A drape
of fog conceals
our wounds,
our scars;
Keeps our secrets
s a f e,
hides our small
and honest
shames.
— C.Birde, 11/17
Be-Fog — An Image
Chlorophyl Dream — A Poem
Autumn, looking up in Greenwood Cemetery, Boonton, as the trees shift color beneath the sun’s eye.
Continue readingUnveil — A Poem
This eve
the veil between
the worlds grows thin — night jars
and damsel flies hearthside and safe
again.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Illumine — An Image
Crowned in light,
sun-polished —
Hickory,
Autumn’s broad-leafed
beacon.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Elixir — A Poem
Drift and
curl of light and
leaf in rose-water hues
flatter any who fall beneath
their spell.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Black Locust — An Image
Stretched
to catch inclined light
in half-leafed limbs —
Tree hugs sky.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Heart-in-Hand — A Poem
Hearbeat
in cupped hands,
rapid as thought,
as flight.
Curl and prick
of yellow toes
against my palm.
An insubstantial weight,
scant as warbled light.
Years unravel,
molt,
a drift of feathers –
yellow, olive, white.
Unclasp my fingers’
cage and —
like a dream,
a song —
my heart has gone,
the bird has flown.
My hands’ hollow
refills with stirred air
and a moment
passed.
Overwhelmed,
I stand –
a-weep,
a-stir,
a-flutter.
Newly fledged,
remade
in
delight.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Elegy — A Poem
Fallen,
folded.
Blue puddle of wings
and tail —
black-barred, white-tipped —
splashed on
the woodland floor.
Beak tucked
to feathered breast.
Perfection,
furled.
Earthbound.
Bear that elegy –
out,
away,
through green and yellow
leaf-filtered light.
Once-full-throated song —
a flutter,
a wound wedged
under wish-
bone.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Peace Among Raptors — A Dream
Duck the trellis,
its weight of scarlet blooms
and gloss-leafed vines.
Part the clouded,
moonlit night.
Glide –
shadow-like –
along gentle swells of lawn.
Soft, unshorn blades lick and trace,
damp underfoot.
Round the curve of hedge,
and pause –
a glint of light tucked deep
within the dense tracery
of branches’ interweave.
A spark…
a flash of gold.
Gasp.
Step back.
The bird erupts,
vaults skyward.
For a moment,
breaks of moonlight limn
its sloped wings,
the smooth curve
of its delicate head.
A second wing stroke,
a third;
it shifts and changes,
exchanges gentle curves
for lean, sharp lines,
for bladed wings and
hooked beak of raptor.
Lean back,
throat exposed;
follow the small, swift hawk’s
vertical progress.
Meet its hooded,
unblinking stare –
that bright star glinting
against the night’s black
backdrop.
Flinch.
— C.Birde, 10/17
Forecast — An Image
Thirteen
striped bands –
black and autumn red.
Thirteen weeks
of winter.
But he intends
no forecast,
searches out
some snug spot
beneath bark or
stone or
fallen tree
under which to
curl and weather
anticipated
freeze.
— C.Birde, 10/6/17