(with apologies to William Carlos Williams)
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This is just to say
I have eaten
The last
of the tortilla chips
I know you
Were saving them
For a bedtime snack
But like you
they were salty
And so delicious.
How could I resist?
(with apologies to William Carlos Williams)
.
This is just to say
I have eaten
The last
of the tortilla chips
I know you
Were saving them
For a bedtime snack
But like you
they were salty
And so delicious.
How could I resist?
On the outside:
calm, controlled, confident.
Beneath the surface:
quivering, quaking, confused.
How many stress-based illnesses
tension fueled troubles
surface in our bodies and minds?
How hard do we fight
to carry on?
(These were fun demos written with my students as we worked through some poetry devices on “Poetry Friday-the Wednesday edition”)
Super stinky socks
So easily knee socks crease
Stinky socks stick to my shoes
They slurp when I pull them out.
But say! My socks still rock!
.
Socks are mittens for feet
Comfort like a warm fire in winter.
My wooly socks hug my feet
My silent shout of happiness
declares my stinky socks the finest perfume in the world.
I like my socks.
(Can you find assonance, alliteration, consonance, hyperbole internal rhyme, metaphor, onomatopoeia, oxymoron, personification, simile, and understatement?)
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This concussion is a constriction
squeezing my head like a snake
hugging my eyes closed.
Light pressure. Dark daylight.
Just a little inconvenience.
Eventually
Reality has to intervene.
You’re not destined for the NHL
Or the corps de ballet
Your voice will not sell
A million records.
Simon sends you packing.
Reality can suck.
But if playing hockey
Brings you happiness
Why stop just because you’ll never hoist the Stanley Cup?
Dance like nobody’s watching
Sing until you’re smiling.
Don’t let reality rob you of the joy
Of the activity itself.
The rush of a beautiful pass and goal.
The beauty of a perfectly formed pirouette.
The harmony than hums in your ear.
Celebrate those moments for ten thousand hours.
They say ten thousand hours yields excellence.
Perhaps you’ll need twenty.
Or thirty.
Embrace the joy.
Share in a community of like minds.
Perhaps after forty thousand hours
Your reality will change
And if it doesn’t,
At least you’ll nurture your soul.
Like reality,
Success has many faces.
I pass the old man
on his balcony.
Huge sunglasses
through which he watches
like a
diurnal owl;
the world unfolds below him.
Just like my dad liked to sit.
I don’t wipe away
my tear.
I feel your humming.
Though you are far,
the vibrations of your present loss
reverberate.
I am humming
remembering you
near
nearer
nearest
wrapped around
my memories
squeezing like
a garbage compactor
humming
as it crushes
moments into
memories.
They’re talking love letters
and I hold my tongue
but not my lips.
The tilting corners betray me.
The envelopes with your distinctive hand writing
my name like a caress
glued down like a kiss,
all our hopes and dreams scribbled onto foolscap
by a fool to a fool
giddy from hormones.
And now love letters
are notes on the counter:
“Turn on the crockpot at noon”
“Running errands. Back around 3.”
Messages that mean you still
love me.
This was your toothpaste.
The tube still holds the contours of your fist
the last squeeze you gave it.
I wrap my hand around
imagine your grip,
the skin on your hand like satin tissue
squeezing paste to scrub your teeth.
It is a long time before I can remove the lid
and squeeze the paste onto my own brush.
Remembering your hand
holding mine.
The vehicles wind along the highway
a immobile caterpillar
stalled by a moment
when the physics of motion, energy, and force
spun unfortunates into each other’s path
with a crash
that froze the goings
and made everyone in the long line
contemplate mortality.
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The stretch of the TransCanada Highway between Sicamous and Salmon Arm is a frequent site of accidents. I usually count on having to detour from work 3 times each winter. Today was the third, and there are 2 months of winter left. Our thoughts are with those who were involved in the accident, and medi-vacced out.
Shawn Bird is an author, poet, and educator in the beautiful Shuswap region of British Columbia, Canada. She is a proud member of Rotary.