“You are Iight!”
Her voice sang
clear as a Winter’s night.
“Do not hide yourself
in darkness –
lend your spark
to others &,
together,
shine.”
— C.Birde, 1/21
Light — An Image
Truth
Winter Prayer — A Poem
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
“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
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
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
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
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
Altered View — A Truth
“Altered View” — C.Birde, 4/20
With all that is &
is not currently
occurring, I find
myself drawn to
windows, closed;
staring outward,
sitting, waiting
for Gray Catbird’s
return.
— C.Birde, 4/20
Sweet… — A Truth
“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” — 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
