Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-mashed January 13, 2016

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 5:50 pm
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Mashed potatoes are a delicacy

when a tooth has been pulled,

the jaw is tender,

and one hasn’t eaten in 15 hours.


poem- sliced 2 October 2, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 8:48 am
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I was numb,

but I felt the gentle line you drew

across my skin, blade slicing deep.

You stretched me open,

revealed my patched bones,

unscrewed the metal holding me together.

Oh, you sewed me back together,

taped over the black sutures,

and here I lie, propped up against realities,

hoping for the best.




It sounds so lovely and metaphorical, but it’s literal.  🙂 Successful surgery this week to remove the plates and screws that repaired my broken fibula last January.  The screws were working out on their own and causing a fair bit of pain.  Looking forward to returning to regular, pain-free mobility very soon!


poem-screw you! July 3, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 11:26 am
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Oh you, Screw,

exiting from bone

seeking a new home

pushing through my skin

in increasing agonies of effort.

As we part ways, may I state

that while I appreciate you having held me together

during that stint of cold weather,

it’d be great if you stay in place until

the surgeon takes you away!

(This ankle pain rankles me).


(I only wish this one was figurative, rather than literal!)


poem-sliced January 12, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:13 am
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I was broken.

You sliced me,

knife blade deep,

peeling back skin,

excavating muscle,

exposing bone.

Then you

wound in screws,

stitched me together,

wrapped me in glass

and left a slash of

pulsing agony

to remember you by.



(Dedicated to Dr. Parfitt my orthopædic surgeon. 🙂  Sounds so much better as a metaphor; unfortunately he did all this literally!) 😉


poem-chemically adored? January 10, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 4:14 am
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Every hour on the hour

the baby wakes you up

and in a stupor you stagger

to diaper it, feed it, and cuddle it.

every hour on the hour

the incision wakes me up

and in a stupor I reach for drugs

to temper it, relieve it, and smother it.

It is like having a new baby

without the benefit of oxytocin

to make me love the torturer.



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