I lie
Poems buzzing
about my head
Like mosquitoes.
I wait
For them to land,
Pinch them carefully,
Drop them into a
preserving jar of ink,
seal them between
leaves and binding.
I lie,
Free to seek
the peace
of sleep.
poem-gastric catastrophe April 1, 2014
The dog
comes inside,
his belly
mewling like he’s swallowed
a litter of kittens
and their yowling mama.
Is it indigestion,
or did that temptress on the fence
finally fall
into his waiting jowls?
poem-magic mirror March 31, 2014
The lake has captured the sky
reflecting clouds on blue silk,
shore lines doubled,
snow dusted trees, like brushes,
paint mist
suspended half way between reality
in a magic mirror of spring.
poem- trim time March 9, 2014
Your toe nails
echo in the hall like
a cavalcade of snare drums.
Thundering timpanic tribulation
of tip tapping echoing through my brain,
draining me of peace.
Your toe nails
four times four feet times two
(two square roots of feet)
Are a private percussion section
depriving me of sleep.
.
.
.
I need to trim the dogs’ toe nails.
Arg.
poem- lost January 21, 2014
I lost a poem today
It came to me, a shy friend
and whispered in my ear
such beautiful words.
I savoured them
and rolled them on my tongue
but before I could make a
penned permanence
of friendship
it flitted away,
leaving loss
and longing
in its place.
poem-writing is like baking a birthday cake January 18, 2014
Writing a novel is like baking a birthday cake.
First, you figure out what kind it is
chocolate, vanilla, spice, angel?
historical? horror? teen? romance?
What is your audience?
Three toddlers? Fifty seniors?
Then you add the ingredients in some order
flour, eggs, milk, sugar
protagonist, conflict, plot, setting
Then you mix them all together and add some heat
from an oven
an editor or first readers
It cooks, changing from ingredients into cake.
It’s edited from a manuscript to a book.
When it tests as being done,
it has to sit a bit to cool
Then it is shared with a small group, or a huge crowd
People celebrate with candles, smiles and songs
A cake lasts a moment, but the memory can linger.
A book lasts longer, but the memory of the first moment lingers.
poem- the other side January 10, 2014
The world is white on the outside
but she is black.
The core of her is burnt and raw,
bubbling flesh like molten lava.
The yard is sugar coated and bright
but she is dark.
The soul of her is encrusted and festering
rotting organs like gangrenous limbs.
The world is playfully building snowmen
but she is deconstructing herself.
Laughing children throw snowballs from
behind fortress walls that will melt.
Her fortress is firmly constructed;
joy will not reach her
until it bleeds away like winter.
.
.
.
.
Today’s composition explores contrast. I’m trying to be a bit Plath-like here, though it’d be hard to capture the depths of her misery without living the pathos, perhaps?
poem- Okanagan sunset January 5, 2014
Inferno fills sky,
flames roil like crashing sea,
cremating the sun.
poem- Havasu December 25, 2013
Lunar landscape
miles upon miles
of dust,
red rocks,
and sky
stretching wider than a sky has business stretching
then a surprise:
startlingly blue lake
reflects cloudless blue sky
and London Bridge.
How odd.
.
.
.
Lake Havasu City, Arizona, is set beside the lake formed by Parker Dam on the Colorado River. The city is accessed via historic Route 66.
poem- tree love December 20, 2013
Your fingers grow
twisted like mangled branches.
Your hands grow knobbly like old roots.
You groan and stretch, astonished at the youth
of your mind and agonized at the aging of your body.
But I see the same man whose brain enthrals
like a tall, dependable
trunk.
whose
body
captivates
like a
canopy
of new
green.
I played among branches and roots as a child,
and I still love climbing trees.
Shawn L. Bird 