Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-Wednesday September 13, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:30 am
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I woke to my alarm’s

jaunty greeting, lay lulled, wondering where you were,

until I found the sense of you, pressed against my shoulder blades.

I lay, enjoying the warm weight of you,

until the alarm started up again.

It meant it this time.

So, regretfully,

I pulled away from you,

buried my face in your warm belly,

said farewell as you stretched and smiled up at me.

Wednesday will be a long day apart,

but I will return,

and you’ll be waiting,

eagerly.

.

.

.

(a little homage to my canine companion!)

 

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poem-dream warrior February 10, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:28 am
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You were fighting

a wooly mammoth

with a light saber.

plainly losing the battle.

Your cries drew me to consciousness,

so I saved you

with a waking shake.

Never let it be said,

I haven’t got your back.

 

poem-dreaming April 1, 2015

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:47 pm
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Last night,

I wept over your broken body,

watching bloody pools expanding

beneath your feet.

Today,

you needed seven anti-anxiety pills

and still paced and cried,

your heart throbbing.

Were we dreaming side by side?

Did you see my vision?

Were you scared by day

from mother dreams

of death?

.

.

.

(The dog again.  Sigh.  Put him in the Gentle Leader halter after dinner and he calmed down.  Might try that during the day tomorrow.)

 

 

poem-deep March 31, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:15 am
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He sleeps

breathing deeply,

heavily,

his back steaming

against hers.

She is wishing for his embrace,

longing for his arm across her breast,

his breath tangling in her hair.

She wishes.

He sighs with weighty somulance

then rolls away, settling on the far edge,

of the king sized bed.

His breath comes in rumbling groans and mutterings.

She sighs,

wishing for his embrace

but finding sleep’s instead.

 

poem-flipped January 23, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:35 pm
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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- companionable November 29, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,poodles — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:55 am
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I wake to

the gentle snores

and the warm back

of my canine companion,

whose black eyes blink

and sleepy tail thumps once

as I caress his white wooly side.

 

poem-writers’ bed November 16, 2014

Filed under: Poetry,Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:54 am
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The poetry is loud tonight,

smashing and crashing through

synapses of my neocortex,

drowning the bovine bellows

of my bedmate.

Short stories are shouting.

Poetry is proclaiming itself.

Words are wailing.

They are insistent

in the seams between sleep,

and will not quieten

until I write them down.

.

.

(This is post 1717 on the blog.  It was very loudly proclaiming itself when I tried to go to bed last night, and would not stop until I got out my little book kept beside the bed, turned on the little book light, and wrote down the essentials).  Do you have this problem, too?

 

 
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