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

Primeval — A Dream

An artfully altered photo of a giant Sequoia, soaring skyward.
“Primeval” — C.Birde, 7/17

Trees primeval upward soar,

exceed the vast sky’s vault

Thunderous in size



They filter thrumming veins

of green-gold, dusted light

Press palms to rough-furred

sorrel bark while standing

ankle-deep in moss & slow-

uncurling ferns & hear –

like a breath against the skull –

soft inquiry:

Moon or Sword?

    What will you place in

     my heartwood?

     Which will be your gift

     of me?

— C.Birde, 1/22

Perspective — A Poem

An artfully altered photo of a spider's web, pearled with raindrops, against a background of wood & water.
“Web” — A.Schnitzler, 12/21

Distance reveals

the web’s complexity

of form –

those anchors of support,

the strands that spiral

in & down;

Grants the space to see

the pattern of the weave –

the warp & weft of whys,

wherefores that catch

upon proximity.

Grateful of perspective

room to feel & breathe;

Anxiety of being held

forever fixed in place,


— C.Birde, 1/22

Absence — A Poem

An artfully altered photo -- mirror image -- of a tree, with limbs linking.
“Mirror Maple” — C.Birde, 1/22



against a sky obscured

& damply blotted,

lift expectant limbs…




to elemental truth.

I stand beneath…

In search of self

& soul

& all that’s sacred

amongst knotted roots

& last’s year’s fallen


— C.Birde, 1/22

Seasonal — An Image

An artfully altered photo of a fallow meadow.
“Rattlesnake Meadow, December” — C.Birde, 12/21

“I sing a new song

when the months

grow cold,”

her voice carried low

across the landscape’s

scrape & tumble,

“but tune your ear

& you will hear me


all the same…”

— C.Birde, 12/21

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