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

Small Souls — A Poem

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“Seeds” — C.Birde, 12/18

 

Scatter seed —

feed the small souls

scratching for survival

through dreams of

warmer days and

last season’s

leaf litter.

Scatter the seeds

of kindness.

Harvest songs

of

love.

 

— C.Birde, 12/18

 

 

 

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

 

Found, Never Lost — A Poem

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“Self Portrait, Shadow & Pink Granite” — C.Birde, 10/18

 

 

Dark uncoiling

of slim

ring-necked snake

Shadow

of peregrine cast

in a rush

over blushing

stone

Porcupine quills,

strewn

like toothpicks,

like pick-up sticks

Wild turkeys,

rusticating

Poised

in autumnal air,

a Kingfisher –

hovering,

hovering,

diving

into wind-ruffled

water

Yellow witch’s

butter

Bright scarlet curve

of salamander

tucked amidst

leaf-fall

The red squirrels’

constant scolding

Myself,

returned,

renewed,

restored.

 

— C.Birde, 10/18

 

 

Constant — A Poem

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“Linden Light” — C.Birde, 9/18

 

Change

if you must

exchange your

limits —

imposed,

self-fashioned —

for broader

space.

Ivy embraces

the picket fence

and moss creeps

over stone.

Slow patter of rain

carves its own

sweet route.

Change

if you must,

if you wish.

But never forget —

small as I am —

that I have always

loved you.

 

— C.Birde, 9/18