Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-gone August 3, 2021

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:53 pm
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Beyond us

the world has gone

swallowed in grey

a haze that glows orange

at night, around the edges that once

were mountains.

We cannot breathe.

Beyond us

the world has gone.
.

.

.

.

Purpleair.com reports our air quality has improved today. We’re down to 389 from 450s (out of 500) earlier in the week. Still “extremely hazardous.” Wildfires are most unpleasant, particularly where valleys converge and smoke from several fires gathers. The smoke is visible in the street and yards. 254 active fires in our province, over 40% of them out of control. 4 large fires in our local region. Thousands of people evacuated or on alert. Hoping for a weekend of lightning-less rain to wash the sky and allow for deep breaths again! Our lovely 30 degree Celsius summer is wasted when one can’t be outside.

 

poem-fire season September 6, 2020

Filed under: poem,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:00 pm
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Goldenrod sky

Fire in the distant hay

My stolen breath

 

poem- prep July 14, 2018

Beneath a cloudless blue sky

I feel the storm coming,

black clouds gathering.

Could they reflect black shirts?

I ponder,

seriously,

if I should be building false walls

to hide those who will be escaping tyranny.

I wonder,

if I am far enough from a border to avoid

occupation.

A century ago,

they didn’t understand the signs,

but now we do.

Those who read are the first removed

when the evil rises.

Do all those kids who demanded,

“Why do we have to learn this?”

remember that their teachers said,

“So you’ll see the signs.”

“So it will never happen again.”

“Remember, they elected Hitler;

“they heiled and fell for his lies,

“because they wanted to believe their superiority,

“wanted a scapegoat for their troubles.”

There can be no excuses.

Shall I buy bricks or drywall?

Where will I construct false bottoms?

Where will we hide in the resulting rubble,

when the jack boots stomp through?

Another cristelnacht, this time in New York?

The hammock swings its consolation:

It can’t happen here.

It won’t happen here.

How many said those words a century

ago?

How many grew to knowing the meaning

of fear?

 

poem-smoke August 1, 2017

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:56 pm
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Summer here,

choking heat

forests fill the sky

as ash.

 

poem-beaming August 16, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:54 pm
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The moon is a street light

dimming the gleam of stars

while amphibian love songs

fill the summer night.

 

poem-tranquility August 10, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:29 am
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I count three shooting stars

as the porch swing rocks to the rhythm

of one desperately lovesick frog.

 

poem-geese August 7, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:08 pm
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The temperature has soared;

crowds gather  on the lake

for another hot summer day,

but early this morning

I heard the geese leaving,

portents of autumn on the wind.

 

 

 

poem-summer singing July 31, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 12:43 pm
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Evening chorus

is al fresco dining

‘Hello out there!’

‘Where are you, baby?

‘Over here, boys!’

Amphibian karaoke.

Beating out its rhythm of

summer romance.

 

poem-summer July 24, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 1:31 pm
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Hot day.

The mall is packed.

Swimming lessons need a driver

(kids can’t get anywhere by themselves, after all).

Joggers sweating past.

Gas mower chugs obnoxiously around the yard.

I miss the soft swisha-swisha of dad’s old Rotary mower

when summer was gentler

and filled with children’s laughter.

 

poem-hammock day June 30, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:07 pm
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Nothing says summer

like the  swaying of a hammock

under a tree.

 

 
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