Pinked — A Dream

“Pinked” — C.Birde, 6/20

Swept overhead,

in upward arch,

trunk and limbs

of dappled light

smooth-stroked

over milky sky.

Each reaching,

forking twig tip

a cascade of blooms

daintily evoking

carnations,

strawberries,

pink campions and

lemonade.

Backward bend

and upward gaze

at unfettered,

all-consuming

view –

an atmosphere

entirely awash

and in the pink;

in sweet dream

of romantic love;

in beauty and

hopeful rosy

youth.

And –

in love,

by love,

through love –

a world recovered

from its

wounds.

— C.Birde, 6/20

Slideshow — A Dream

“Slideshow” — C.Birde, 6/20

White cards,

full of breath

& space;

each,

a photo –

pristine,

immaculate –

of a snake.

Black racer.

Smooth Green.

Eastern garter.

Scaled, sleek.

Ectothermic.

Striped or

ringed;

patterned or

plain.

Rat.

Rattle.

Corn.

A slideshow

of snakes,

one after

another.

Reviled or

revered.

Poisonous

& not.

Earth.

Water.

Pine.

Coiled &

sinuous.

Undulating.

Sidewinding.

Concertina.

Rectilinear.

King.

Queen.

Copper.

Transition.

Intuition.

The deep

unconcious.

The slideshow

continues.

Snake after

snake after

snake.

— C.Birde, 6/20

Ghostwood — A Dream

“Ghostwood” — C.Birde, 6/20

Deep,

dark wood,

moon-bleached

and rinsed of light

of color.

Earth lifts —

root-twined,

rocky —

in slow and steady

upward arch

beneath a burden

of pines.

Gaunt figure.

Slack of limb

and wasted frame,

flame of hair and

spirit snuffed.

He shuffles unaware

in shabby slippers

and threadbare robe

between attentive,

watchful trees.

Alone.

Alone and ghostly.

Diminished.

Lost among

the elements,

whose beauty

would be magnified

did he not

haunt them

so.

— C.Birde, 6/20

Riddle — A Dream

Door

“Riddle” — C.Birde, 5/20

 

A riddle –

lacking keyhole,

handle, or

hinges;

An omen –

a stone rolled

‘cross a

tomb;

a door of gray boards,

sunk in the hill’s

chalk white face

and tucked beneath

a green garland of

ivy.

Exit and entry,

impossible

impractical.

Invitation in jest,

deep-set in the hill’s

soft ivied side,

behind peeling gray

boards that board up,

hide, and hoard

mysteries denied —

a riddle.

 

 

— C.Birde, 5/20

 

Youth-fall — A Dream

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“Cliff” — C.Birde, 5/20

 

Impressive feat –

to maintain verticality

complete

on the cliff’s sheer,

tiered,

limestone face…

Wearing black gear,

stamped white with

endorsements,

a boy on a bike,

pedaling furiously,

tirelessly.

The bike’s nubby,

rubber tires bite,

spray grit,

incise an ever-deepening

groove…

While,

stretched below,

beneath the cliff’s

jutting lip,

the sea sprawls

and waits

and heaves;

ultramarine

and green ;

swollen layers laced

and dimpled,

frothed white with

submerged spokes

and wheels

and legs

too numerous to count,

still churning…

Patiently,

the sea receives

the scree that spills

and spirals down,

down,

down…

accepts all offerings,

large and small,

as easily,

as hungrily

as any mortal boy’s youthful,

wide-eyed resolve.

 

 

— C.Birde, 5/20

 

Falling — A Dream

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“Falling” — C.Birde, 5/20

 

Blue sky.

Green land.

The structure

stands —

white face

bare of marks,

unblemished

but for one

blank,

black

cyclopean frame

that stares –

unblinking

out and down

the length of

wooden ladder

leaning –

scar-like

against its flat

and featureless

face.

From

that dark eye

a woman leans,

extends her leg,

her foot

to rest upon

the ladder’s rung,

shifts to set

its mate beside…

Crack!

Snap!

The steps –

one into the next –

collapse…

Legs stiff as spears,

the woman —

earthward

arrows.

A second woman

follows;

a third;

a fourth.

They fall

like stars,

like stones;

heaped upon

the earth below.

The last alone

tumbles free,

rolls from the pile,

skids gracelessly

at bruising,

breakneck speed –

unshod,

skirts hiked

feet-first down

the sloped

green sward…

Hear

the torn-turf

rumble of her

approach.

See

the fear

stamped clear

upon her face,

as she draws

near,

nearer,

n e a r e r

 

— C.Birde, 5/20

 

Ophelia — A Dream

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“Bath” — C.Birde, 4/20

 

 

Awaken –

suddenly,

splashingly

to that song

(despised),

that songster singing;

the alarm’s relentless

ringing

from the bedside as

(swiftly)

he departs

and addresses not

the wailing,

blaring

song.

Emerge.

Upward, surge

from watery warmth,

and rouse translucent

waves to tidal

lapping,

spilling,

slapping

over and past

the slipper tub’s

smooth sides

of porcelain

white.

Outward,

stretch;

extend one arm

(fingers streaming)

to reach and strike

(again!

again!)

the alarm’s

rigid,

buzzing,

boxlike

surface and silence

(at last!)

disharmony’s

jarring

blast.

Awake.

Fully wakened…

In blessed quiet,

become aware —

across the room —

of the calico’s cider

stare;

and —

beyond

the glistening rim

of the polished tub —

of the small dog

that deftly,

daintily dodged

the sluicing

flood pro-

duced.

 

— C.Birde, 4/20

 

A Me — A Dream

High Tower.png

“High Tower” — C.Birde, 4/20

 

 

How,

in dream,

can I know you?

With your eyes,

concentric rings

of brown and

blue chasing

‘round a pupil

so clear and

dark?

In dream,

so clearly

I see you clad

in silver starlight;

platinum hair,

a cascade that waves

about your shoulders

in halo.

You,

of the High Tower,

so utterly familiar

as a part of his

life,

not mine

(though here, now,

he knows you

not at all)

while in my

wakened state,

I reflect that

I have never,

ever

set eyes

on anyone

remotely like

you.

Surely,

I would

remember…

 

 

— C.Birde, 4/20

 

In-grain(ed) — A Dream

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“Book of Wood” — C.Birde, 3/20

 

Burdensome book,

made entirely of wood –

cover, binding, pages;

two inches thick,

maybe three.

A tome-ic weight

upon the lap,

the knees –

biting,

pressing,

depress-

ing.

Pages click

as readers flip

the rigid leaves,

select the word

that suits,

describes where,

in life, they find

themselves –

physically,

spiritually,

emotionally

& slide aside

small wooden tabs

to reveal

the associated page &

turn as indicated.

Click,

slide,

flip;

click,

slide,

flip.

Fall behind taking time

to consider,

to deliberate;

volume of wood

spread wide

across the knees…

Search row and line

for the word

that properly describes

the core of prevailing

sentiment…

To no avail.

Of the many words carved

in those manifold

wooden pages,

neither “grief”,

nor “sorrow”,

nor “melancholy”

are found.

Observe –

the others all

depart,

move on,

while one

remains,

left

behind,

a-

lone.

 

 

— C.Birde, 3/20

Row Round — A Dream

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“Sea” — C.Birde, 3/20

 

Quick.

Get in.

No time to spare.

We’ll row

row row the boat,

rosy, fleet, & lean

through the churning

choppy sea

to save the pink dol-

phins.

Row

row row the boat,

rosy, fleet, & lean,

grip the handles

dip the oars

& save the pink dol-

phins.

Repeat,

in rounds.

Repeat.

 

— C.Birde, 3/20