Once,
we lead the way.
Now,
we’ve walked
away.
Our Blue Mother
grieves
for us.
— C.Birde, 6/17
Our Blue Mother — A Poem
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
Embrace — An Image
Torsos press,
limbs entwine
and wrap,
crowns lean together,
whispering,
and
roots tangle —
in full
embrace.
— C.Birde, 5/17
Arisaema — An Image
Whatever you may call him —
Arisaema,
Bog onion,
Brown dragon,
Indian or Wild turnip,
American Wake robin —
Jack
is
back.
— C.Birde, 5/17
Cherry-Blossom Path — A Poem
Much is written
of rose-strewn paths;
but I prefer to
tread —
lightly, bare of foot —
the petals
dashed to ground
by recent rain
of the leaning cherry —
still pink,
still damp,
still fragrant.
A blushing robe
discarded;
while nearby,
tucked in switch and
bramble,
the catbirds’ songs
weave and flutter like
scattered, honeyed
light.
— C.Birde, 5/17
Cutwork Dogwood — Images
Dogwood petals
filtering light
in cutwork pattern —
confirmation of
Spring.
— C.Birde, 5/17
Flow — A Poem
Swim
through the maple’s
slip-edged,
ripening leaves
and emerge –
balanced, bobbing,
pollen-flocked –
on the cool air’s
shoals.
Tread –
in full embrace –
softened, spreading
light.
Linger in the greening.
And with abandon,
dive –
into burgeoning
May.
— C.Birde, 5/17