Like rain falling,
f
a
l
l
e
n,
Memories collect
to dimple
the surface.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Reflect — An Image
Sun Day — A Poem
Seconds,
Minutes,
Hours –
The slow and certain accumulation
of six-months’ time
tilts the scales
in daylight’s favor.
Solstice of Summer.
Exultant and unaware,
we blissfully tread
the insubstantial
garment of our shadows,
as the Hours
Minutes,
Seconds
steadily
reverse
their
course.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Green Summons — An Image
At their feet
lay a low, flowering carpet —
a green invitation.
Patiently,
they await
our
decision.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Seasonal Truths — A Poem
She flits
among the underbrush,
shadow clad in shadow.
He sings
in liquid, honeysuckled
light and borrowed notes,
songs un-repetitive,
unrepeatable.
A stroke of shadow,
she huddles
atop a nest of sticks and
grass and ribbons built,
like his song,
in careful,
r a n d o m
fashion.
Chasing
blue jay,
grackle,
awkward young starling,
he repels
any who come too near.
My name,
tucked beneath
their wings,
in their
throats and call —
I answer.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Pendant — An Image
After the long night’s
dancing
beneath the full embrace
of moon,
She hung her slippers,
— pendant —
from the arching bough
to bloom —
dew-stitched slips
of ivory.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Our Blue Mother — A Poem
Once,
we lead the way.
Now,
we’ve walked
away.
Our Blue Mother
grieves
for us.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Bloom of Privet — An Image
Allowed to bloom
along the sidewalk,
the privet hedge spills
a white drift of blossoms
in a frill
of sweet scent.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Small Storms — A Poem
It is not the rain,
nor the drawn, pewtered sky,
but the unexpected rupture,
the rent calm and
aftermath of grief
that pulls,
tugs,
drags like teeth
through shorn grass.
The price of a heart
unbound.
Bear it.
Embrace it.
Sit with it —
an old friend come
to pay respects —
till inching hours blunt
the tooth-and-claw edges.
Ride it out,
like the small,
insistent,
significant storm
that it is.
— C.Birde, 5/17
Pocket Sanctuary — An Image
Duck the twining honeysuckle,
dripping with recent rain,
enter through the open gate
on two legs, four, or six,
on wings;
Let hearts be softened,
fears soothed,
hurts healed;
Leave all anger
and hardness behind
this pocket sanctuary,
to be swept away,
un-needed,
forgotten.
— C.Birde, 5/17
Chimera — A Poem
Clad
in admiralty blue,
rank dabbed and denoted
in white and black,
he clutches,
in an executioner’s grip,
the limp featherless form
still pinked with the breath
of recent life.
Cloaked
in delft and gray,
eyes bright with a
sunset captured,
she is pursued and scolded.
And I,
a witness apart,
must remind myself –
there is
no malice present,
nor joy
in the other’s suffering.
There are
no monsters
here.
— C.Birde, 5/17