Still the Birds Sing

See the redbird perched,
precariously,
on the branch,
as a gentle breeze ruffles the trees,
their heart-shaped leaves wriggling in the sun.

Time stills, and sad songs wail mournfully,
but still the birds sing.
Death demands attention daily in the headlines.
This is the revelation:

the deep blue sky punctuates puffs of white,
violin notes float in the wind,
and graceful wings soar, outstretched.
The breeze caresses your face.

This is a love song.
If you turn the abyss upside-down,
it is vast, open sky.
Even starlight shines.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Comments

Post a Comment

Your comments and feedback are welcome. Please be sure to be respectful.

Popular posts from this blog

On the Sale of Our Sailboat (Sonnet)

On the sale of our sailboat, dreams soaring away, on a run, in the wind, sad to see the horizon approach; the sun behind me shines a light on the breeze and me laughing out loud at the seemingly lazily floating by world. Past the mem’ries of days when we soaked in the warmth of the sun, glad to be kissing air, tanning skin, long brown hair blowing back, catch the wind, feel the speed, trust the tack. The elation of fun, when the boat caught a run, in the moment by moment days when we won the world and the wind, and our lives, looking back, the horizon ahead and our faith in our ride. Now, the blue's not the sea but our aging betide. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more

End of Life Communication: Stories from the Dead Zone (excerpt)

Hello, friends, I have taken a pause from writing poetry to finish a book manuscript. I just sent it to the publisher; you can be on the lookout for it to be released in the fall ( End of Life Communication: Stories from the Dead Zone , co-authored with Dr. Jon Crane). In the meantime, to thank you for your patience as we finished the book and I now catch back up on writing poetry, here is an excerpt, from the closing chapter: Coda “The world we live in is but thickened light” (Emerson, 1904, p. 580). The team invites me to the hospital’s annual “Butterfly Ceremony,” a commemoration in memory of the children who have died at the Children’s Hospital this past year. I’m excited to go, but my interest becomes bittersweet when I notice the date. It is the 24 th anniversary of my father’s death. The memory of his death is so fresh and painful, he could have died yesterday following his 18-month struggle with prostate cancer. It is a beautiful fall day. Sunny and warm. I
Read more

Alone is Enough

Alone is enough. My ego wants more, but she is never satisfied --           miserable master. Alone is enough. Opening my heart to love is enough. Sending out love is enough. Being here, now, is enough. You are enough. I am enough. Everything changes. Cells replace every seven years. Seasons change. Moments change into hours and years;           lifetimes. Lives change --           swap death for new life.           Matter changes. Alone is enough. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2020
Read more