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Bird Fear Poems | Bird Poems About Fear

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

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Details | Personification | |

I Am An Owl

Who can change what it is to be me?
The owl, hidden there in a night's beauty,
a beauty that most don't even try to see.

I am a deceiver in the shadows
who can show you a different light,
and open your eyes, once closed.

Come nearer. I am not known to bite;
there is nothing here to be afraid of.
Who is just your friend in the night?

In darkness, who will hear my call?
I may be wise for my age at times,
though I never claim to know it all.

My voice is heard; still I go unseen.
Tell me who is magical and mystical,
and yet, all things in between?




Owl: mystery of magic, omens, silent wisdom, vision in the night, deception

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Never Dream Within a Dream

-honestly...I have no clue why...- As I began to rest in my fickle dream Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep I was greeted by many a whisker And petulant snores from my sister The cat mewed ferociously and purred For there on the other side of the window—was a bird! It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass! And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm I swear my bosom was gone! The cat then motioned at the feathered brat For her bright breasts seemed extra fat Of course it wouldn’t have been that But I couldn’t just blame the cat! I opened the window only a crack And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?” Such pride she attained from my bosom Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!? The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly! She plopped to the ground and squawked I would have laughed, but I was shocked! The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!” Before I could think I had fallen to the ground To a booming, most terrible sound! My eyes then opened to a cat on my head As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad | |

BEAUTY BLIND in ZEUS's EYES

BEAUTY BLIND in ZEUS'S EYES

Born in dark with glints of light
the baby owlet flies.
Clots of stars within the skies
and clots in owlets eyes. 

Darkest night and darker days, 
he soars to search for prey.
Seeing not, the hunger grows 
and no light shows the way.

Need for shelter, thirst for drink, 
and wanting his own nest.
Nothing safe in all the world, 
and not a place to rest.

Flying on but weak from trying, 
not knowing how eyes work.
All the thoughts within his head 
are where the shadows lurk.

Then it rained, no shelter gained, 
nor food, nor water yet. 
He strikes upon a closed in porch 
and thinks he's lost the bet.

Falling hard, he hits his head 
and waits for all that's dead.
Someone comes and lifts him up 
and gives him food and bed.

No light but still, deep inside, 
a hope is whispered there.
A touch so soft, and hunger gone, 
no thirst, nor cold despair.

His life enclosed inside a trunk, 
provided for his care.
His days are spent in lots of play, 
in starry starry stare.

Beauty blinded by a chance 
and only feels and hears. 
If only backwards, time could be, 
to undo all his fears. 

Blind beauty he, to everything,
yet his eyes show us far.
That deep in clots and clusters, 
there awaits the nearest star.

Owl blind by birth and circumstance, 
has seen much more than we. 
Eyes renewed for bird and man, 
now that would be the key.

~Edlynn Nau~

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

Details | Couplet | |

Eyes of a Child

Looking all around me and becoming more aware,
Of the people and surroundings at which many children stare.

I come to terms and realize the acts of hate I see,
And now I fear that this same scene will soon envelope me.

Walking on a lonesome road, though crowded it may seem,
I pass through silent hordes of people hushing silent screams.

Beside me standing hand-in-hand, an older man and wife,
I wonder if they thought like me, what happened to their life.

I reminisce now further back before these broken days,
A time of wasting food and drink and dressing different ways.

But now we all look just alike in tattered grays and browns,
Drifting through these damaged streets and sporting matching frowns.

I thought we'd left the two world wars and poverty behind,
To linger in our broken books and fill an older time.

A time where death would cloud the world with sorrow and disease,
And fear would plant itself within the innocent with ease.

This made me think and look around for Noah and his arc,
And for the first time since the night I heard a flustered lark.

I quickly turned around to spot within a child's hands,
An injured bird whose time had brought it here from other lands.

The child stole a piece of thread from a redbreast robin's nest,
And wrapped around the ailing bird a splint so it could rest.

An hour past the lark took flight and answered to the wild;
The only resting place of hope is in the bright eyes of a child.

Copyright © Elaine Ho | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |

Breathe

Breathe i breathless.
Sleeping in a nightmare of unseen loveliness.
Restless in my mind and body.
Through a tunnel of devastating reckoning.


Crying sound of a wounded ostrich.
The echo of a oceanwaves demolishing sea afterlife.
My feminist touches cursed.
His enduring love of a dying poetical.
He dies in his lust of pleasure.

Copyright © Robin Brown | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

The Twilight Moor

Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.

Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.

Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass

Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws

Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.

Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Limerick | |

Sobbin Robin

Posted on 8/20/2013
Updated 8/21/2013

Sobbin’ Robin kept hoppin’ around.
His beak in a downward frown.
First time out of the nest
Unsure of his Baby Bird Quest
His meek chirping was his only sound.

Sobbin’ Robin was too scared to fly.
So scared that he didn’t even try.
He chirped out a loud sigh
That shifted the sky
And a breeze stopped his next chirpy cry.

Unknown to Scared Sobbin’ Robin
Was that Mother Nature kept him hoppin’
When the wind caught his wings
He started to sing
And now flies with birds sans any sobbin'.

Copyright © Gail DeBole | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

pakshi

main hu ek aajad pakshi ki trah
udti hu khule aasman me
jise n koi chinta, kisi ke shikar karne ki
udati rahu puri jindagi, aajad pakshi ki trah
koi n rakhe mujhe bandhi bna kar 
udati rahu, udati rahu, aajad pakshi ki trah
khane ke liye bhatku idhar -udhar
n mile mujhe khane ke liye
bhukhe pet hi so jau
kitne bhi kasht mile, has kar sah lu unhe
koi phark n pade, ab kisi kasht ka
aadat hi ho gayi ab hume
main hu ek aajad pakshi ki trah
udati hu khule aasman me

Copyright © SANGITA CHOUDHARY | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

BIRD

                           O! O! O! Bird O! Bird!
                           Why quench the thirst of my enjoyment?
                           With your melodious beak-flute
                           It seems like malady to perch
                           On the rigid composure
                           Of the branch; or a dancing spectacle of leaves
                           Bending their way, hunch-backed, peering
                           Into the earth. Thus this way
                           Nutrients stream a bewilderment of trees
                           And nectarine condensation of your beak.

                          Will you sing to me?
                          Tell tales, narrate agonizing fables of yore
                          Sarcous sacks that build in moles,
                          That a atoms of being, clouded in obscurity.
                           But you Bird cannot evade
                           A temperemental quiver;
                           Plan of arrow, naughty,
                           From the bow, boys and smooth egg-stone
                           From beach- testicles of rubber bands
                           Meet and mingle with your dizzy fall
                           Then your quaint cooing
                           I would hear no more.

Copyright © Onyebuchi Okonkwo | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

THE DUCK BLIND

Every autumn in the Chaos Mountains
the wind blows through the tall grass
& the rain stalls, fitful in its sublimity.
It is not a season for speaking. Only for listening.
Out there, somewhere beyond the horizon
a silence that is not silence, calls,
& men enter the duck blind, and wait,
huddled with their cartridges & ambiguities,
disguised to themselves as hunters,
re-inventing themselves with rifle eyes
fixed on some vanishing point beyond the language
of rivers & trees, turned away from
the here & now - a tempting non-existence
accompanied by hope, which may be nothing more
than the promise of a big dinner with
lots of stuffing and gravy and no questions.

Copyright © Billy Marshall Stoneking | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

A Raven Twice Removed

This large dark creature fluffs its wings at me, causing fear and shame. However, I have done nothing wrong to it. Yet, it snares at me in pain. I am afraid, but I call to it and it comes close, but not near for fear. Why is this creature afraid, or is it just the Human trade. I call, it comes, I show by my outstretched hands, then gently touches my hands and pecks. Then, flies away a greeting we have made known, no more to be afraid. The Raven twice removed to come back another day.

Copyright © Marilyn Williams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Seven Billion Reasons

Another baby born, another bushel of wheat
Another piece of land, for another family to eat

Another net is cast, another fish is caught
Another fire in the forest, another tree sought
Another bird flees, another bird gone
No home for the beast, diversity all gone

Crops in the amazon, Rivers clogged up
Flooding in cities, Seas on the up
Nature under pressure, Pollution the price
Shortage of wheat, Shortage of Rice
Temperature rising, Deserts expanding

Oil running out, the world is in doubt
War for resources, the west uses force
While the poor beg in cities
Victims of policies, Victims of atrocities

Seas that are empty, bellies that are swelled
Mankind too many, Riots a plenty
The button is pushed, and humanity is hushed

The Earth is now empty, Heaven is full
And we are seven billion reasons
For God to cry “Treason” ”Treason”

And the stars look on, silent
And galaxies die alone
And no one will know.
This place,
Where once, our babies did grow.
But time will go on
And the earth is aglow
Just as it was, seven billion years ago.

Seven billion today
Tomorrow more
What is the real figure?
For all out Nuclear War?

Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Clipped Wings

Clipped Wings

An icy salt spray begins to tarnish my feathers,
The salt is corroding. 
That salt. It’s ingesting my plume, diluting true meaning
Teal turned navy. Crimson now brown.

I had keen pearlescent eyes,
Now clouded, they see nothing, nothing at all.
I can't even step foot behind the silver mirror; it's broken.
Shattered.

Shards of thick glass tease, reflecting,
Me.
I’m falling on the other side, no one’s there to catch,
I’ll just be a mess on the floor. A sad grey reflection.

I hid for a while, from the salt.
But I just knew that shelter
Wasn’t for me.
It wasn’t my home.

Tearing. 
Splitting.
Moaning.
Begging.

Cold, salty concrete scraped my dignity away.
It tore my skin, left dirt in my bleeding feathers.
So again I hid. Not from the salt, I can’t hide from the salt.
I’m hiding from me.

I’m hiding from the reflection I can still see.
I chose to linger. I chose this. I didn’t choose this.
I watch as she stretches her magnificent wings wide, takes flight, 
Ascending, dancing gaily between wisps of pure white.

I search the bare sky, salt is still in the breeze,
Taunting me; try fly with tarnished feathers.
But glinting, I see the green trees on an endless horizon
They are not a reflection, I tell myself.

So I stretch my broken wings and timidly I take flight, 
Away from the salt, back towards myself under a silver moonlight.

Copyright © Victoria Wood | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse | |

Penetrating the Unknown

             While waiting but not watching for the sun to set, perhaps the bullfrogs are creating the shadows with their croaks, my friend screams out because he has been bitten by a fly. He is not quiet enough so the flies obtain special pleasure from teasing him. Meanwhile bluebirds skirt the lake surface like the most perfectly designed fighter planes in twos or threes and argue rising up on their tails into the air. While insects prey upon and tease the bare flesh and blood of we humans, they fear the silent violence, the sudden huge presences of these family birds.

            A larva with a leaf tip for a cocoon descends a white birch by a long thread. We free ourselves from our writings to observe phenomenon. Then thinking about dinner. The flight of J. Krishnamurti, the eagle guru says even artists (after physicists and mathematicians) may penetrate the unknown if not too absorbed in their own emotions and imaginations. We common people too who loving our wives can love everyone.

            What eyesight the bluebirds have to swoop the lake from shore for a flying insect or descend from fifty feet on a thin straw grass and return to chew absent-mindedly! Just fun having song sung among men. As for the syntax, a daisy could swing it unthinking and coast. Along the beehive rocks ants crawl on connecting interlacing instructions. All around us and inside too as if stars were unseen but present it's true. So a man desires breakfast with his lady; could it be more amusing, material or smell?

            As the eyesun descends below spun clouds, spirit or the eagle or the drum? Round. The dialectic obscure couldn't be more better said. So round and serious. To love everyone with clearer vision than a bluebird or a lake is to transcend the innocence of insect and take flight action and feed the babies of fate. Phew! Dinner outside the cocoon. I brought myself a student upon the hill or mountain and said to myself I said Obo rebop in summer sweater and what less overweight can carry test uphill so slow? Presently, reformed, informed by the bluebird's eagle spirit, clear cleanhead, I return coagulating mightily ideas the bites of insects ow! to breakfast home and everywhere unknown. Hearing bird with clear conscience echo make.





Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad | |

9-1-1

I'M TRYING TO WALK ON WATER
BUT I CAN FEEL A STORM RISING
I CAN SEE THE SAVIOUR ON THE WATER SMILING 
BUT I DOUBT HIM AND START CRYING
HE SAID KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME
AND JUST KEEP ON SEEKING
I GET SO DISTRACTED
START PANICKING
AND BEGIN SINKING
HOW DID SHAME MAKE IT'S WAY INTO MY MIND?
HOW DID I ALLOW SHAME AND FEAR TO DOMINATE MY TIME?
HOW DID THIS IDENTITY MAKE ITS WAY INTO MY SOUL?
ALL OF MY PRIDE AND DIGNITY
SATAN STRATEGICALLY STOLE
NOW I'M BENEATH THE SURFACE
TRYING TO RISE UP FOR AIR
PEOPLE PASS  ME BY 
AND THEY SEEM FREE
AND TO ME IT'S JUST NOT FAIR
THEN JESUS BOLDLY SPOKE TO ME AND SAID DO NOT DARE COMPARE!
THE ONLY TIME THAT YOU DARE DROWN
IS WHEN YOU ACT LIKE I'M NOT THERE
AFTER HE SPOKE THAT TO ME
I WAS IN PEACE
AND MADE THIS CONCLUSION
THAT ALL OF MY FEARS
AND UNMERITED SHAME
IS REALLY JUST AN OPTICAL ILLUSION
BUT JESUS CAME AND WARNED ME THAT UNTIL I REALLY BELIEVE HIM FULLY
THAT I'LL BE HARASSED AND TAKE SET BACKS FROM SATAN,THAT DISTRACTING BULLY.
BUT GOD SAID CHILD THIS IS JUST A SMALL CHAPTER IN A PORTION OF YOUR LIFE
THEN HE SAID EVERYTHING WILL END SO NICE 
WHEN YOU STAY FOCUSED ON MY SON,CHRIST.

Copyright © SHARITA CRAWFORD | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? | |

Demise of the Frail and Assail of the Skies

The bird wanted to fly

But the wind wanted to blow

“Rest now bird”, said the wind

“You now take it down slow,

And let me flow.”

 

The bird accepted thinking it was a request,

And ignored the proud in his words,

She sat down on the branch to rest,

Keeping down her guards,

Unaware of what is next.

 

An hour passed,

But still the wind didn’t stop,

Now the pace became fast,

Now the wind gone, in place was the storm.

 

Unable to stand against it,

The bird felt helpless.

The emergence of automatic persuasion,

Left the bird in stress.

 

Her home is not the ground,

She lives in the sky,

Feeling gloomy and bound,

She doesn’t even try to fly.

 

She stays where she was,

And starts envying the wind,

The kind of power he has,

That brought down even the born free.

Flying is what she loves,

And the feeling of spreading the wings,

Something that cannot be expressed in words,

The beauty can only be felt within,

But when the storm persists on blowing,

The persuasion reminded the bird of a cage.

The feeling of being trapped,

Even turned down the sage,

Within the bird and now a panic engulfed,

Because everything was happening against her will,

And the storm and his manic laugh,

Harassing and shrill,

Dominating over the world with his power.

 

 Now there is water added,

Pouring everywhere from the sky,

So hard that the vision blurry and fade,

The bird now wants to hide.

And so she trusts the woods,

Under the leaves she takes shelter,

Hoping the safe place could,

Understand and help the helpless her.

But today even the trees are of no help,

The rain is too heavy,

No matter where she hides,

Towards her somehow it will glide.

 

A day passed but still the storm wasn’t satisfied,

He kept on blowing,

Kept dominating the little with pride,

But the bird was now over sorrowing,

So, she decided to challenge the flowing.

 

And it seemed like years had passed,

Since the bird took a flight,

Into the blue and those effects that lasted,

Of serenity, luxury and rights.

 

Now the tolerance was coming to an end,

Her loud chirping of frustration speaks,

And so she comes out of the safe place and,

Into the grey she leaps.

 

It’s like, she dares the storm,

Even though she knows it’s futile,

The proud in him confirms,

That the end could be brutal.

But the little now doesn’t care,

She just wants to fly.

 

The storm does see the bird’s hindrance,

But would not understand the heart,

He will do what he wants,

That is what he is doing from the start.

He will choose when to come,

His wish no one can predict,

When his fun will become,

A thing getting vapid,

He’ll spare the imploring planet.

 

 

The rain can be the reason of someone’s laughter,

It can also make one morose.

The torrent of pouring water,

Is also something he does.

If his will says,

It’ll be a shower of delight.

If he wants it to be the other way,

It can become an element of fright.

 

Now after going a mile,

The bird is in terror,

Still the storm being hostile,

And the bird being the bearer.

 

Though she is tired,

But hasn’t lost all hopes,

And so with eyes like angel she desired,

The thoughts of good and optimism.

But when she looked up with faith,

And saw the grey sky,

She fatigue and her pale breath,

But still she flies.

 

“Stubborn she is no less”,

Thinks the storm, and now he the outrageous,

Losing his charge on the rage,

The sky shines a red that’s vicious.

Then from somewhere a lightning bolt,

Suddenly strikes before the bird,

While she runs from the jolt,

Several others in her surround appeared.

She moves carefully,

But the storm is furious,

And he would not stop,

Until he becomes victorious.

 

Then a surprising tremor ripples,

Through her and little’s every part stops,

Down the bird with rush tumbles,

With eyes full of teardrops,

And her vision turns grey,

But did she lose the fray?

 

As the bird, hit the soil,

She remembered a life,

A life that never once gave her the turmoil,

But always love in rife.

Also a light that the bird saw,

When she first opened her eyes,

Now got vacuumed,

Leaving behind the blackness of demise.

 

The storm witnessed the whole saga,

But still he won’t remorse,

A beautiful little lay dead down,

Sometime else, again a creature would morose,

Because the nefarious never bows.

Copyright © Tuisha Sircar | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Bird of Prey

Bird of Prey

On Banyon Lake, where waterfowl dwell,
The night was tranquil and held no fear.
Until came a sound ascended from Hell.
I heard a menacing cry as I drew near.

Upon the shore no wave did break.
No whispers on the wind were heard.
Nor was there a splash on the lake.
From any waterfowl or roosting bird.

The anxious cooing of mated doves
Cried out a warning in the ominous dark.
They heard the screech from far above,
And trilled warning of a hungry hawk.

A mother swan, at the edge of the lake,
gathered her chicks beneath her wings.
It was a time to stay alert and awake.
In the face of danger no bird dared sing.

The predator hovered high in the sky.
I saw her shadow blanket the moon.
With yet another shrill, piercing cry,
I heard the faint wail of a single loon.

There was movement among the reeds. 
The hunter circled in search of her prey.
Her only focus was to fulfill her need
Before dark gave way to light of day.

Talons lowered, she opened her beak.
Again she screamed from great height.
Eyes focused on the fish she did seek.
Upon her wings, reflected moonlight.

Down she plunged with swiftest speed.
With keen senses she was able to snare
The prize that would sate her needs,
And enough to feed her fledgling pair.

With a flap of wings she rose in the sky.
A fish clutched in the grip of her claws.
All the birds were safe. I let out a sigh.
Fulfilled was Mother Nature's basic law.

A stilt legged egret came out of hiding.
Swans craned their necks in a swoon.
Doves continued their calls and chiding.
A nightingale whistled a joyous tune.

On Banyon Lake, where waterfowl dwell,
All was peaceful, serene, and still.
Upon the water, silver moonbeams fell.
The bird of prey had eaten her fill.

** I do not believe in the existence of Hell.




Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

Happy Thanksgiving The Luckiest Bird Around

The Luckiest Bird Around Strutting about ruffling my wings As everyone else gathered around in rings Seeing the farmer sharpening his cleaver with cheer Made my body shake and fill with fear I let out a screech and puffed out my chest Oh! No! Not me, you're not getting close to my breast you pest Kicking up dust and praying he wouldn’t stop But to my surprise, off my head wasn’t chopped To the freezer he went for a package of Rib-eye I jumped with joy with a glimmer in my eye Strutting around and dancing a hoedown jig Maybe next year it will be the barnyard pig Happy Thanksgiving By: Eve Roper 11/26/2015

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

The Hawk

The Hawk flys overhead
soaring everlasting in circles
around the poor field mice.

six o'clock.

The Red Sun is now parrallel
to the treeline in the West.
Six o'clock
Dinnertime.
The hawk dives down, like a speeding bullet
and snatches up a small mouse, who was walking
along the corroded barbwire fence,
with his sharpe and dangerous talans.

Six o'clock. Feeding time.
A lover is now gone from the world of field mice,
Just like that.
With the turn of a hand on a clock
Six o'clock.
With the rumble of a Hawk's empty stomach
now a fellow mouse is gone. Forever.

Sad, isn't it?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

In a box

Sitting in a square my knees are cramped
Prying through a hole I see the dark
I close my eyes and sprout wings of the lark
Flapping my arms  sweat coats my body damp
Enclosed in a box entrapped within my mind
I stretch my legs and wiggle my toes
I shut my mouth breathing through my nose
I burst my arms through the sides to find
My heart holding me back incline
My mind begins to speak out loud
My box drifts into a cloud
With legs I free my entwine
Push pull my spirit is through
A rush of air cools my soul
I kneel forward up I go
The world so different and new
I prune my feathers and lift my wings
Up up I fly high high high
Up up through the midnight sky
I clear my throat and sing
Free free from me in a box
I glide and than I float
Soaring deep into the dreamers boat
I lift my head to find me in a box.

Copyright © Fritz Purdum | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric | |

HOW CAN A BIRD THAT WAS BORN FOR JOY SIT IN A CAGE AND SING

The Cage is so dark and so misty, I can hardly breathe there.
The words that echo there are so melancholic and appalling,
The Voices can only whisper as if they are strangled by Fear.
How can a bird that was born for joy, sit in a cage and sing!

The constellations of night, the luminescence of rainforest,
The infinite azure sky, the crimson horizon, the cozy pond,
The ocean, the stony mountains, even the shady bird-nest,
Everything summons my Heart but still it cannot respond.

My Heart is a song bird that is imprisoned in an inner Cage.
How can a bird that was born for joy, sit in a cage and sing!
Let my Heart fly towards liberty, breaking bars of bondage
So that it can sing in a merry tune again by flapping its wing.

Copyright © Osman Gani | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

The Phoenix

The Phoenix


The phoenix it flew 
it arose from the ashes
of lives long past.
The flame burst out
crying truths
Calling out
“Gin melathon an-uir”

The gift of life
said crashed through death
As many had fallen
this single had prevailed
Calling out
“Gin melathon an-uir”

The grief of few
Impairs not this one
the fire of joy and love
Had not heed of terror
The phoenix calling out
“Gin melathon an-uir”

Copyright © Ross Marshburn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse | |

I Will Not Fear The Darkness

Shall I pass the phantom's test?
Find solace and peace in the belly of my bed?

I will not fear the darkness
Black as ravens head
Nor the shadows that watch and wait
While I nestle in my bed

No longer fear the cold breath, winter chill
Or the whispers of death and ill will
My fears, blooming as beauty of youth
From where are their roots?

Copyright © Kirin Lawrence | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric | |

Spectacular Day

I heard a blue jay in the distance…
Soaring through the branches gracefully
I open up the curtains…ooh…
Forgive me if I drift away
I often wish I took flight like that bird…
You give me that smile that made my day
You made my day a spectacular one…
With some exceptions

Tempted to do wrong…
oh how I hate those countless deceptions
Writing a new song…
oh I hate those wild, countless temptations
Waiting to belong…
trying to make this cherry-top decision
Tempted to do something quite horrid
Wanting to do something productive for once
Weeping with regret and dread
You made my day a spectacular one…
With some exceptions

I heard a classical song not long ago
Forgive me if I say the wrong words
That breaks your heart
We’re both waiting to depart
From depression…ooh…
I’m persistently trying to grab a hold of myself
I’m feeling sore…my heart is bleeding out
You give me that look of suspicion
And I had to make a difficult decision
Was I to let you go?
Are you meant to stay by my side?
I feel free like birds out of the cage…
You made my day a spectacular one…
With some exceptions

Tempted to do wrong…
oh how I hate those countless deceptions
Writing a new song…
oh I hate those wild, countless temptations
Waiting to belong…
trying to make this cherry-top decision
Tempted to do something rather…shocking
Wanting to do something delightful for once
Weeping with happiness and lament
Sleeping without a sound…
Do I have to repent? 
I tried to sing a song, 
But my voice drowned…
In the ocean, 
I fall…
On the mountains, 
I call…
You made my day a spectacular one…
With some exceptions


Graze in your own maze…
In other words, mind your own business
You give me a death stare…an eccentric gaze
You made my day a spectacular one…
With some exceptions

Tempted to do wrong…
oh how I hate those cruel infections
Writing a new song…
oh I hate all that deceptive, dangerous directions 
Waiting to belong…
trying to make this cherry-top decision
Tempted to do something quite odd…
I’m about to 
Lose control…
You made my day a spectacular one…
With some exceptions

Wanting to do something productive for once
Trying to do something that will 
Kill those negative thoughts
I glance at the mirror and I fade away… 
(Ooh…oooh…ooh…)x2
I’m turning the wrong way…
Oh! Oh oh…oh oh…
It’s a spectacular day…
With some exceptions…

Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Flighty Bird

There are times I feel
I’m like a small flighty bird
Endlessly and powerfully drawn by the wind
To the sky
The clouds
The sun and moon and sea and world
The colors I wear and the words I sing often attract the interest of humans
Approaching clumsily hands outstretched
They interest me
My head cocks from side to side
Studying
I sing and draw them, tease them, intrigue them
It’s a game I play
But the instant they take one step too many, compromising my space, threatening my freedom
I’m gone
Back to the peaceful independence of the lonely sky 
Tied to nothing and no one
But one came singing a song of his own
A song that harmonized perfectly with mine
He approached slowly, sweetly, thoughtfully
And I listened and watched
Felt
Took the slightest of hops toward him
Impulsively 
Timidly
Longingly 
Captivated
Nearly within arms reach
Nearly surrendering 
Too close, I fled
For if I were to become a caged bird
I fear I would cease to sing

Copyright © Skylyn Webb | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Timid Songbird

You caught the bird
That got away from me
So keep it safe
And hold it gently
Since its bones
Are easily broken
And though it might
Flap its wings in fear 
at first,
Stroke its feathers
And wait
And you just might
Hear it sing

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Il Fiore Della Bruma P4

Mr. Visage of the manor, was often regarded in the highest esteem.
He lived in direct centre of the valley
Lauded his walls with fine antiques and trinkets;
Gold plated vases of crushed ice
Refilled by the hour.
Ebony perfumes
Travelling in thick cloud, like a rich fog of delight
Or marvel atleast.
His walls were only thin bamboo,
And he visited the villagers regularly.
Ofcourse, they privately grumbled of his accommodation
And obsessive nature to present, even perform at times.
Yet he was quite the life amongst them
They would none but laugh and smile in his presence.
Only laugh and smile.

Mr. Visage was a tapestry of pride
A great man in many respects.
Maybe he enjoyed his success too much,
But in person still,
He was a good man amongst the valley.

“This Family is a secret dysfunction;
Alone in all but volume.
Pray for the beauty of the elegant bird.
These wonders I have homed
From a tropic desolation,
Here to see and be seen
In the total view of the prominent.
Perfection of Asia, Africa, bizarre and prize
Drawn together by infinite work:
Pray for the beauty of the elegant bird.

Uneclipsed, I dive
Capsuling grace in a midnight charm
With a stare so ready to flicker
And dissolve the empty rooms.
What will happen to my attraction
Once I depart?”

 The Mr. Visage wept
For the bird that flew
And Mr. Visage would never depart. 


If there's anyone that's actually been reading all these parts, this one is by far the most obscure, probably looks pretty poor without it making sense but it does, particularly when in comparison with part 2 and 3

Copyright © Aiden Asoll | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

A Shadow Of Doubt

Duck!
Get down!
Not down
From a duck.
What the deuce
Silly goose,
Don’t be a clown.
Just watch below
The shadow,
That runs amuck?

Hide!
Watch your hide,
From the thing
That glides.
It will trick you
Then pick you.
It’s so quick, it
Will ‘git you,
In the thicket
Where you hide.

Run!
Grab a gun!
Take aim
Toward the sun.
Shame, shame.
Is it an eagle
Or a seagull?
From whence it came?
What’s its name
It’s so regal?

Lor!
Hit the floor,
Coz it’s coming back
For more!
What’s it carrying?
It is carrion
Which it madly adores.
And man oh man
Its wingspan
Reaches eight feet four.
Coz up there, soars
The mighty Condor!

Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

The Flightless Bird Must Break

The robin that shuddered from the island of the lake,
The robin that tossed until each feather was a flake,
The robin in the wind that watched the waters awake,
Robin red-breast numb with ache.


For the rhyme-battle 2 competition

Copyright © Aiden Asoll | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse | |

Of Judith and Inanna

For the accountant, the librarian, on this cold day
there is no revelation. He will go his own way
to the roar of the tinnitus in his ears.
About our war what is there to say. Yesterday
a flock of bluebirds was the only color in the woods.
Have they arrived too early for their good? 
Of Judith and Inanna I have Korf's fears.

Inanna is generous, Judith is dangerous.
On each the wise elders depend for sustenance, 
protection. Agriculture is sexual
and wars end when men remember cunnilingus.
To savor the young woman's thighs and the old one's food, 
to water her womb and cut her wood.
Is this not what's real, the actual, the animal? 

The women I have known were bluebirds and crows, such
nuthatches, cardinals, robins, an occasional thrush.
They did not consider their bodies holy, 
they found my seduction easy. What good luck
on the bed, in the light of the land, in our youth.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother, 
his misery lifted by coming to her city.





Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015