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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 | 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