Shir Poetry: rain on me.

It's too quiet now-a-days

The sounds in here just aren't the same

Where is the ringing in the moments of the day?

Back in this bubble sound is bleak

It's only buzzing when they speak

There's no excitement when they talk about the rain.

My sleep is peaceful every night

Nothing to stir this busy mind

And I am left to dream of memories once shared.

But I'll keep singing 'til I fly

Relive the times that keep me high

And wait patiently for it to rain on me.

Pablo Neruda: Bird

It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.

Shir Poetry: Somewhere

An ocean of chances not taken

Left a future to run off its course

If I had only the strength then, I have now

I'd be elsewhere.

Every moment that passes I'm stronger

All the while filled with fear it's too late

With assurance our dream was still wanted

We'd be elsewhere.

Unleashed from what held me so captive
Now no longer afraid to be free
A freedom we could share together,
And be somewhere.