Shoes
sturdy, dancing, & lightweight
for hiking, travelling, work, & play;
high-heeled, smooth-soled, steel-toed
Shoes
as comfortable, common, & tough
that support, pinch, bind, or rub
Goody-two shoes
Walk-a-mile shoes
Give-the-boot shoes
Waiting for the other to drop
Or,
dozens & dozens & dozens
of brand-new, white soled
canvas shoes –
tongues & laces lolling –
heaped, mounded, & piled
in a small mountain
of implied choice,
& not a matched
mate among
them.
— C.Birde, 6/21
“I will rain,
&
I will reign.”
Her voice
called storms
& stroked
stone.
“As
I
will.”
— C.Birde, 6/21
“Green lace
& green velvet
are
timeless…”
she mused,
wearing both
to spellbinding
effect.
— C.Birde, 5/21
The truck’s cab,
sparse, dark;
eighteen-wheeled,
manual efficiency,
parked
in a half-filled lot
of compact cars –
automotive giant
amongst
Lilliputians.
Seat,
adjusted.
Mirrors,
angled.
Seat belt,
clicked.
Wheel –
smooth & sleek –
firmly gripped.
When,
without warning,
she leans from
the passenger seat,
grabs the wheel,
stomps the gas…
With belch & roar,
the truck
l u r c h e s
left & forward.
Scrape
of plastic…
Screech
of metal…
The car below –
dwarfed,
overwhelmed –
buckles,
breaks.
Shake her free,
grab the wheel.
Release
the accelerator.
Correct course,
assert control,
& straighten.
Too late,
too late.
The smaller car –
wrecked,
warped.
The damage,
done.
— C.Birde, 5/21
“Now
the ferns
have uncurled,
I go to join
their
green-tongued
incantation…”
A smile alit
in her soft,
wild eye.
“Come
with
me.”
— C.Birde, 5/21
“Despite our flaws –
large & small,
real or imagined –”
her voice swayed
on mild breeze,
“we each hold
the capacity
of great
light.”
— C.Birde, 5/21
“When
the slow greening
calls,”
— arms extended,
she spread
her budding,
blooming
veil –
“what choice
have you
but to
answer?”
— C.Birde, 5/21
Hurled,
I hurtle
past all known limits,
past boundaries prescribed
by time & role & habit
Breaking through
Breaking out
to soar
past cosmic clouds &
dust-filled nebulae
of scintillate light
God of Sun —
of Truth & Prophecy,
of Poetry, Music, Dance,
& Archery
My trajectory charts
the collapse of Time
in adrenaline speed
I am Apollo
What have I to fear?
Yet, I tremble…
tremble in unease
that the eyes of those
who hurled me forth
might glimpse the light
that sheens & skims
reflective on
my polished skin
That to catch their eye,
their vigilant attention,
might reel me
back
& in…
— C.Birde, 5/21
“I am,”
she said
with sly smile
& wink,
“quite literally
living in the
(yellow-white-violet)
pink…”
— C.Birde, 4/2
“Yes,
I know…”
Even as she spoke,
her infinite heart
entrusted its pulse
to all things.
“O, yes,
I’ve missed you,
too.”
— C.Birde, 4/21