Being — A Dream

A photo of a sketch from my Dream Journal of the creature described in this verse.
“Being” — C.Birde, 10/21

How?

How did we two – strangers to each other –

accomplish such a feat?

call this creature from penumbral obscurity

into being?

Full moon blooms beyond refracted panes,

rinses this place, this manor – labyrinthine –

in silvered light

Halls

chambers

corridors

crowd close from all sides, lean in

in long condensed & aged neglect, exhale

Rugs

furniture

gilt ornament

Beneath the pale moon’s benevolent eye,

as one, we two crouch, side-by-side,

astounded

breathless

exhilarant

peer beneath the glass table’s oblique lip

at this inarguable astonishment…

This blunt-tipped quadruped;

squat necked, squared head;

its torso thick, quadrangular;

of conclusive features, devoid…

Eyeless

Mouthless

Noseless

Boneless

And yet, curiously, fully animate

Of a tangerine shade so brilliant, bright,

& incandescent,

all darkness recedes as if repelled…

She – my unknown familiar friend –

extends her arm, her hand to trace…

The creature bucks, sprightly prances

to safety, out of reach, away…

“Hush & wait, do not frighten it…” I say,

“We first must win its confidence…”

Teasingly, it dances at the edge…

How?

How did we, two strangers-not –

despite darkness & abandonment,

from forgottenness nostalgic –

how did we call this creature forth

& into being?

We did.

— C.Birde, 10/21

Caught — An Image

An artfully altered photo of a Helianthus flower in full bloom, from behind.
“Helianthus” — C.Birde, 10/21

“Sometimes…”

her voice slipped,

in wink & rustle,

through narrow leaves,

“I sneak up

on unsuspecting blooms,

& catch them

in the act of

photosynthesis…”

— C.Birde, 10/21

Full — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of the Full Moon rising over the Porcupine Islands of Maine's Frenchman Bay.
“Full Moon” — C.Birde, 9/21

Sea

calmly addressing

rocky shore,

wavelets undulating

Moon

lifting, watery & fully

formed,

the surrounding dark,

obliterating

And I,

breath and pulse

re-synchronizing,

one witness amid those

witnessing

And I,

my pockets brimming

with silvered,

shining,

chiming slips of light

to carry home.

— C.Birde, 9/21

Asters — A Poem

An artfully altered photo looking up through the leafy stems and pink blooms of New England Asters.
“New England Asters” — C.Birde, 9/21

Air,

thick ribbed

with insect song;

Sky,

stretched taut

with cloud,

thinned blue;

Tremor,

soft wrenching,

     v i s c e r a l.

I think of you.

Small birds

sway clinging

to seed heads,

blown…

Always,

I think of

you.

 

— C.Birde, 9/21

Queen Oak — An Image

An artfully altered photo looking up the trunk of a great oak tree and through its leafy limbs.
“Queen Oak Tree” — C.Birde, 9/21

“I have written

your name

in a hundred million

places…

Blade of grass…

Curl of breeze…

The underneath

of a white oak’s leaves…”

Her wink scattered

beams of light.

“Are you

l o o k i n g?”

— C.Birde, 9/21

Beh(o/e)ld — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of a field of tall sunflowers against a cloudy blue sky.
“Sunflowers” — C.Birde, 9/21

A thousand suns

lift their heads

& turn as one

Unseeing

Unblinking

Bee-scented

rays a-tremble

Attuned to

unfathomable

source &

soundless

song.

— C.Birde, 9/21

Solace — An Image

An artfully altered close-up photo of a Beech tree's leaves and seedpods, and a forested background.
“Beech” — C.Birde, 9/21

“You speak

in terms of months,

seasons,

years…”

She smiled greenly,

shook

her leaf-crowned

head.

“Oh, but, darling,

you are rooted

in the

eternal.”

— C.Birde, 9/21

Freedom — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of a rain-slicked wildflower garden in a 100-plus-year-old suburb.
“Garden of Rain” — C.Birde, 9/21

This morning,

at breakfast,

clad in green smoke,

Humming-girl paid

a visit and darted

between the fizz and

drizzle of gray rain,

unspattered.

Mid-air, she paused –

suggestion of form

and wings; an aura,

a blur –

to observe us encased

in our glass-walled

box.

We think ourselves

sovereign. Free.

Absurd.

In a breath and a wink,

she was

gone.

— C.Birde, 9/21

Stew — A Dream

An artfully altered photo of a yellow-enameled cast-iron Dutch oven, filled with shredded paper, on a stove top.
“Stew” — C.Birde, 8/21

Ingredients:

2 c. vegetable broth

1 c. brown lentils

2 T. extra-virgin olive oil

1 onion, thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 t. ground cumin

½ t. ground coriander

½ t. ground turmeric

salt & fresh-ground black pepper, to taste

1 manuscript, shredded

Method:

On full, dark night in open-format kitchen with streamlined, brushed-steel appliances – open all of porch’s double French doors in invitation to West Wind to pour over slate floor.

Place oval Dutch oven with tight-fitting lid over medium heat; add olive oil; heat until shimmering, ≈ 3 minutes. Add onion & garlic; sauté until onion softens & becomes translucent, stirring occasionally, ≈ 3-5 minutes. Add lentils & spices; stir well to combine; allow lentils to toast slightly, ≈ 2 minutes. Add vegetable broth; stir until well incorporated.

Carefully add shredded manuscript. Observe any stray words: Autumnal; wind-slippered; irrelevance. Consider meaning. Incorporate all slim strips with other ingredients; bring to boil. Reduce heat to low; cover & allow to stew indefinitely.

While waiting, notice Moon’s reflection in countless glass panes; listen to silence; water plants.

— C.Birde, 8/21

August — An Image

An artfully altered photo of a reed and flower filled meadow, with tower cattails.
“Rattlesnake Meadow, August” — C.Birde, 8/21

“I will lounge…”

she extended her limbs,

“…in all my cholorophylled,

green-gold glory

& drink August

to its last,

sweet

dregs.”

— C.Birde, 8/21