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
Catching light,
those flecked dark wings speak
of seasons & distance
& time’s ceaseless passing
The cycles repeat
R e p e a t i n g
Gather me
aloft in collective’s embrace
of wingbeats & banking turns
& maneuvers unspoken,
understood by the whole
In spite of all,
I stand pinned below
attentive
The cycle repeating
R e p e a t s
— C.Birde, 12/21
This morning,
at breakfast,
clad in green smoke,
Humming-girl paid
a visit and darted
between the fizz and
drizzle of gray rain,
unspattered.
Mid-air, she paused –
suggestion of form
and wings; an aura,
a blur –
to observe us encased
in our glass-walled
box.
We think ourselves
sovereign. Free.
Absurd.
In a breath and a wink,
she was
gone.
— C.Birde, 9/21
Too slight
to bend
the primrose stem,
They perch –
small bright motes
of yellow light –
and pluck
the coneflowers’
seeded
crowns.
— C.Birde, 8/21
— C.Birde, 6/21
From the pink
dogwood,
dropping notes –
bright petals,
raindrops,
shadows
onto clear water –
that fall in explicit,
random pattern;
reclaiming
Summerland
through song –
recognizable,
indefinable.
My heart unbolts…
At last,
at last…
I’ve awaited
your
return.
— C.Birde, 5/21
Thought &
memory –
circle
circle
Enfold
me in your
soot-dark
wings
Inscribe
my heart
in quick
ink-quill
scrawl &
claw as
yours
again
again
For in this
isolation,
I have
learned
to love
the glossy
sound of
your voice
winging
through
me.
— C.Birde, 3/21
All is gray…
Above, beneath, beyond…
Three horizontal planes
of neutral gray overlaid
one against another…
Land and sky and sea…
Blurred seams erased.
Stand here with me…
The shale, a coarse voice
beneath our feet…
The air a sigh…
Nearing our step,
the lapping edge of foam-
laced, shapeshifting sea.
(Pay that element’s
inconstant promise
little heed.)
Look instead beyond…
Into the distance…
There –
Gesture strokes the air…
A scratch of darkness
within that vast expanse…
No other form to speak
of its relative dimensions…
Undeterred,
it comes,
it grows.
A bird?
Eagle, Albatross, or Tern…
Can you discern its form?
Tell me what you see…
Patience,
patience…
Its shape defines slowly…
Slope of yellow beak…
Compact body,
smooth and white
Languid wings –
gray-stroked, stretched wide –
gently stir the space it occupies.
A gull —
Free , unfettered…
Clear-eyed perspective…
Visitant of the in-betweens.
Above the shore it hovers…
Wings beating noiselessly…
Now, its form in white neon light
outlined…
A stroke of gleaming bright,
it dives and thrusts —
into susurrating shale —
its beak,
plucks out some secret
nestled there…
Departs.
Returns
to those very planes of gray
from which
it came.
— C.Birde, 11/20
My grief
is a mourning dove,
all hollow bones &
feathers.
Winged.
Near-weightless.
Poor tender, disconsolate
creature.
She curls talons against
her perch –
my heart –
pierces that soft muscled
chamber &
coos a mournful
song.
— C.Birde, 8/20
Campanula blue
inverted bloom of
wings and feathers,
earthward pointing,
fluttering
drooping
Each hollow bone
transformed
to ballast,
recast as gravity’s
servant
Trapped,
held fast by stem
of foot,
scarlet beaded,
bleeding
Unintended consequence
Peace, dear fellow creature,
peace
Cease your valiant struggles
and suffer me
(rueful instrument of
your snaring)
to set you
free.
— C.Birde, 7/20