Fuchsia boom of
azalea bloom —
explosion of
day-glo colors,
tattered
by wind and
pelting rain,
petals bruised
and gone
in a day.
— C.Birde, 5/18
Boom — An Image
No One You — A Poem
For no one
no one else
would I return
once the door has
shut
the lock thrown
but for you
only you
would I retrace
the shadows of
my steps
along the bricks
climb the stairs
anew
I hear you call
return for
you.
— C.Birde, 5/18
Chloro-Filled — An Image
Filled —
with light and
life and
magic.
Each leaf a
cellular agreement,
an exchange
of breath.
Filled,
refilled —
chloro-filled.
— C.Birde, 5/18
Falling Above — A Poem
Overhead,
above –
an earthward
tumble
of song and
smoke,
d
o
w
n
through budding
trees.
Two small birds,
a palm’s worth
each…
Beating wings.
Knitted,
knotted feet.
Rivals –
singing,
calling,
falling
d
o
w
n.
For one fleet
moment,
I might
be crowned,
adorned in
feathered,
kinetic
strife.
— C.Birde, 5/18
Gift — An Image
Gift Box Turtle —
red-jasper-eyed,
wrapped
in gold scrawl
and east-morning
light.
Our paths crossed
at the trail’s
edge –
the gift,
was all
mine.
— C.Birde, 5/18
Returned — A Poem
Like a young
creek –
bouncing & jaunty,
erratic;
Like morning
light –
spangled & bright,
yet vaporous;
His song
accompanies dawn,
trips through the air,
& g l i d e s through
the second-story
window
to announce
his arrival…
Spring is absolute
now
Catbird is
returned.
— C.Birde, 5/18
Smitten — An Image
With each bud
and bloom
and bead of rain
and light,
Spring saturates
the senses,
leaves me
smitten.
— C.Birde, 4/18
Forest in Hand — A Poem
Back bowed
to warming sun;
knees pressed
to earth –
withdraw each
tender seedling
from crisp,
sweet
leaf litter;
tug at that
connection,
at each pale,
elongated
stem and root
until –
unwilling –
the fibers
release.
Each pliant,
wrinkled leaf
a world
of innate
potential.
One hundred.
Two hundred.
Three…
To right,
moving headfirst
down the
parent tree,
Nuthatch watches,
mutters,
while Chickadee,
to left,
muses over
nest sites.
Rise,
forest in hand.
Determined
proliferation
of life
gathered,
in a small,
bouquet
of youngling
green.
— C.Birde, 4/18
Prayer — An Image
Cool light,
bright air —
slide along and
tickle
each rough–barked,
leafless branch
to
wakening.
— C.Birde, 4/18
Riot — A Poem
Those few and
too short
weeks of Spring —
a-brim
with mirth —
when all
beneath
the greening skin
is laughter.
— C.Birde, 4/18