Elegy — A Poem

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“Elegy” — C.Birde, 10/17

 

Fallen,

folded.

Blue puddle of wings

and tail —

black-barred, white-tipped —

splashed on

the woodland floor.

Beak tucked

to feathered breast.

Perfection,

furled.

Earthbound.

Bear that elegy –

out,

away,

through green and yellow

leaf-filtered light.

Once-full-throated song —

a flutter,

a wound wedged

under wish-

bone.

 

— C.Birde, 10/17

 

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Peace Among Raptors — A Dream

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“Peace Among Raptors” — C.Birde, 10/17

 

Duck the trellis,

its weight of scarlet blooms

and gloss-leafed vines.

Part the clouded,

moonlit night.

Glide –

shadow-like –

along gentle swells of lawn.

Soft, unshorn blades lick and trace,

damp underfoot.

Round the curve of hedge,

and pause –

a glint of light tucked deep

within the dense tracery

of branches’ interweave.

A spark…

a flash of gold.

Gasp.

Step back.

The bird erupts,

vaults skyward.

For a moment,

breaks of moonlight limn

its sloped wings,

the smooth curve

of its delicate head.

A second wing stroke,

a third;

it shifts and changes,

exchanges gentle curves

for lean, sharp lines,

for bladed wings and

hooked beak of raptor.

Lean back,

throat exposed;

follow the small, swift hawk’s

vertical progress.

Meet its hooded,

unblinking stare –

that bright star glinting

against the night’s black

backdrop.

Flinch.

 

— C.Birde, 10/17

 

auTUMnBLE — A Poem

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“auTUMnBLE” — C.Birde, 10/17

 

The year turns

a shoulder

cold.

Discarded leaves –

yellow,

scarlet,

bronze –

drift, settle, and

rust.

Flocks tumble

southward in dark arcs.

A stumble in

the evening choir’s

collective

beat and thrum.

Impress

the frequency

and vibration to

muscle,

bone,

unconscious.

One knock, and

Autumn enters.

Stumble.

Tumble.

Fall.

 

— C.Birde, 10/17

 

Schrodinger’s Cat-erpillar

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“Eastern Tiger Swallowtail” — C.Birde, 9/17

 

Mystery,

wrought of

hardened protein

and spun silk,

it exists

in two states,

twice –

alive and dead;

caterpillar and

butterfly.

Each

a truth entire.

Until

the chrysalis splits

and butterfly

emerges.

Or does not.

Spun silk heart,

not yet hardened,

snug between ribs,

beating in

two states –

Hope and

Dismay.

 

— C.Birde, 9/17