Hallowed Hollow — A Poem

A tree trunk whose base is hollowed out. Autumn leaves have fallen about its roots.
“Hollow” — C.Birde, 10/20

These words, I whispered into the open door

of the hallowed, hollow tree:

Open my eyes.

Sweeten my speech.

Soften my heart.

Gentle my hands.

Broaden my mind.

Strengthen my will.

Deepen my soul.

Remove my fear,

that I might better hear

your reply echo

throughout the elements


And by “my”, I mean “our”;

and by “I”, I mean “we”.

— C.Birde, 10/20

Empty — A Poem

Close up of a Hitchcock chair in a dining room.
“Empty” — C.Birde, 10/20

It’s not the same without you here.

I’m less inclined to sit and stare out

the open window

at the sweet-winged visitors amongst

bowed seedheads,

waiting for the words to find their way

through that oculus, transformed and


upon the white page spread before my


I get up, instead, wander – shapeless,

aimless – into the kitchen and load

the dishwasher,

that dark and hungry box, like so many,

that must continually

be fed and filled with the mundane.

When I return, the empty chair remains.

Empty of –


— C.Birde, 10/20

Well Come — A Poem

“Autumn Wood” — C.Birde, 10/20

Sweet tang of autumn air,


cool enough to drink

through all the senses

Leaves fall like small fading


to light the path ahead

forward into unknowing

I lift my cup to you in welcome,

dear heart,

and pour a second.

I have been


— C.Birde, 10/20

In Shadow — A Poem

“Shadow of Spruce” — C.Birde, 10/20



We sit beneath

& within

the cool blue-green shade

of the great spruce tree,

with coffee &

grief &


& we feed all who come –

chipmunk & squirrel,

tufted titmouse,

jay & red-belly.

Hearts brimming,


we feed all who come.



My sister

& me.

— C.Birde, 10/20

A Question of Shadows — A Dream

“A Question of Shadows” — C.Birde, 10/20

They stand — all four of them — in a line;

shoulder to shoulder;

on green-grass sward in fading sunlight;

facing me

No instruments in hand –

neither mandolin nor fiddle nor cello;

no guitar, no bass, no banjo…

Empty hands clasped together before them,

they stand — all four of them — in a line;

shoulder to shoulder;

on a green-grass sward in fading sunlight;

facing me

Or is it a photo?

An antique square snapshot,

grown milky with age,

colors evaporating into a wriggle-edged white border

that frames them,

those four young men?

The lighting is wrong, the shadows off…

A dark circle pools at their feet,

conforming to no fixed source, natural or otherwise,

while simultaneously,

their cast shadows stretch from them,

toward me,

so long and lean and solid,


I should feel the weight of their touch,

heavy as silence…

— C.Birde, 10/20

The Sea — A Poem

“Acadia Sea” — C.Birde, 9/20



         forever & a day,

the sea at its base



exhaling salt spray

each deep indrawn breath


in swell & spume against

granite slabs & stacks,

blocks & columns…

And those longstanding stones,

grooved equally with age,

call out in reply:

Yes, oh yes…

Wear away our ancient bones…

Grind down our blades & edges…

Relieve us – bit by bit by bit –

of our ponderousness…

Blunt us… Smooth us…

Spread us out beneath your

foam-laced tide…

Grant us curves unknown,

unfelt before your touch

 ‘till we emerge,


Always streaming,



in ceaseless gray-green respiration,

the sea accepts all pleas,

all hopes, all griefs…

laps & soothes & polishes…

Ever willing to oblige,



         forever & a day,

    the sea receives,


— C.Birde, 9/20

Autumn — A Poem

“Beech” — C.Birde, 9/20

Crickets’ hypnotic trill & hum

Crisp-fizzling leaves & grasses

Hymn of gilt-edged, waning light

Cool air folds up the landscape

Sundials of hearts’ chambers slip

Summer’s flame-crown sputters



Autumn comes to burnish

a new measure…

— C.Birde, 9/20