The Lost — A Poem

“Northern Flicker” — C.Birde, 7/20

Things I have lost,

in no particular order:

books & keys & histories;

my halo,

my high horse,

the chip on my shoulder;

pets & friends;

a father, a sister;

my heart,

my head,

my way,

my youth;

sense of self;

an unobstructed view;

faith & trust & confidence;

my grip,

my patience,

my tolerance;

all my defenses &

sense of direction;

I’ve lost count,

lost track,

lost face;

my perspective,

my chances,

my edge.

But of all the things here —

accounted for & overlooked,

irreplaceable or inherent —

I have never lost

your Love,

nor my love

for you.

— C.Birde, 7/20

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

Undreamed — A Poem

“Undreamed” — C.Birde, 6/20

O, wanderer. Lost in honeysuckled dream vined sweetly ‘round wrists, half truths hard thumbed against eyelids, shadows lodged in thy white throat, & tongue embittered. Complicity of sleep & dreaming. Abrupt awakening to a world never gentler than it is or was or will be. Wings plucked & fallen. Heart bruised. Soul starved. Arrive at last, in full embrace.

Cracked open.

— C.Birde, 6/20

From That Separating Space — A Poem

“Edges” — C.Birde, 6/20

Stir darkness,

scatter light.

From shadows’

flutter and flux,

pluck the edges’

patterns,

those separating

places between

extremes,

gray and

overlooked.

At long last,

margins unearthed,

laid bare, and

connected.

From that space,

call my name.

From that space,

we will sing

an expectant

song…

— C.Birde, 6/20

And Yet… — A Poem

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“Chimes” — C.Birde, 4/20

 

And yet,

and yet…

in spite of all,

of everything…

Spring.

The world outside —

slowly,

gradually,

wakening in bud

and bloom,

in slow greening.

Earth,

shuddering

with birdsong;

spring-anointed

in glorious yellows,

in floral

exhilaration.

All the world,

a gift,

taking time

to breathe,

expand,

and

open.

 

— C.Birde, 4/20