Shawn L. Bird

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

poem-other places July 22, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:33 am
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the internet shows

there is rain elsewhere;

people celebrating

with summer fun.

it is not armaggedon

outside their windows;

no red sun an eery ball

in a tawny coloured sky,

no ashen needles settle

on sunflower leaves.

where they are

no threatening glow over the hill

disturbs their hope of sleep

while smoke kisses the suitcases

and bags stacked at the door,

for when the word comes.

.

.

.

Forest fire season in BC! In the last 5 years the summers have been getting consistently scarier. 4 of the 5 were horrible smokey years. While we’ve always had fires in the summer, generally it was rare to have one near communities and one bad fire summer would be followed by many fine years. I don’t remember my childhood in the Okanagan filled with smoke. But now it is the norm. Climate change sucks. A fire that started with a car accident about 38 hours ago is now a raging 800 hectare (~2000 blaze) only 25 km away from us. Very, very, very scary). Our bags are packed and we’re ready to load up if we are put on alert.

 

poem-where there’s smoke July 19, 2021

Filed under: Poetry — Shawn L. Bird @ 2:14 am
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she left the window open

woke to ash on the couch

mountains are obscured

noon light is yellow

armageddon glow

our expressions of worry

furrowed brows

above our masks

(N95 now)

don’t ask about our stress levels

as we check the lightning tracker,

the live stream wildfire map.

After the pandemic

seems we don’t yet have the knack

of acceptance; get the bag

ready to go,

make sure we know where

to rendez-vous, pretend

all this is normal.

What more can we do?

Bless the fire fighters

as the map clicks to fire number

one thousand one hundred thirty two.

 

 
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