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For a moment,

let the words lie still

upon my tongue,

Allow my busy mind

to alter

this landscape of sound —

hum and wash of traffic

becomes the Ocean’s distant voice;

yawn of plane spells

the ache and groan of Summer —

that I might hear,

instead,

Her varied tongue

in the wind’s movement

through the trees

and over a landscape

that scatters and dashes with life;

that I might hear

the lap and memory

of water tasting its warmed banks,

and the downward spill

among smooth-skinned beeches

of Wood Thrush’ song;

that I might hear

Gray Catbird call my name.

Let my words spill away,

for a moment,

that when my voice

has stilled,

my silence

goes

unnoticed.

 

— C.Birde, 7/16

 

WP_20160610_11_00_32_Smart (2).jpg
“Tourne Reflection” — C.Birde, 7/16

 

6 Comments

  1. I can hear the catbird calling you…..

    • I knew you would! He serenaded us this morning at 5:15am! (We keep very different hours! 😉 )

  2. i just read your poem, which serves as a balm for a mind troubled by today’s terrible news in the U.S. your last seven lines are lovely.

  3. Thank you, and I am glad if my small offering of words granted you some comfort. It seems, lately, that we spend far too much time and energy shouting at each other rather than looking for ways to extend compassion and empathy. Sometimes, to get away from the anger, I take the dog and go for a long hike…where I can listen again with an open heart. Peace.


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