Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-shouting late October 27, 2018

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 9:20 pm
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She’s eighty-nine

and now she tells the story of rape,

of giving up a panopoly of dreams

for the baby boy.

(Shot gun wedding)

Love and happiness can’t be forced,

like sex.

Society forced her silence,

condemned divorce,

when she refused abuse,

and sought in the ashes of her dreams

for a phoenix.

Bitter choices,

dream fragments,

cobbled into a life,

grumbled about now.

Dream stealing beast,

a boy who wouldn’t hear no,

seven decades of curses

don’t erase the bitterness

of loss.

.

.

(true story)

 

 

 

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sharing July 24, 2017

Filed under: Commentary,Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 7:08 pm
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Being A Girl: A Brief Personal History of Violence

I wonder how many women do not have these stories in their lives?  I suspect there are few if any.  We acknowledge these stories, but so rarely bother to stand up to them, because they are ubiquitous.  I am glad to see the light being shone on them and the label being attached.  Yes, these are assaults.  Yes, this is violence.  This is why some cultures are so protective of girls, but why, why, why can’t the blame be put entirely where it belongs- on the perpetrators of this violence?

Perhaps because that requires us to look at our own dark natures?

I was recently reading an article that talked about the passive label like “Violence against women” as if there is no agent acting.  Where does that violence come from?  Not the ether.  Let’s label the agents, not the objects of the action.

 

 

poem-flames February 7, 2015

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 3:52 pm
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She’s caught between the flames

of inferno and ice

Accusations of blame,

of who’s not playing nice.

She’s caught between the fury

of defeat and aggression,

For neither is sorry

and all leads to depression.

She’s caught between love

crushed between hate

a magician’s dove

that is stuffed then must wait.

She’s caught between threads

stuffed up their sleeves

’til she’s dangling her head

beneath the nearest trees.

 

 

 
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