Boa of Light — A Dream
From above,
a boa of light descends
to encircle her neck
& drape her left shoulder –
l o o s e l y…
See,
within this buoyant
tumble of golden light,
innumerable seahorses –
bobbing, swimming –
necks tucked inward,
tails curling, uncurling,
dorsal & pectoral fins
fanning air & propelling
delicate-ridged bodies
back upstream
to the light’s source
Amidst this,
she sits, smiling,
festooned
in the seahorses’
gyre & shimmer,
wreathed
in the radiance
of her own
h
e
a
l
i
n
g.
— C.Birde, 2/22
Winter-ish — An Image
Evergreen Wisdom — A Poem
Wind through
bare trees,
white-edged
with snow,
dispels illusion
of green things
quickening
growing
For a breath,
a moment only
Palms pressed
to maple’s trunk,
ears tuned to birds’
evolving song
Gazing slantwise,
past paper squares
& digital lines aglow,
beyond time
compressed,
confined…
Evergreen-wise
Heart-sight sees,
knows.
— C.Birde, 2/22
Jouissance — A Poem
Archie Leach — A Dream
Who are you to me,
Mister Leach?
That you glide
from nostalgia’s
silver screen?
Stride languidly
through Dream plains
of wild Psyche?
Debonair in style,
urbane of gesture,
smooth-suited
& Brylcreemed
to characteristic
perfection;
utterly untouched
by Time’s pitiless
transit
Coy-smile flirtation
Determinedly
searching for…
questioning…
Dream within dream,
thrice calling.
Ever & always welcome,
dear Mister Leach –
please, do visit again.
Still, waking curiosity
compels:
Who are you to me?
— C.Birde, 1/22
Lullaby — An Image
Tongues — A Poem
Blue Jay speaks
in voice of Crow
& Red Tail Hawk…
Vivid notes of lapis,
flinty hematite,
& earthy jasper drift
in downward mix
& tuck themselves
in ear & thoughts
of self-assessment
My own song I’ve
disguised to keep
a thorny Peace…
Once circumscribed
to silence
Fated to wither in
the nest
No More.
The words of Love
fly from my tongue
plumed, bright-
feathered,
& in full voice.
— C.Birde, 1/22
Primeval — A Dream
Trees primeval upward soar,
exceed the vast sky’s vault
Thunderous in size
Forthright
Unbent
They filter thrumming veins
of green-gold, dusted light
Press palms to rough-furred
sorrel bark while standing
ankle-deep in moss & slow-
uncurling ferns & hear –
like a breath against the skull –
soft inquiry:
“Moon or Sword?
What will you place in
my heartwood?
Which will be your gift
of me?”
— C.Birde, 1/22









