Mirages — A Poem

 

20170801_171312_HDR.jpg

“Expectation” — C.Birde, 8/2/17

 

Shrill summer —

heady spell of drama,

pushed and pulled

to extremes.

A full-throated

shout

of heat and light and

expectation,

swollen

beyond tolerance.

Cicadas rehearse

their one-note

chorus,

and sparrows leave

shallow depressions

beneath the hedge

to mark

their baths of dust.

Disconnected,

we hide and bemoan

the heat,

impoverished time,

our stillborn

dreams.

 

— C.Birde, 8/2/17

 

20170801_171816_HDR.jpg

“Dust Bath” — C.Birde, 8/2/17

 

Constriction — A Poem

20170725_103528_HDR.jpg

“Constriction” — C.Birde, 7/17

Clouds

blur the horizon,

smudge

the crooked line

defining

here and there,

then and now.

Slowly,

the crows return

to roost

in the evergreen’s

upswept boughs,

their wings glossy,

inked with words

unwritten.

The sky inhales,

constricts and

saturates.

The rains will pour;

the dreaming

recommence.

The words

will

f

o

l

l

o

w .

 

— C.Birde, 7/17

 

Sun Day — A Poem

Solstice.jpg

“Solstice” — C.Birde, 6/17

 

Seconds,

Minutes,

Hours –

The slow and certain accumulation

of six-months’ time

tilts the scales

in daylight’s favor.

Solstice of Summer.

Exultant and unaware,

we blissfully tread

the insubstantial

garment of our shadows,

as the Hours

Minutes,

Seconds

steadily

reverse

their

course.

 

— C.Birde, 6/17

 

Moon Door — A Dream

Moon Door 2.jpg

“Moon Door” — C.Birde, 2/17

Slate stepping stones lead up the grassy hill to a fieldstone arch. Flowering vines climb and tumble over the stones in green-leafed embrace. A heavy wooden door is set within the arch; which is older – door or stones – is difficult to determine. The stones, plucked from the surrounding hillside, are worn; their serrated edges smoothed. But the door, too, has aged and hardened. Once ligneous in nature, the door’s brass-bound boards have absorbed the elements and now mimic the solidity of their frame.

Just above the hill, just beyond the closed door, as if waiting to be invited in or to welcome and entertain, the full moon hovers. It is enormous in size and brilliance, hung against the immense, black back-drop of star-pricked night. The moon’s calling card of light slips beneath the door’s crack, limns its edges. And, at eye level, a small, crescent moon cut from the door’s face, traps and holds the moon’s glow.