears
in the fabric of my composure,
devouring me in shadows.
.
.
Written during the Reach Out Psychosis assembly at my school.
“Score one for the pig,” she said,
but a hunter limping, partially gored
not prudent from the perspective
of a boar.
A roar marks the victory:
Geordie’s blood stains the earth
entrails pour onto leaves
at what is the more satisfying score
for the boar.
.
.
An Outlander poem, based on TV show ep 104 “The Gathering”
Her words
weren’t heard
His dreams
were empty screams
Her wishes
were lost in riches
His sight
was bathed in light
Her trials
left her reviled
His loneliness
was his holiness
Their relationship
let sensations slip
They tightly gripped
their well-worn scripts.
Shawn L. Bird 