The Sea — A Poem

“Acadia Sea” — C.Birde, 9/20

Always…

     always,

         forever & a day,

the sea at its base

heaving

breathing

exhaling salt spray

each deep indrawn breath

released

in swell & spume against

granite slabs & stacks,

blocks & columns…

And those longstanding stones,

grooved equally with age,

call out in reply:

Yes, oh yes…

Wear away our ancient bones…

Grind down our blades & edges…

Relieve us – bit by bit by bit –

of our ponderousness…

Blunt us… Smooth us…

Spread us out beneath your

foam-laced tide…

Grant us curves unknown,

unfelt before your touch

 ‘till we emerge,

reformed.

Always streaming,

     stroking,

           singing

in ceaseless gray-green respiration,

the sea accepts all pleas,

all hopes, all griefs…

laps & soothes & polishes…

Ever willing to oblige,

always,

     always,

         forever & a day,

    the sea receives,

survives.

— C.Birde, 9/20

Queen — An Image

“Beech” — C.Birde, 9/20

“Cherish me,

praise me,

revere me –

or not.

As you will.”

She filtered

light & dark,

wind & rain

as she spoke.

“I will shelter you,

regardless.”

— C.Birde, 9/20

Autumn — A Poem

“Beech” — C.Birde, 9/20

Crickets’ hypnotic trill & hum

Crisp-fizzling leaves & grasses

Hymn of gilt-edged, waning light

Cool air folds up the landscape

Sundials of hearts’ chambers slip

Summer’s flame-crown sputters

Grinning,

dancing,

Autumn comes to burnish

a new measure…

— C.Birde, 9/20

Concealed — An Image

A Rudbeckia, with two petals folded up over its eye.
“Concealed” — C.Birde, 9/20

“Oh,

dear one,”

she soothed &

sighed &

rustled,

“do not conceal

your tears…

They connect you

to all the world’s

sorrows &

joys…”

— C.Birde, 9/20

Interrupted — A Poem

“Eastern Chipmunk” — C.Birde, 9/20

No longer

can I write here,

beneath the shaded

pergola,

blooming with the hum

of bees and the scent

of Virgin’s Bower

as that flowering vine

casts off its petals

like late summer

snow.

No.

You misunderstand.

It is, now, no less

lovely, no less

pleasant;

but the task of fitting

thoughts to words

and words together

has been usurped.

Wait…

Again,

and yet again –

interruption.

The bowl of peanuts

swiftly empties.

Restraint.

Patience.

Calm.

Fine words, indeed;

but ill-fitted to

a chipmunk’s mouth

and never ceasing

needs.

— C.Birde, 9/20

The Small — An Image

“Snail on Goldenrod” — C.Birde, 9/20

“Show tenderness

toward the small,”

she advised

with sly sideways glance.

“For, ultimately,

you, too, are

small.”

— C.Birde, 9/20

Burden — A Poem

“Peaches” — C.Birde, 9/20

Firm as fact.

Sweet as certainty.

My knife parts velvet skin,

slices through yielding flesh

to bite the channeled stone within.

Each taste, ripe and real.

Triumph over falsehood.

Antitoxin to hate.

Each taste, a tonic to these days

of discord.

Burden me –

O please, I beg you –

burden me with the blessing

of Summer’s remaining peaches,

and I may indeed survive…

“Sliced” — C.Birde, 9/20

Gasp…! — An Image

“Rudbeckia” — C.Birde, 8/20

In the breath of time

she had graced

this precious Earth,

she had witnessed

the unimaginable…

— C.Birde, 8/20

Who…? — A Poem

“Rudbeckia” — C.Birde, 8/20

Who are we?

We are who we are.

Amorphous collective

stripped down

to bared teeth & bones.

Subjective “known”

transforming

over months

weeks

–night.

Facades peeled &

pared & rendered

unrecognizable.

Who are we?

I know not

myself.

I know

myself

not.

— C.Birde, 8/20

Thornapple — An Image

“Thornapple” — C.Birde, 8/20

“Admire my lines,

my wanton form & tumble;

inhale my scent, hypnotic…

But be forewarned,” she said

“Press your teeth

not to my throat;

neither pluck nor bruise me;

else risk both thorn

& poison.”

— C.Birde, 8/20