We’re at the precipice
You and I.
You’re in the harness,
tethered to a kite,
ready to leap.
I lean back from the edge,
Nervous of wings
Air currents,
carrying you away,
dropping you
where?
Mountains
Valleys
Tangling into trees,
I like safety
Side lines
You see
Sight lines
inclines
outlines
freedom.
You leap.
I wonder what will be
What all this means for me.
Oh winter!
Release your tenacious grip!
Quit dripping this mix
of snow and rain,
that piles up in my yard.
It’s making me insane!
It’s April now, and white
should be from blossoms,
not snow falls; this isn’t right!
Oh, winter, we’re through with you here;
go visit the Southern hemisphere!
NaPoWriMo 2018 #1
Diva Winter grips
her sequined white cloak. Clinging,
while we wish for Spring.
For Danielle, with love
.
Breaking heart
Taking future
Making mockery
I doubt the happy start,
wrapped in a painful ending,
rending all I believed,
feeling deceived
by the life we’d conceived.
Paths onward wending,
sending me,
setting me free.
Taking me,
creating me,
letting me
be,
Breaking past,
Taking a stance,
Making me dance.
So… this is a (parody) Beatnik style spoken word piece. In place of the bongos (or in addition to them) you have to insert an ukulele riff between the lines. I ‘wrote’ this while a student was walking through the halls past my class room, wailing away–heavy metal style–on his ukulele… (We don’t ask why he was soooooo far from the band room. Obviously it was so he could inspire poetry!)
PS. Call it an oo-koo-lay-lay, please, NOT a you-kah-lay-lee.
.
.
The ukuleles are out walkin’
(insert riff)
Rockin’ to the beat
(power chord)
Tropical heat
(power chord)
Seat of pants stalkin’
(riff)
Ukulele tuneful wailin’
to the whales
(riff)
Ukulele layin’ on the vibe
Make us come alive.
(power chord)
It’s a gas, man.
Ukulele laughin’ gas, man
(longer riff)
Listen to what I say,
Take the ukulele way
of peace,
man.
(power chord).
Cuckoo
Ukulele.
(riff)
Groovy, dude.
Wistful
Wishful
A tank of fish full:
silver darting
Red Sea parting.
Make a way;
say your say.
Wistful
wish.
Full.
You are twisted in knots
pulled here, there, everywhere,
responsibilities,
avoiding hostilities,
paying utilities,
cleaning facilities.
You are wound tight
tossed left and right
crushed under mighty
feet, but step into this
darkened space
seek solace from the thoughts
that race,
trace peace.
Surcease.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Release.
.
.
for Lorien
Creak
Cracks
Broken
Backs
Strung on a rack
Creaking wheel
pulls spine taut
Entreats,
“Sweet mercy!”
Greets pain
Back
broken
cracks
creak.
That is you.
I know it.
You thought it was a secret,
clung to it,
revelled in the glory of it.
Joy to the world.
Right?
Trust it’s not the only thing.
Naturally.
Oh, baby blues sparkle.
You see the darkness,
and turn your back.
No slackers here.
No secrets sneaking from those cracks.
Oh, I know.
That’s you.
You ask me for my email address
When given, much to my distress
You claim it’s already registered.
Why yes! I tell machine, that’s me, for sure!
You ask me for user name and password
But when I type them, you claim I’m invalid.
Oh, you passive aggressive machine,
You’re not acting like part of this team!
Inside the circuits of your brain
you’re plotting how to cause me pain.
I can hear your fan blade snicker,
as you plot to raise blood pressure.
Oh computer, use your power for good,
and work like the techies claim you should!
.
.
(Another day, another frustrating encounter with technology!)
Shawn L. Bird 