Perfection — A Poem

Hastening

after that slender snippet

of dried grass

that slipped from

his grasp,

he tumbles from

the roof’s spine,

scrabbles over shingles

giving chase —

and it eludes,

that straw-pale length,

so perfect,

so well suited to

his task,

that he persists

and dives,

frantically parting

damp air

on drawn wings

till both settle

upon green-fringed

soil.

Clutched in

bent-wire claw,

he soars to the eaves

to stuff it in

amongst a mass of

similar

lengths and bits —

that perfect piece.

Silly sparrow.

Such display over one

blade so like

another.

But —

do we,

ourselves,

not do

the very same?

— C.Birde, 3/16

blade of grass.jpg
“The Perfect Blade” — C.Birde, 3/16

Sun Over Obelisk — An Image

 

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“Sun Over Obelisk” — C.Birde, 3/16

The duality of time — its elemental truth, its illusion — marked by the sun’s certain progress. Below and apart, we stand stunned, pointing.

Searching for Spring — An Image

Searching for Spring -- Tourne walk.jpg
“Searching for Spring” — C.Birde, 3/16

Our pursuit of Spring continues. We gathered evidence at Tourne park — nodules of skunk cabbage thrust from mud; yellow-green haze softens twiggy branches; heady scent of warming Earth. Though she hides, she is evident in the throats of songbirds.

Quietude — A Poem

Quiet,

in the woods today  —

but for vermillion rush of Maples’ budding,

and wind scraping Autumn from pale Beech leaves,

and reverberating chorus of Spring Peepers’ awakening,

and whisk of garter snake slipping past pond’s lips,

and chipmunk calling the season to order,

and rain of woodpecker’s laughter.

All quiet,

in the woods today —

but for my intruding step,

heartbeat,

breath.

— C.Birde

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“Tourne Pond” — C.Birde, 3/16

 

 

Embrace — A Poem

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“From Within” — C.Birde, 3/16

 

Step within that ligneous womb;

receive

the Tree’s embrace.

Press spine to sapwood,

cheek to curve of fibrous wall.

Close your eyes.

Breathe.

Within that smooth-edged concavity,

lend your heart,

the rapid patter of that bright muscle’s

beat —

so contrary to arboreal thrum

that has pulsed a

century

too low for human ears to hear,

more deliberate,

more at ease.

Emerge renewed with Sylvan tongue,

beneath a sky unfolding

dream.

–C.Birde, 3/16

Tree Womb detail.jpg
“Sycamore Womb” — C.Birde, 3/16

 

 

Dreams of Spring — A Poem

 

 

Still, She sleeps,

and doubtless dreams

(as do I)

of slips of things

new and green —

curling, budding, tendrilling.

Waxing Moon pressed to Her brow,

sunlight’s memory gathered to Her heart.

Veins, a migration of stirring wings.

Patience,

patience —

The dream remains unbroken.

Disturb Her not.

And when I cry aloud for haste —

please,

please —

remind me of the same.

 

— C.Birde, 2/16

 

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“Shadow over Grass” — C.Birde, 2/16

 

 

Full Snow Moon — An Image

 

 

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“Full Snow Moon” — C.Birde, 2/16

 

I stood in quiet, chill-winged night to observe the Full Moon, to measure its pulse — steady — and discern its aura — unruffled. We toil below in never-ceasing motion, commotion, emotion. The benign Moon remains.