Regardless of direction,
of source,
or intention,
the bluster
effects
us
.
.
all.
— C.Birde, 10/18
Bluster — An Image
Moon Song — A Poem
Sing —
singly,
in union;
Tooth-edged wings
scraping,
bending,
bowing
in praise —
each night —
of the moon’s
ever-
shifting
aspect.
— C.Birde, 10/18
Shelter — An Image
Together
we sheltered
within the great cap’s
shadow,
leaned against
the smooth
columnar trunk —
shoulder-to-
shoulder,
wing-blade to
wing.
We collected
the drift
of fallen spores
and made
magic.
— C.Birde, 10/18
Found, Never Lost — A Poem
Dark uncoiling
of slim
ring-necked snake
Shadow
of peregrine cast
in a rush
over blushing
stone
Porcupine quills,
strewn
like toothpicks,
like pick-up sticks
Wild turkeys,
rusticating
Poised
in autumnal air,
a Kingfisher –
hovering,
hovering,
diving
into wind-ruffled
water
Yellow witch’s
butter
Bright scarlet curve
of salamander
tucked amidst
leaf-fall
The red squirrels’
constant scolding
Myself,
returned,
renewed,
restored.
— C.Birde, 10/18
Last Day of Summer — An Image
He wore the light
of the last day
of Summer
— in his hair —
like a
crown
ablaze.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Constant — A Poem
Change
if you must
exchange your
limits —
imposed,
self-fashioned —
for broader
space.
Ivy embraces
the picket fence
and moss creeps
over stone.
Slow patter of rain
carves its own
sweet route.
Change
if you must,
if you wish.
But never forget —
small as I am —
that I have always
loved you.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Small Friends — An Image
My friends are
small and numerous,
quiet and quirky,
and
never fail
to delight.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Schism — A Poem
Two weeks ago, three weeks early, he said goodbye.
A day after the incident –
Pale streak of feathers with talons, outstretched and efficient
Tangle of cries and silence caught within deer netting and ripening tomatoes
The scene unfolding beyond the bay windows, as, unwilling, I observed and thought (disjointedly) of Casablanca, the words re-working in my head
“Of all the birds, in all the yards, in all the world – the hawk has taken mine”
As I thought (unkindly), while running from the house in futile effort, of the multitude of House Sparrows whose numbers could bear thinning, my cries of negation to stop, avert, reverse the course of events and pluck those yellow claws from that small gray breast and separate the two – Little hawk (Sharp Shinned? Coopers? he will not tell me) from Gray Catbird – to unwind time and heal the wound…
Above me, despite me, beyond my reach and will and pleas, Little hawk wheeled away with his prize – young parent to this year’s only fledgling.
The burning bush, previously a-shiver with activity, is still.
The pergola, with its unrestrained clematis vines, remains empty.
The container of raisins sits on the counter, untouched, unshared.
Two weeks ago, three weeks early, he said goodbye —
my small avian friend of untold years —
A day after the incident.
Next year, next spring — so far off —
will reveal if he’ll return
again.
— C.Birde, 9/18
August Song — A Poem
Song of August…
Summer’s slow
u n s p o o l i n g –
florid and
debauched –
sung in yawns
and thunder…
Staked or trellised,
the vines
untwine and
t
u
m
b
l
e
past
their margins.
The long exhale
arrives –
measured in
the static drone
of insects.
— C.Birde, 8/18
Fiery Skipper — An Image
At rest
but not resting —
scaled wings
skip
with erratic
intent
in fiery
flight
.
.
.
— C.Birde, 8/18