“Joe Pye Weed” — C.Birde, 9/18
He wore the light
of the last day
of Summer
— in his hair —
like a
crown
ablaze.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Last Day of Summer — An Image
Month: September 2018
Constant — A Poem
“Linden Light” — C.Birde, 9/18
Change
if you must
exchange your
limits —
imposed,
self-fashioned —
for broader
space.
Ivy embraces
the picket fence
and moss creeps
over stone.
Slow patter of rain
carves its own
sweet route.
Change
if you must,
if you wish.
But never forget —
small as I am —
that I have always
loved you.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Three, Unbound — A Dream
“Wall” — C.Birde, 9/18
The three women stand – barefoot, shoulder-to-shoulder – before a mammoth, trapezoidal wall, a plaster expanse the deep, teal-blue of an undisturbed lagoon. Their hair tumbles, unrestrained, about their shoulders, cascades over the night-sky robes skimming their bodies. Arms uplifted, the sleeves of their robes slipping past their elbows, past their smooth forearms and biceps, they press, press, press their palms against the wall, against their own cast shadows. When, smiling, they tip their heads back, their laughter is fluid, effortless joy — the sound of blackbirds released into an unbound sky.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Wonder — An Image
“Wonder” — C.Birde, 9/19
May our hearts and minds
remain open,
our arms outstretched,
and our eyes
forever
wide with wonder.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Elusion — A Poem
“Elusion” — C.Birde, 9/19
Sleep,
interrupted —
conducive
neither to rest
nor dreams.
Ache of hips and
— roll over —
shoulders
— back —
Eyes tight-squeezed.
Tongue pressed
to teeth
in a jaw ill-
fit.
Beyond
the blanket’s heap,
time’s passage,
marked in increments
blue and ghostly.
Words and worries
and…song
— unbidden —
crowd
in looping chorus
— repeat —
— repeat —
Until sleep becomes
the dream.
— C.Birde, 9/19
Small Friends — An Image
“Eastern Chipmunk” — 9/18
My friends are
small and numerous,
quiet and quirky,
and
never fail
to delight.
— C.Birde, 9/18
Schism — A Poem
“Little Hawk” — C.Birde, 9/18
Two weeks ago, three weeks early, he said goodbye.
A day after the incident –
Pale streak of feathers with talons, outstretched and efficient
Tangle of cries and silence caught within deer netting and ripening tomatoes
The scene unfolding beyond the bay windows, as, unwilling, I observed and thought (disjointedly) of Casablanca, the words re-working in my head
“Of all the birds, in all the yards, in all the world – the hawk has taken mine”
As I thought (unkindly), while running from the house in futile effort, of the multitude of House Sparrows whose numbers could bear thinning, my cries of negation to stop, avert, reverse the course of events and pluck those yellow claws from that small gray breast and separate the two – Little hawk (Sharp Shinned? Coopers? he will not tell me) from Gray Catbird – to unwind time and heal the wound…
Above me, despite me, beyond my reach and will and pleas, Little hawk wheeled away with his prize – young parent to this year’s only fledgling.
The burning bush, previously a-shiver with activity, is still.
The pergola, with its unrestrained clematis vines, remains empty.
The container of raisins sits on the counter, untouched, unshared.
Two weeks ago, three weeks early, he said goodbye —
my small avian friend of untold years —
A day after the incident.
Next year, next spring — so far off —
will reveal if he’ll return
again.
— C.Birde, 9/18
“Catbird” — C.Birde, 9/18
ID-iom — A Dream
“Graveyard” — C.Birde, 9/18
“…it’s like…”
A sourceless voice,
mild as spring,
spare as winter.
“…scattering breadcrumbs…”
They appear in hand,
tiny, pale fragments,
brittle as stars.
“…in a graveyard.”
The landscape shifts,
the monuments resolve –
tall, dome-shouldered,
indecipherable.
— C.Birde, 9/4/18
Nightjars & Damselflies 