Winter Prayer — A Poem

Photography of a leafless, winter Norway Maple.
“Norway Maple in Winter” — C.Birde, 1/21

Peeled away

That tousled,

tumbled veil of leaves

A verdant memory left –

like a puff of breath –

clinging

to the form beneath

Imperfection,

rough beauty, &

strength laid bare

All manifestations

exposed

Revealed —

like prayer —

by the cold,

spare,

bone-bare,

honest touch

of Winter.

— C.Birde, 1/21

Worth — An Image

A photograph of green moss growing against a red brick.
“Moss” — C.Birde, 1/21

“You are

no less important

than the greatest

of mountains,”

she spoke in wind &

weather,

“& no more important

than the smallest

of mosses –

each,

a world all its own,

& a treasure.”

— C.Birde, 1/21

Earth Song — A Poem

“Tourne Pool” — C.Birde, 12/20

Walk the bones

of earth exposed,

those fissures, roots

and stones –

and weep

for the beauty of it all

Our fleeting moment

in it

Our sparking union

with it,

to it

We are one

Large and small

Singular and all

Wild meadow grasses

Stream and river and

and seas’ foaming

edges

Forests, mountains, plains,

and deserts

Clothed

in a garment of light –

sun and moon and star

And remember –

All we see is all

We ever are

Walk the bones

— C.Birde, 12/20

Empty — A Poem

Close up of a Hitchcock chair in a dining room.
“Empty” — C.Birde, 10/20

It’s not the same without you here.

I’m less inclined to sit and stare out

the open window

at the sweet-winged visitors amongst

bowed seedheads,

waiting for the words to find their way

through that oculus, transformed and

translated

upon the white page spread before my

fingertips.

I get up, instead, wander – shapeless,

aimless – into the kitchen and load

the dishwasher,

that dark and hungry box, like so many,

that must continually

be fed and filled with the mundane.

When I return, the empty chair remains.

Empty of –

    you.

— C.Birde, 10/20

Fragments — A Poem

“Fragments” — C.Birde, 7/20

Fragmented

space

time

breath

Fragmented

world

life

self

Collected

slips

scraps

snatches

Collected

lines

threads

words

All,

palm-cupped

heart-fastened

clasped

like

dust

sea-glass

pebbles

cicadas’ spent

shells

Reworked

refashioned in

imperfect

whole.

This tenacity,

this persistence,

this work of

being.

— C.Birde, 7/20

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

Sweet… — A Truth

Bleeding Heart.jpg

“Bleeding Heart” — C.Birde, 4/20

 

 

 

I follow his example –

as explained to me –

and, palm placed

against the cage

of that muscled

organ,

speak:

There, there,

sweet heart,

there, there…”

Does he weep

as he repeats

these words

also?

I cannot,

do not

know.

 

— C.Birde, 4/20

 

Duality — A Poem

Shadow-self 2.jpg

“Shadow-Self” — C.Birde, 4/19

 

The universe intended

(…me…)

for extroversion,

but the stars

diverged,

the message was

waylaid.

Inhabitant

— now —

of two spirits,

two skins,

two selves

chafing.

At ease

in

neither.

 

— C.Birde, 4/19