Éan Bird

Joined January 2022

0 stories

Bio

Reluctant Writer. Teacher.

Hawking vocal contests for love letters.

Achievements (1)

Runner-Up in After the Parade Challenge

Stories (54/0)

Castles Made of Sand
“You have five hours.” “That is all?” She asked, squinting up from her haunches, brushing her hands to remove clumps of wet sand. The broad figure above her stood in silhouette against the hot sun.
By Éan Bird2 months ago in Humans
Apogee in Advance of Bad Poetry
TO A TEACHER ONCE KNOWN: Poems aren’t my thing, but here’s an odyssey of a dream. I’ll write a ballad. Google says it counts as poetry.
By Éan Bird3 months ago in Poets
Bone-Picked Dystopian Non-Fiction
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Only when he slept, though. She studied the patterns of his breath to recognize the precise drop into REM. She knew when to crouch low across flagstone and when to freeze on the staccato interruption of his snoring. She felt the dark with fingertip intuition. Read, like brail, the correct pane to crack open.
By Éan Bird3 months ago in Confessions
Appalachia In Requiem
Eroded blue folds Ridge, holler--in smoke--swaddled Loss slips through shadows
By Éan Bird3 months ago in Poets
Slop for Fodder
In 2020, on a Friday in March, my life detonated. Since then, I’ve found little season to gather. Uncovered no debauchery or hijinks. To be honest, I still can't figure out what the fuck happened.
By Éan Bird4 months ago in Education
A Composed Drowning
Before we begin. citation I’ve been bamboozled in a vocal media contest! Lured by fish captured in still, aquamarine image. White-fingered text taunting an invitation to wordsmith about aquariums. I slapped knee and hollered, “Hot damn! Finally, a contest fair for a science teacher.”
By Éan Bird4 months ago in Education
still born
wind scraped, sea-carved cliffs scale, in silence, grief's mountain child's ashes, scattered. . fuck due dates. and haikus.
By Éan Bird4 months ago in Poets
Letters of Exigence
Dear Mr. Paolini and Panel Judges, You ask what comes next, but why not ask who or what started it? Way to incite bias. My side of the story is due part in your vocal media contest. That’s why I’m entering. I’ve made clear the conflict and exhibited characters on various other platforms, but I can’t share any of that here because I am tasked–once again–to write about fucking dragons. It was even suggested I outline plot. Fine, here you are:
By Éan Bird4 months ago in Fiction
The Bends
We rolled down a long pebbled driveway, in reverse Truck bed easing around a blind corner. Witnessed, a car at easement, parked, teetering over an embankment
By Éan Bird6 months ago in Poets
Get Comfortable
I did it! Forty submissions. Forty shabby stabs at poems, wielded by a scientist. I never have to look at poetry again. I shall bury the grief of it into an assessment.
By Éan Bird6 months ago in Poets
39/40
The second-to-last poem. I am so done. I never want to verse again. I'm out of words, nothing is left As for now, I'm checking boxes, stretching
By Éan Bird6 months ago in Poets
For Former Pupils
For my former pupils, I entered a contest to write about comfort [Ironic, given the times, if you ask me] But I acquiesced, studied the craft,
By Éan Bird6 months ago in Poets