He Laughed
as she approached.
“You look so funny,” he said,
“you look so beautiful.”
One
can be
both
?
— C.Birde, 1/19
Contradiction — Image & Truth
Wisdom & Whiskers — A Poem
“When the student
is ready,
the teacher will
appear”…
I am not yet seated
to accept
this instant,
this moment,
this now —
and the sage
arrives.
Paws correct
posture;
rough tongue
adjusts hands’
placement;
trace of whiskers
prickles,
challenges
focus.
Lap
full.
Heart
open.
Progress gauged
by tail’s tip;
critique delivered
in rumble and
purr.
— C.Birde, 1/19
Hamster Transport — A Dream
With the wind in her hair, she stands barefooted on the clipped, green lawn. Forlorn, despite her youth and utter beauty. “How will I get him home?” she asks. Curled asleep within her smooth, open palms, is a hamster.
Her question assumes a great deal. How to answer, when so much is obscure, unknown?
Fading sunlight gilds the park’s grassy knolls, burnishes its swells and swards. Beyond the lawn’s edges, over the sidewalk on the street’s far side, a clutch of little shops huddles, wall to wall. Their shadows lengthen, creep across the street. She chokes back a soft sob.
In the distance, a throaty rumble sounds, grows louder with approach. Hopeless and hopeful, she glances in the sound’s direction — toward the answer she seeks. Toward the improbable.
Gliding along the pavement, a pair of sleek motorcycles appears – all smoky chrome and gleaming steel. Snugged beneath the seat of each, suspended just in front of each machine’s purring engine, is a hollow sphere of translucent yellow plastic. And, scurrying about contentedly within each sphere…is a white and russet hamster…
— C.Birde, 1/19
Overture — An Image
Come.
We’ll distill tree shadow
and bird song
and slips of moonlight
to perfume our days,
our dreams.
— C.Birde, 1/19
Crows — A Poem
Remember
when we stood beneath
the great spruce,
faces tilted upward,
hands lifted to catch
their rough laughter
as it fell –
heavy as pinecones,
bright as crescents of
moonlight –
from those vast,
outstretched limbs?
Six years gone,
the tree cradles silence;
the absence echoes
forward.
We wait below;
patient;
hands
empty.
— C.Birde, 1/19
Ledge & Lion — A Dream
The full moon shines over a shattered landscape, illuminates the chunks and rubble of former structures – houses, shops, garages. A perilous terrain of tumbled stone and cement foundations; of splintered beams and twists of toothy, rusted metal; of vertical portions of walls. The moon’s light is kind, pitying; paints all in soft, silver monochrome.
Crouched. A solitary human cast amidst a forgotten collection of debris; on a ledge of broken flooring, near a remarkably intact window. The ledge juts from a roofless, two-story wall that has forgotten to fall. Keep as far from the splintered edge as possible, to avoid slipping, toppling over, out and downward – to avoid the lion that lies in wait below. It moves back and forth through random waste, like an alligator. Occasionally, the lion bunches up its hind legs and leaps, launches itself up through the dark, spreads its talons and scrabbles for purchase along the floor’s crumbling ledge. It need not gain a solid foothold; with each leap and gouge, the lion removes a piece of flooring before it falls back to earth. Soon enough, the ledge will be narrowed, eroded.
Discourage the lion’s efforts. Fling random objects through the dark — a length of pipe; a split two-by-four; a chunk of plaster; a beautifully made antique wood plane. Track each object’s trajectory, hear each clatter amongst the debris below. Hear the lion’s low huff and growl, the heavy pad of its footfalls as it paces, paces, paces. Hear the lazy switch and sweep of its tail as it prepares to leap again.
— C.Birde, 1/19
Walls — An Image
Scale
the heart’s walls…
Overcome
the mind’s restrictions…
Spread kindness —
like a disease
our lives
depend
on.
— C.Birde, 1/19
Resolution — A Poem
Resolved
to remain open
to change
as the desire,
the need,
the opportunity
arises…
Beholden
to no one day’s
measure of success
or failure.
Each day,
a new day
dawning.
— C.Birde, 1/19
Renewal — An Image
Curl up
in January’s moon-soaked,
star-swept
arms…
Pull the deep-piled
nights
to chin height…
And slumber,
recuperate,
dream.
— C.Birde, 1/19
New, Anew — A Poem
New day,
New Year,
dressed in
yesterday’s dust
and glamor.
Extend
an open hand,
an open mind,
an open heart
in greeting.
— C.Birde, 1/19