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Dad Bird Poems | Bird Poems About Dad

These Dad Bird poems are examples of Bird poems about Dad. These are the best examples of Dad Bird poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Ballade | |

My three trees

My three trees

When I was a young lad, I lived in a jungle
A jungle of concrete and bricks
We had there but few birds, and yards without flowers
At times it did make me so sick
For I loved the forests all filled with lush growth
That I’d seen in the books I had read
And life there in Peckham it did nothing to me
It seemed to be dull, and quite dead.

And yet in our front yard there lived these three trees
And oh, how I loved them, I did
They filled with lush growth in spring and the summer
And then their rich growth it was hid
Until the next spring it would come back to life
And oh, how I loved to see this
When the sun did shine down on this beautiful foliage
My young heart was filled with such bliss.

Then one day in winter my father chopped down
These wonderful trees I did love
I cried, and I cried, and I sent all my anger
It must have reached Heaven above
For when the spring came those stumps they were loaded
With wonderful Foliage again
Those trees they lived on and I was delighted
That my dad tried to kill them in vain.

11 June 2014 @ 1155hrs.






Details | Rhyme | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm


Details | Rhyme | |

Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu

Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days

Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test. 
His pedigree line
has proven with time

that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay; 
there is not enough
food for them all. 

They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance 
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation; 
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin. 
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride 
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.

With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time. 
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth 
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending. 
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right, 	
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
 	
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally 
to deliver these in
your own way.”

After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes, 
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect, 
so with care he
covers every one
well.

He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure 
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by; 
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.

The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch. 
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood; 
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.

to be continued...


Details | Limerick | |

SARI, MY DAUGHTER-THE QUEEN OF BIRDS

                     The queen of birds Sari dear lived in the mango tree
                     I asked her to come down and take a saree from me
                              She asked wide-eyed the price of it
                               I said,”Sari, you’re a cute tweet”
            She made faces, chirruped short, and flew to the next tree.

A  saree  is a South Asian female garment that consists of a drape varying from five to nine yards in length and two to four feet in breadth that is typically wrapped around the waist, with one end draped over the shoulder, baring the midriff. 




                      Sari came down and sat on the bay window
                    ‘Dad’, she said,’ you must chain the devil Frido’
                                      “He is a gawky brute
                                  Just now he ate up a coot
                       He needs your boot and a slap on his credo”.



                 Sari tweeted my wife” O mom, don’t pinch my behind”
                   My wife re-tweeted,” Sari, You are not of this kind”.
                          “Sorry to say you have no proper bum
                           So, Sari, how can I be a pinch bum?”
                   Sari re-re-tweeted, “Mom, a lie, my bum is twined.”



                      Sari came one day with his creaky husband Suk
                  “Dad, teach Suk a lesson, he must know how to cook"
                            "Sari, my darling, you’re a sweet fraud
                          Don’t crook Suk’s head with a teaching rod
                      Better teach him how to fly by hook or by crook"




                  Sari, my daughter, in mid September, gave birth to a girl
                   She was a ball of furry delight, eyes were pacific pearl
                               I said, "Sari ,you are now a mother
                               So you must not be antsy like other
                Sari hugged her child,said”dad, no worry, she will be a whirl"





Details | Quatrain | |

First Quail Hunt

When I turned twelve, Dad bought me a shot gun Thought two sons hunting with him, would be fun My brother also got his at that age They were Remington Wingmaster, 12 gauge Dad had two Pointer bird dogs, both well-trained This is a breed born to hunt, it’s ingrained The dogs had been named Old Red and Clover Clover ranged close but Red was a rover Dad’s bird hunt of choice, was always Bob Whites As these quail don’t run before they take flight Other types of quail, like the West Texas Blues Run before they flush, that’s dog hunt bad news I’d walked on hunts, but never with a gun Then dad said “Boys you’re hunting on this one” We both knew gun safety and how to shoot Clay pigeons move out, but quail really scoot “Get the butt tight to your shoulder”, said Dad The gun kicked hard, so the stock had a pad Still before I learned, my shoulder was blue It didn’t take long to know what to do We left for the hunt, the sky was still black Went in the old pickup with dogs in back Just getting light when we got to the field Gave the dogs a short run, then made them heel We started to walk, but stayed fairly tight Dad was in the middle and Big “J” on the right Clover was working but stayed right in front Old Red was way out ranging wide to hunt We could see Red when he went on a point When Clover saw him, she froze every joint Old Red on a point is a sight to see Clover backing the point’s a thrill to me We walked toward the covey very slow Clover stayed, just in front, she’d freeze then go Old Red would only move a foot or two and freeze Dad talked soft, wanting to keep Red at ease Both dogs looked tense and about to explode Like a beam in stress from an over load When the birds all flushed with that sudden roar Big “J” shot one and Dad dropped down two more I never raised my gun, so had egg on my face Spellbound by the dogs, I couldn’t keep pace They both had a good laugh at my expense It’s my first time out, I said in defense The dogs retrieved the bird as they were trained Then the hunt ended as down came the rain On the way home I yelled, “I’m the winner!” I don’t have to clean a shot gun before dinner


Details | Bio | |

06072014 Get Along Home

,b>Get Along Home


When I was young

Life on the farm was difficult to understand at seven

The rooster flogged me

Dad in vengeance chopped the heads of everyone of his mates
 numbering a hundred

As he watched in the coop

Perhaps I didn't understand the reality that since I ate at the table

that I had to pluck the feathers off too

It was one of the hardest things to do

As a young lady he taught me manners and I served
 his gentleman guests-

as they looked upon me, the youngest daughter
Perhaps God had greater plans

for I wanted to see some of the world outside the farm


When Dad got sick, he left a hundred sheep for me to tend

It was the happiest and peaceful I've ever been despite the pain in my life

Perhaps God had greater plans for me when my mother sold half the stock
and I was left to work a waitress job at fourteen

And I liked serving the people
they were much different than the farmers I had met


I had my chance to leave home with my mothers permission at the age of sixteen  ~ 

I moved to Georgia
and I knew God had other plans for me

Its been thirty two years now

when will I learn that society isn't too good for me

I find myself on my land looking and feeling the breeze on my cheek

steel tears from my soul; they don't come

for I've never been loved by a man at all

I thought about throwing in the towel, and becoming a hermit
Perhaps God has greater plans for me

He spoke to me the other day
I know the voice of my Lord
He wondered why I do that..

pretty much, sell myself short


He said there is such beauty and wonderment
and I blinked as a fawn

Perhaps I do not know how to communicate well in public,

in fact, even people in the small towns nearby say I am the nicest lady but odd

Life is harsh as we search for acceptance

my inner child trembles and I am so very hurt
for who could love me?

As the old folk sing an old folk song:
(get along home Cindy, Cindy)
(get along home Cindy, Cindy)

Perhaps God has other plans

Life is difficult,

no doubt about it

My poured soul flows

and I lack comfort that I need

harsh words are more than I can bear these days

and I find many blessings knowing I don't have to stay on this earth for all time

Perhaps I could show the world my inner self so kind

but I'm shy;

to get hurt again

I've never given that to any man

but Dear Ole' Dad