Once again
the adage’s proven true,
when you point at someone,
three fingers point back to you.
What you’re calling out
is probably your issue, too;
the louder you shout,
the clearer the cue!
poem-storm June 8, 2017
Another storm warning.
Cotton clouds turn into coal smoke,
Flashes splice the sky.
We’re drenched by pelting rain,
until it blows by again.
Wouldn’t it be nice
if the newscaster flashed
storm warnings
about flashes of temper
and drenching tears,
so we knew to stay indoors
or prepare our rain gear?
poem-dark April 27, 2016
I’m weary of tunnels.
Closing in around me,
narrowing the future
to a pinpoint of possibility
ahead of the foreboding train.
poem- dalliance November 11, 2014
This is a glimmer
and it will be flame.
She is danger
and you are not fire fighter
enough to avoid
being burnt.
Shawn L. Bird 