Sometimes it’s clear
there wasn’t much to say.
Some days words are woven into tapestries
of vivid hues and diamond bright
But other days words are wrapped around night,
just vast blackness,
nothing for a reader to hold onto
to pull themselves into the light.
Tap tap
Oh?
Mmm,
No B. O.
Hmm?
Big guns!
Big guns?
Yo!
No.
Oh?
No.
No?
No.
Oh.
`
Such quick fixes
stick with us.
Duct tape, while great,
for emergency execution
cannot create lasting
solutions.
Love is not love
if it alters when alteration finds
It is an ever fixed mark, said Shakespeare.
Constancy is a quality of mind
that removes sparks of fear.
Love is love
when the word can be relied
upon and expressions of affection
will be supplied, for
faithfulness in word and deed
is the essence of true love’s need.
Tears appear;
truth pools in her eyes.
She looks out the window, scenery unseen,
one droplet, breaking free, tracks a slow progress across
cheek,
chin,
neck.
Another makes the parallel journey.
She turns her face, while she waits, wishes,
then slowly grows the knowledge
that what is
will be.
She weeps out the weakness.
While there may be grief,
acceptance brings resilience.
Resilience
is the power of belief
and relief.
Perhaps it is
some sort of survivor’s guilt
that the fractured fragments
the twisted tableaux of warped memories
those bêtes noires barely contained within your brain,
burst in sullen silence, tremulous terror, or
most disturbing, that zombie calm
of a human automaton.
Perhaps it is
just chemistry asserting its superiority:
neuro-biology exposing itself
as a short-circuiting electric conduit
for daily conduct.
Perhaps it is
an allegory for transformation
or
perhaps it is
futility that demonstrates fallibility
and ultimately, profound humility.
twelve
one
two
three
o’clock.
This hotel room is absent of you,
No lovers’ talk,
just me,
myself,
and seven o’clock is coming far
too soon.
I am overwhelmed
by my responsibilities
and the weight of my grief
that creeps up unexpectedly
to undermine my clarity
to bury me with memories
and underscore my sense of loss.
I’ll hide myself from Helios: find
some sand to stick my head beneath.
I’m fond of flowers
bought because
today is worth celebrating;
they are lovely,
and you are captivating.
Unexpected joy does
blossom for hours.
It’s time:
sublime possibilities await.
Face the gate of the new year
coming near,
without fear.
Can’t wait!
It’s here.
Shawn L. Bird 