Teardrop

Poesy plus Polemics

 

 

 

so much beauty
reflects in a teardrop
wordless emotion
made visible tangible
lacrimal vestige of
sadness that surfaced
aglimmer with gold
flecks of pain in the
shimmer of heartlight

reflections of
long ago gardens
bursting with color
under radiant skies
become withered
and trampled by
cruel boots of time

of love in its flourish
of innocence given
in tendermost trust
through swift years
become ravaged by
soul-searing losses
again and again

a whole lifetime of
happiness hardship
and heartbreak
appears in fleet
flashes before that
one teardrop slips
down along wrinkled
deep channels to
find its own fate

 

 

From my book Onionskin

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Mirror Mirror

PROSPERMIND

Mirror mirror on the wall,
aren’t you tired of seeing it all?

The good, the bad,
the pretty, the sad.
the ugly, the mad,
the lies, the truth –
all well hidden inside of you.

The small, the tall,
the rise, the fall,
the brave, the bold,
the young, the old –
their countless stories left untold.

The bright, the dumb,
the wounded, the numb,
the wasted, the scum,
the thick, the thin –
and all of us who lived in sin.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
you surely have seen it all,
please, tell me mirror what to do,
all solutions are in you.

Mirror mirror now I see,
the answers I am looking for,
they all unite inside of me.

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The Dream.

PROSPERMIND

It was a dream,
that I was dreaming,
I dreamed of you,
like I’ve never dreamed before.

And in this dream,
that I was dreaming,
we flew to the moon,
where we lived before.

In this dream,
that I was dreaming,
I took your hand,
and kissed it once more.

Oh, in this dream,
that I was dreaming,
you were like the stars,
so beautiful so pure.

But then I woke,
so no more dreaming,
of moonlight dancing,
of a love lost,
so long ago.

I look to the moon,
and wish I’d still,
be dreaming,
of this love,
which sadly,
exists no more.

–

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We burn.

PROSPERMIND

More,
is far too less,
for us.

Hungry hearts,
can’t ever seem,
to get enough.

We let our,
desires burn,
black holes,
into our chests.

We seek pleasure,
at every turn,
hollow shells,
of consumed requests.

We can’t see,
the trail of flames,
we leave behind,
clouds of ash,
blind our eyes.

We only want,
someone to tame,
to hold our hand,
and rescue us,
from the destructive,
grip of fame.

But until we find,
something to fill,
the void inside,
someone who feeds,
our flame at night,
we keep on burning,
through this life.

–

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Me: Zombie.

PROSPERMIND

Me drafting,
through haze,
Me roaming,
godless place.

Me feeling,
inside dead,
Me no flicker,
inside head.

Me rotting,
away my life,
Me wondering,
how me survive.

Me Zombie,
Me Zombie,
you better,
run from me.

Me not know,
what to do,
Me not belong,
among you.

No more logic,
in my eyes,
Me living,
but not alive.

Me so lonely,
Me alone,
Me continue,
aimless roam.

Me lost soul,
Me no goal,
without my core,
me not me any more.

Me Zombie,
Me Zombie,
Me have no,
place to be.

Me not sad,
Me not good,
Me not bad,
Me just dead.

Me walk,
Me roam,
Me Zombie,
forever alone.

–

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No One Told Us

loveletterstoaghost

No one ever told us
how it was going to be.
We received no instructions
or check list to scratch off.
No one warned us
that life didn’t look
like the movies,
and if they did,
we forgot
or didn’t listen
in the first place
because we were free
and time was
intangible,
unfixed,
unhinged.
We were fire
and life was our fuel,
so we weren’t prepared
for the douse,
for the rain
or tides
or any of those things
sent to wash us away.
No one told us
how it was going to be
so we never expected it
to be like this.

~Patience

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poem-preservation

Shawn L. Bird

Distance offered safety

Communication was a precious gift

words in letters to save, tied up in ribbon,

opened and savoured.

Today how do they preserve memories?

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poem-hearts

Shawn L. Bird

Isn’t it strange

how what you imagine will captivate you forever

can become stale and disgusting with time?

Like fruit fallen too ripe,

stinking beneath the tree,

time sometimes does no favours

to distant hearts.

 

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to dust.

the sacred road

dust infused edges of wisdom
coat fingertips
far too ill-prepared
for the power beneath such raised etchings.

there is a humility
formed from the ashes of trauma
that splays open
the need for transparent connection.

it is a badge
worn without honor
for it was forged
in the agony of grief.

but such grace
is born
under broken bones
and bleeding hearts
as the yearning of souls
is universal in its search.

yet those
still unblemished from the passage of time
find purpose in the faltered paths
of those long walked before.

living histories
become side notes
as lessons are lost
upon unwilling and unopened ears.

tradition
becomes a trademark
as identity no longer forms
in the comforting arms
of cultural familiarity.

well loved verses
are soon forgotten
enclosed in long shelved tombs
with pristine pages
now lined in dust covered indifference.

until one day
an aching soul searches
for…

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faded edges of time.

the sacred road

 

the cool bite of autumn
lays crisp and sweet upon the breeze.
it hinges the gap
as endings painfully amalgamate into beginnings.
growth stems
though herspirit throbs
with the rawness of one so newly healed.
a beautiful season lay before her
and the mindful twinges of change
leave herbereft yet undaunted.
the cycle never ceases
and far too many breaths have come
and gone
amongst falling tears and joyful cries.
bright pockets once vivid
in the splendor of their detail
now shimmer with the faded edges of time.
time carelessly expunges the lingering tendrils
that once bridged the here
the now;
but despite its brutish handling,
all that once glimmered
still burns vitally in an un-forgetful soul.
her pillow lay dotted with the ashes
of all that was lost in herrebirth of flame.
but each cinder stained etching
is a soothing balm
knowing that a piece…

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