Chard deNiord: Meadow Altar
So, he spoke
to his horses, now loosed from the wagon and grazing
nearby with heads bowed to the fescue and rye,
as if also praying, which, of course, they had no need
to do, blessed and saved as they were already
Chard deNiord: Erebus
This is the river’s music that still plays
like the wind in its accompaniment
to the only song I know how to sing
Chard deNiord: Patience Is The Tinder
a silence in which you hear
in the midst of the noise all around you
a voice that speaks inside the ear
inside your ear that depends
on silence for writing it down
Chard deNiord: On Such An Evening
everything just gets sweeter as I sit under
the maple after working all day in the garden
and listen to the music of silence disguised
as birdsong and breeze in the overstory
Chard deNiord: Inanna and Dumuzi
The sky conjures you all day
into clouds that sack my heart
to the point I hear the growls
and howls of the beasts
they form in the guise of you
Chard deNiord: The Hawk
I was gazing out this morning from my perch in Bedford,
Virginia when I heard the screech of a red-
tailed hawk in the deep, cerulean sky
above a Blue Ridge mountain in which the other-
wise perfect silence was musical
Chard deNiord: River
lose then find yourself where self begins in emptiness
Chard deNiord: I Call Out to You
Any moving object must reach halfway on a course before it reaches the end; and because there are an infinite number of halfway points, a moving object never reaches the … Continue reading
Chard deNiord: Songbirds Fly North at Night
I’m flying like a sparrow in my sleep
with only a pen to guide me
Chard deNiord: April
There is a new quality in the air: a sweet
fragrance from the first flowers—that smell
spring passes under your nose to wake you
again, more than wake you, stir you
Chard deNiord: Grief is the River with a Foreign Name
Grief is the river with a foreign name
that floods your heart, pulling you in
with a musical force you can’t resist
Chard deNiord: The Silence
an elegy for a child or parent or sibling
or friend who’s died at the hand
of the enemy whose God is the same
monotheistic deity with a different name
Michael Simms: Rhythm Benders | The Musicality of American Poetry
A poem is rooted in the rhythms of pulse, breath and movement.
Chard deNiord: To the Muse
You wakened me to a dream of waking
in which I approached you and sang
your name.
