Small victory
multiplied.
Big tasks
divided
into
parts
so
small–
how could I not succeed?
Deadlines
focus goals.
Day by day,
Chew each bite thoroughly.
Done!
Launch hope with a key stroke.
Completion is victory enough,
but still…
Fingers crossed.
poem-flipped January 23, 2015
You need a silent rest
and I need recumbency.
I find a peaceful place,
I recline and read and write
throughout the night,
come to bed at dawn
to greet you as you rise.
But office workers
call at nine, nine thirty, ten
and so with blurry eyes I
pretend lucidity,
then fall back to sleep
until you return at two.
My head and ankle
have schedules
out of sync with offices,
though I’m in tuneful counterpoint
with you.
poem-the switch August 6, 2014
Trying to type
Fingers feel
unattached to hand.
Eyes blur.
Stomach rocks
Head dull.
It’s so hard
to rejoin
the diurnal world
.
.
Thursday I have to be in a workshop at 8 a.m. my time. I need to be alert and absorbing information. I’ve been going to bed between 4 and 7 a.m. the last few nights, working through the greatest heat. My plan was to start last Friday, moving back an hour each night, but it didn’t work. It was 4:30 on Sunday and 3:30 on Mon, despite pharmaceutical aid. (I can stay up for hours after sleeping pill. My body relaxes, but my brain just keeps plugging along…) Wish me luck getting to bed at midnight tonight, with all my packing and preparations in order!
Yawn
Shawn L. Bird 