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Christian Bixler Feb 2019
Take the thistle
seen by the roadside
that is remarkable
in your eyes above all
for its color, and for its
solitude, and set it in a
*** of good soil in
your house, upon
the window-sill.
There let it sit,
day in and day out,
crown turned
sunwards, and its
leaves outstretched.
Guard it well
from those insects
that would
devour it, and
give it water,
once per week.
Hold it as a
***** friend,
as a child,
before whose
passing shall
leave the world
descendants
many times its
number, that the
likeness of the
thistle be always
kept in memory,
and in time.



Here, and in such things,
is found beauty.
Christian Bixler Jan 2019
Beyond thoughts
use is the power of
her beauty; for my
soul is caught in
the sight of her, and
my heart in
its turn.

Her eyes
like long tapered
leaves, like vessels
sharply prowed,
subtle in their weight
and depth of
cognizance-
twin edged
they gleam,
and knowledge
is in them.

And her voice!
As the sounds of
growing things and
the cello's weaving
her words are song
and her song the
symphony.

Like the stone rippling
and a cat content,
like the sweet bell
when hearts are
wearied.

Beauty!

For thou, and thou
alone
I contend.
This is an old piece I wrote after watching James and the Giant Peach. I was rather taken with the spider. It has though in the editing process taken on a form other than I intended. Instead of praising the beauty that is peculiar to its subject only, it has rather come to portray my concept of feminine beauty in general. Therefore the title, "Ode to a Spider" may not be the best fit. Ode to Beauty, perhaps. I leave it as it is, however, in tribute to the original.
Christian Bixler Jan 2019
winging from good fortune
the battered albatross
finds rest again

or

once strong-winged
the battered albatross
finds strength again
Recently I encountered beauty, and lingered longer than I should have. Wonder faded a little, and though still beautiful I wondered if I would ever again feel, as a boulder above the sea in storm, the tides of wonder and joy and love I felt rush over me, through me, when I found it for the first time. I lost my faith, and fell into despair. But then, when even this had waned, and a melancholy that was its echo lay over me, I stumbled in the dark, and once again found beauty. And once again, that same tide of impossible joy and wonder and near worshipful adoration crashed over me. And it was in almost inexpressible gratitude that I rejoiced for my foolishness.
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
on the way
to mountain refuge
car-sick
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
cold and
mountain lodgings
birds behind
Traveling to North GA to spend a few days in the mountains near Cloudland Canyon hiking with family.
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
Shifting, sand underfoot
and the moon bent
in reflected splendor, up from the sea, and from the
tresses of your hair;

black, in that time
of dreaming.

The stars,
innumerable in their glory,
wink down at
us gently as we walk,

their mysteries
disregarded.

for in your eyes
lie the sum of
their light.
This is a draft I put together in 2016 and promptly forgot about. I've edited it some, but I'm pretty sure I've just polished it up a little, meaning intact. Figured its about time it got some air.
Christian Bixler Nov 2018
passing through
sun-soaked leaves
and a footfall
Originally a draft for an earlier work, it resembled more and more something else, some different experience. Thus it's distinction.
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