She wrapped me
in Summer’s cloak,
pressed a star’s kiss
to my brow,
& said:
“Do not let
your grief
douse
your light.”
— C.Birde, 7/22
She wrapped me
in Summer’s cloak,
pressed a star’s kiss
to my brow,
& said:
“Do not let
your grief
douse
your light.”
— C.Birde, 7/22
Shrill summer —
heady spell of drama,
pushed and pulled
to extremes.
A full-throated
shout
of heat and light and
expectation,
swollen
beyond tolerance.
Cicadas rehearse
their one-note
chorus,
and sparrows leave
shallow depressions
beneath the hedge
to mark
their baths of dust.
Disconnected,
we hide and bemoan
the heat,
impoverished time,
our stillborn
dreams.
— C.Birde, 8/2/17
Clouds
blur the horizon,
smudge
the crooked line
defining
here and there,
then and now.
Slowly,
the crows return
to roost
in the evergreen’s
upswept boughs,
their wings glossy,
inked with words
unwritten.
The sky inhales,
constricts and
saturates.
The rains will pour;
the dreaming
recommence.
The words
will
f
o
l
l
o
w .
— C.Birde, 7/17
Giddy Spring,
when all Nature
conspires
in song,
and courtship,
and joined, jubilant
SHOUT!
— C.Birde, 4/17
Slate stepping stones lead up the grassy hill to a fieldstone arch. Flowering vines climb and tumble over the stones in green-leafed embrace. A heavy wooden door is set within the arch; which is older – door or stones – is difficult to determine. The stones, plucked from the surrounding hillside, are worn; their serrated edges smoothed. But the door, too, has aged and hardened. Once ligneous in nature, the door’s brass-bound boards have absorbed the elements and now mimic the solidity of their frame.
Just above the hill, just beyond the closed door, as if waiting to be invited in or to welcome and entertain, the full moon hovers. It is enormous in size and brilliance, hung against the immense, black back-drop of star-pricked night. The moon’s calling card of light slips beneath the door’s crack, limns its edges. And, at eye level, a small, crescent moon cut from the door’s face, traps and holds the moon’s glow.
Winter wind
and
light,
strained through
needle
and
compact cone,
bear
the Ocean’s
breath.
— C.Birde, 2/17
Dawn arrives,
despite the wounds,
the worry.
An invitation
to renew hope,
to begin
again.
— C.Birde, 2/17
That space —
just inside
the side door —
splashed with
January light…
Enough to lure
both cat and dog
to vie for
possession
of its gradually
narrowed wedge,
its bone-filling
memory,
of warmth.
— C.Birde, 1/17
Blazing July sun
flings spears of heat and light
as it advances through the garden.
— C.Birde, 7/16