Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-letter from the war office November 25, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:19 am
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The first message is a head’s up.

Someone in the building has tested Covid positive and is off to quarantine.

“You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is potential that you were in contact with someone while they were contagious. Carry on until then.”

Potential: having or showing the capacity to become or develop into something in the future.

You know, like how two people in a building have the potential to pass one another, greet one another, use the same facilities, sit in the same chairs, use the same keyboards, sit next to one another at lunch, even though you don’t know them and they don’t know you. You’d identify them how?

I think the more accurate message would be “You will be contacted by an official in the health authority is there is likelihood that you were in sustained contact with someone while they were contagious.”

Let’s be real. Potential is everywhere. Give us the hope of less likelihood!

Several hundred people wait in our masks with bated breath, wondering who will be the ‘lucky’ winner of a lottery worthy of Shirley Jackson.

Pandemic adventures as we attempt to surf the second wave.

 

poem- Yay! It’s Friday! November 24, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:19 am
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First thought upon waking–

elation.

With consciousness–

crash.

Tuesday.

.

Pandemic tension

daily trauma

viral hide and seek

Trench warfare,

wearing us down.

Dreaming of weekend leave,

Before the return to mud.

 

poem- staggering November 17, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:36 pm
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when the students have left,

around the building:

faces crease with concern

bodies droop with fatigue

eyes anguished.

How long can the facade hold

when everyone’s

barely upright?

 

poem- Covering my ears November 2, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:49 am
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la la la la la
I can’t hear you.
Shouting louder?
I’m not impressed yet.
Media black out:
Ahhhh.
(It’s better than a spa).

 

Writing- the pause September 22, 2020

Filed under: Writing — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:29 pm
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For some, the pandemic has offered a blessing of time to write that they’ve longed for, and they have taken advantage, holing up at home and writing that novel that’s always been at the back of their minds.

For some, the stress of managing new complications and layers of deadly danger in their workplace or among their family members has shut down all notions of creative expression. They’re in survival mode, and all the stories that were in process have sputtered to a stop.

I’m in both camps. I’ve managed to keep writing poetry, but larger projects eluded me. Added to the pandemic stress, my 90 year old mom broke her hip in April, went through rehab and was released back home, but then she passed away in June. I am executor of her estate, and the magnitude of work required to clean up a life-time of possessions from her house was dramatic.

So here I am, looking at the last four months of 2020. I had a goal to submit 20 times in 2020, and so far, I’ve sent out 9 submissions. The first 8 submissions were in Jan/Feb, to give you an idea of how completely the pandemic froze my world!

The pause.

I just submitted the 9th thing a few days ago. It’s a promise to myself that it’s time to dig out from the pressure. I am pondering ways I can salvage my goal. I aim to spend some time with my unpublished projects and look for potential homes for them. Is it time to try a mass submission drive? Shall I find 11 completed pieces in my computer and send each somewhere? Contests? Journals? Magazines?

Yes.

There are 15 weeks left in 2020. It’s time to find my lists of ‘where to publish’ (Writers Market, here I come!). If I take a week to find projects in the computer, I can submit one thing a week and maybe even beat my goal!

How about you? Have you been struggling to meet your writing goals amid all the stresses of 2020? Will you be making any changes in the final months of the year to achieve your goals?

Do you have any recommendations of good places to submit?

 

poem- seized April 8, 2020

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:01 pm
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Circles spinning

Words. Confusion.

Frustration.

Irritation.

and then

Enough.

Done.

Control taken.

Plans made.

Tension eased.

Creating manageable goals.

Autonomy seized.

 

poem-yoga in real life December 18, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:00 pm
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You are twisted in knots

pulled here, there, everywhere,

responsibilities,

avoiding hostilities,

paying utilities,

cleaning facilities.

You are wound tight

tossed left and right

crushed under mighty

feet, but step into this

darkened space

seek solace from the thoughts

that race,

trace peace.

Surcease.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Release.

.

.

for Lorien

 

 

poem- computer woes November 24, 2017

 

You ask me for my email address

When given, much to my distress

You claim it’s already registered.

Why yes!  I tell machine, that’s me, for sure!

You ask me for  user name and password

But when I type them, you claim I’m invalid.

Oh, you passive aggressive machine,

You’re not acting like part of this team!

Inside the circuits of your brain

you’re plotting how to cause me pain.

I can hear your fan blade snicker,

as you plot to raise blood pressure.

Oh computer, use your power for good,

and work like the techies claim you should!

.

.

(Another day, another frustrating encounter with technology!)

 

 

poem- not May 11, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:05 am
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I am not enough

to fill the void.

A yawning maw,

a gaping hole,

inadequacy piled upon inadequacy

overwhelms

and I

do not have the mass

to shore up against this tide

of weakness compounded

year after year until they got here.

I am battered.

I am broken.

I am not enough.

 

poem-blood and stone May 10, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 10:47 am
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They say

you can’t get blood from a stone,

but there you are

grinding

and bleeding from the effort.

There you are

releasing your hard heart

and weeping change.

Oh sure,

 

it hurts to be stoned

It’ll kill you, if the impact

hits the right place,

but a bloody stone

is only a reminder

of your strength.

Stones were once mountains

Worn by time and pressure

your mountain has become a stone,

and from your tight grip

drips

blood.

 

 
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