Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

poem-road June 23, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:18 am
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Win win you think

and she knows your thoughts,

that you don’t imagine

hers differ.

They do.

She wants you, coming and going.

Sit beside for both parts of the journey,

find moments of connection

have those conversations

that are skipped in the day to day.

Those too rare times when you’re together

with nothing to do but hear each other.

She wants words and laughter and plans.

You leave early.  A note on the counter:

meet you there.

She puts her foot on the gas pedal

and travels lonely,

as usual.

Win?

or lose?

 

 

poem- honestly February 15, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:34 am
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If I were being honest,

(truth hurts, my love)

I’d say that while the quotidien care

powers an appreciative couplehood,

sometimes cares require more than chores.

Sometimes, it needs a hug (you first)

or cooking a meal (with vegetables) and setting candles on the table.

Sometimes it means holding hands instead of striding ahead,

and no sighs of impatience or vibrations of irritation.

(Yes. We feel those, when you’re pretending, and it spoils the effort).

Sometimes your diligence with household chores is enough to know you care,

but sometimes

we need more.

 

 

 

poem-hearts February 14, 2019

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:11 pm
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It’s not the chocolates,

flowers,

romantic dinners,

sexy lingerie.

It’s just the words

and actions.

Fixing the brakes,

warming the car,

clearing off snow

before I head to work.

That’s romance.

That’s love.

 

 

 

poem- no fantasy? no romance? December 1, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:21 pm
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It is so sad

that you eschew fantasy and romance in your world.

Without fantasy, where is imagination? Where is spark? Where is possibility?

Without romance, where is connection? Where is life? Where is compatibility?

You, ‘realist’ are deluded.

Facing reality means seeing above, below, beyond, and through.

Recognizing the power of the metaphor.

Feeling the electricity of a touch, when your love has gone.

Celebrating what may be.

It means believing in hope.

A realist is a dead shell lapped upon the beach,

while a great ocean signs beside it and carries whales

and sailing ships off over the horizon.

You can still be sensible,

and see the magic of the world.

 

poem – midnight April 24, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:03 am
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In the black room,

the light from the

DVD player claims

it’s 12:00.

12:01.

12:02.

Every minute

counting down to you.

12:03

Are you dreaming of me?

 

poem-butter October 11, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:30 pm
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She studies his torso,

surveys lines and curves,

tracks

sinews

.  and

.    flesh,

melts,

wishes she was butter:

s p r e a d   o u t ,

simmering,

glistening

in those crevices,

turning into warm caramel

within his embrace.

 

poem- streets June 16, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:32 am
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The streets are not the same

but they still echo with the memory

of our steps.

I still hear your laughter

as we held hands and ran through the rain.

Ever after, I hummed Neil Sedaka on that street

and contemplated surrealism.

Decades later,

I can still hear our laughter.

 

 
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