Attend — A Poem

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“Forest Fable” — C.Birde, 10/19

 

Sweet-toasted

leaf-fall.

Crackle and

crunch.

Seduction

of trees’ collective

undress.

Observe

and pivot

beneath songbirds’

departure

over

under

through

Mark

the warp and weft

of praiseful wind

and heed

the crickets’ last call

and response.

Reign

of Autumn

scattered

shelled

hoarded

Attend.

Attend.

 

— C.Birde, 10/19

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“Hickory Nuts” — C.Birde, 10/19

 

 

 

 

Limits — A Poem

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“Limits” — C.Birde, 11/18

 

Concealing,

revealing in equal turns,

the length and breadth

of night extends

its reach,

paints the lonesome

oaks —

bereft of leaves —

in silence…

Feeling our way

to the edges of that

darkened,

incurious landscape —

heeding, perhaps,

the dormant promise

of dreams and rest and

contemplation —

we hold aloft spheres

of shivering,

self-limiting light,

fearful of what we might

discover.

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

 

The Swans — A Poem

“Swan” — C.Birde, 11/18

Four white bodies,

whiter

than Autumn snow;

sleek and blemishless

and smooth

as the far horizon;

     extending,

          reaching,

               stretching,

and –

with each near-silent,

muscular stroke –

                    beating

brisk air

to cream.

 

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

Conjuring Light — A Poem

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“Conjuration” — C.Birde, 11/18

 

Light

slips through our

grasp…

Each hour of each day —

paler, thinner,

more threadbare than

its yesterday.

Plumed

in solar flares,

our tongues regale each other

with half-remembered

tales of milder days —

songs of Crow and Centaurus,

and the Great Bear,

of the Herdsman

and his starry flock

spread across the night sky’s

vast backdrop.

Frost-touched,

we’ll pause together

at Winters’ gate and,

reminiscing,

conjure

light.

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

 

Rest — An Image

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“Rest” — C.Birde, 11/18

 

Gently

— so gently —

the leaves drift

& fall.

Let them rest…

Let them share

— in rustling, rasping voice —

their tale

of fickle light

& forfeit height

with the

ever-patient

earth.

 

— C.Birde, 11/18

 

Halloween — A Poem

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“Boo” —  C.Birde, 10/18

 

Halloween,

that narrow,

bone-thin,

spectral eve

when we neatly fold

and lay aside

our everyday disguises

and pretend to be —

’til midnight’s peak —

something other

than what

we otherwise pretend

each day

to be.

 

— C.Birde, 10/18

 

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“Ghost” — C.Birde, 10/18