Sparrow — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of a blue pottery bird feeder.
“Blue Globe Feeder” — C.Birde, 11/22


a bed of seeds,

she rests,

folded within

the blue globe’s


cracks open

striped hulls

& eats


at my approach,

a l a r m

shell fragments


She seeks escape,


her small self

on wings



                              o  u  t.

— C.Birde, 11/22

Wood Thrush Wood — A Poem

A photo of an earthen track through a woodland in mid-spring ...
“Wood Thrush Wood” — C.Birde, 6/22

Hands clasped

& pressed

to breast-


we stood –


as Wood Thrush


each liquid note

down through

the trees’ canopy –

like hope,

like light

then alit

upon the path

before us

& took

his unassuming


— C.Birde, 6/22

Transformations — A Dream

A graphite line drawing of a masked woman squatting hunched with feathers growing from her arms, her hands and feet tipped in birds' claws.
“Transforming” — C.Birde, 3/22

I, a white-masked cipher curled

above the rusted pump within

old wisteria’s protective weave

& tangle,

I, a shadow leaning out beyond

the curtain of dry shadows’ twist

(feel the subtle separating prick

of pinfeathers’ growth forming

& transforming)

My bent neck lengthening from

hoary vines’ obscuring traceries

to better see beyond the mask’s

silk-ribbon-tassled boundaries

through soft-tumbled dark,

Two girls rapidly approaching,

two pairs of eyes wide-open

in faces upward tilting, &

two pairs of small hands lifting,

cupped & empty,

(to be filled? or hopeful offering?)

I, stretching further from wisteria

above the pump’s fixed drip drip

dripping to peer, beak-mouthed,

at splayed moth-pink palms

My auriculars hearing the voice

that scolds & calls from whence

the two girls emanated

My own clear-sighted eyes blinking,

behind the white mask seeing

their reluctant turning,

small hands falling slack against

their sides like dimmed clusters


My cipher-self retreating to roost

concealed from undesired view

in wisteria’s curtaining tangle,

as the Scold approaches,

Folding new-feathered wing-arms

long against ribs & hips


Reaching keen, claw-taloned tips

back toward the coverts of upper-

& undertails,

toward stub-tailfeathers’ oh-so-slow

inevitable forming

I, receding back into embracing

shadow & vines’ hushed rustling

while the abandoned pump drip

drip drips in trickle diminished,

yet always, ever flowing.

— C.Birde, 3/22

Peregrine — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of blue sky and cloud, with the silhouette of a Peregrine Falcon.
“”Peregrine’s Sky” — C.Birde, 3/22

Peregrine scrawls

with wingtip, cry, & talon,

inscribes blue-breasted


in spirals

of concentric pattern,


drives Red-tail,

with outsized insistence,


     a – w – a – y.

— C.Birde, 3/22

Tongues — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of a Blue Jay peering down from its perch, a peanut in its beak.
“Blue Jay” — C.Birde, 1/22

Blue Jay speaks

in voice of Crow

& Red Tail Hawk…

Vivid notes of lapis,

flinty hematite,

& earthy jasper drift

in downward mix

& tuck themselves

in ear & thoughts

of self-assessment

My own song I’ve

disguised to keep

a thorny Peace…

Once circumscribed

to silence

Fated to wither in

the nest

No More.

The words of Love

fly from my tongue

plumed, bright-


& in full voice.

— C.Birde, 1/22

Starlings — A Poem

An artfully altered photo representational of a flock of birds.
“Flock” — C.Birde, 12/21

Catching light,

those flecked dark wings speak

of seasons & distance

& time’s ceaseless passing

The cycles repeat

R e p e a t i n g

Gather me

aloft in collective’s embrace

of wingbeats & banking turns

& maneuvers unspoken,

understood by the whole

In spite of all,

I stand pinned below


The cycle repeating

R e p e a t s

— C.Birde, 12/21

Freedom — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of a rain-slicked wildflower garden in a 100-plus-year-old suburb.
“Garden of Rain” — C.Birde, 9/21

This morning,

at breakfast,

clad in green smoke,

Humming-girl paid

a visit and darted

between the fizz and

drizzle of gray rain,


Mid-air, she paused –

suggestion of form

and wings; an aura,

a blur –

to observe us encased

in our glass-walled


We think ourselves

sovereign. Free.


In a breath and a wink,

she was


— C.Birde, 9/21