Like a bird
Like a bird up in a treetop
This little bird I know him well
This creature it be me
I sit here with my pen in hand
And sing so crazily
With symbols shining out like gold
I give my song to thee
These words, they be my message
I sing them to the sky
One day his body will be gone
But the words will never die
They well up from my very soul
Without no help from me
I am that bird up in a tree
With his lone symphony.
And lord, I like to share it
I will whisper from the stars
And tell the world I am this bird
Send vibes out wide and far
That sing about the journey
The only one I know
As I’m sending out my story
In words that make it glow.
5 August 2013 @ 1755hrs.
Let me go
show me out the door with kind words
I want you to Love me ..
not punish by Force
My Prison, my warden
Let me go
My choice to be Free
Free of suppression, of my own creativity
let me decide for myself
Let me go
let go of me gracefully
I belong to myself , children and God
Let me go , let go of me
I am free
to choose to love and give
I am Free
from what burdens me
now I am Free
North Carolina—a beautiful place of humble abode,
On summer vacations or all the year round.
Rife with history, the Wright Brothers showed,
Thanks to Kitty Hawk's sand dunes at heights quite profound,
Hosting Earth's first manned flight on wings at our coast.
Carolina Tarheels—the battle cries loud,
Across our green state, Biltmore east, towards Kill Devil Hills.
Rolling gently across cotton and tobacco fields plowed,
Over civil war lands defended with vigor and skill.
Lakes and streams they're a plenty, abundant wildlife to boast,
Identified as "Southern" south of Mason-Dixon’s own line.
North Carolina place of wonder, from mountains to coast,
Appalachian Trail hikers by the thousands lovingly opine.
So the next time you feel, the need to discover,
Visit North Carolina's splendor, with a friend, sister, or brother!
These pretty little creatures
On the serpent road to Exmouth
They be some of the features
Along with Emus, Kangaroos
And handsome birds of prey
These little goats be bountiful
They’re all along the way.
They be domestic goats
Who’ve gone back to the wilds
Where they have bred one million fold.
As one moves along the miles
These little goats be seen so much
In their many shades and hues
Don’t know where they got their water
It be tough country too.
The weather here be hot and dry
As the sun bakes everything
And mostly here no rain does fall
To drinking water bring.
And yet these goats look healthy as
Such nimble little beasts
You’d see some dead there in the road
As the crows do have their feast.
That be the price of progress
That poor beasts have to die
That be the curse of human beings
Sometimes it makes me cry
Yet still they be so plentiful
These handsome little guys
Another little part of nature
That make love in me rise.
Young love bird wounded during your flight
Worried now where your companion landed
You sing a beautiful song, but still no sight
Certainly now he must have gotten stranded
The magical serenade continues to no avail
Some concern now for your own well being
This winter flight treacherous you feel frail
The singing stops, you are hardly breathing
One pilgrimage not completed you feel pain
Some guilt overtakes when you start to heal
The flying before your partner was it in vain
Or is there.a bird needing your singing still
Bird of flight your journey is still not done
Heal now, continue to fly for the other one
Penned by Wayland Bunch 2/12/2013
the shipwrecked sailor
from the North
lands on land
between the seas
nothing but trees
the trees shade him from the sun
in the sky
the sky provides a medium
in which the birds
from the trees
and the birds
nested in the trees
provide the sailor
birds to fry
the shipwrecked sailor
after his bird meal
still can’t fly
It burns and it stings.
More than drowning beneath
More than remaining in a
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why?
It burned and it stung.
The markings remained,
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little
known loathing were the known
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the
child that cried
Never was their relief for the
child that tried
You were that lovely bird that
understood the complications of
Nothing looked the same in
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears
The others-they were yet to
Caring Mother, o' so fair
You were that beautiful bird
filled with care.
The others came and were not
alone. Their two suitors sat on
Rampage and rage why did you
I began to wither and wither
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a
The droops of the Lily of the
Valley became the slumping of
My lovely bird the enemy had
taken you and the person you
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its
intricate self and you became
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
Mother, Mother what moved
Your intense spirt vanished only
to supplement a monster.
Mother, Monster and your tar
How did I kill that liver that was
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you
My lovely bird and your big
I'll tell you once, but never
Pain is only a flower for it
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as
quickly as lice.
You dear bird hurt me well.
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest
You brought me up, then you
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you
down in your deep black
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights.
As I fly,
the deep blue sky,
I look for prey,
on the forest floor,
as I elegantly soar,
I can spot a hare,
a mile down,
and dive at 100,
to the ground,
I am the acrobat,
of the air,
and the king of the sky,
without a care.
Flightless Old Birds
I spill ink upon a most sadden page
life of youth was once all the rage
Good times were to readily be had
even a dull day was not all that bad
For each new morn brought renewed hope
nothing, nothing seem beyond our scope
This ink sets in its newborn form
tired words seem to be my new norm
A whisper and a cry rarely ever call
newborn days of hope I can not recall
Why does time eat thus at my soul
when more livin' was always my goal
Looking back I see ink spilt long ago
the energy was quick the heart aflow
Deep energetic words jumping all about
laughter and joy always loudly rang out
Love was rampant always in the mix
secret night moves our passionate fix
O' youth why venture so far astray
yes , you just had to have it your way!
Robert J. Lindley
note: Time we always pray for more .
Yet after life abundant we sometimes regret
having had too much . For memories of our youth
beckon and shout. We then feel old, alone and so left out.
Then we ramble and write tired old words.
Looking to the skies as flightless old birds!
Thanks Peter, your butterfly poem brought this out of me
tonight. I saw yours was so upbeat yet mine came out as a
cry and a wail.
Once I Sought But Love Ran Away
I sought peace by way of knowledge
the well was full but the peace it did so hide
I ran races after peaceful horses but
the saddles fell of and trampled was my heart
I sought love by way of exciting sex with
beautiful vixens but satisfied I found love hiding
I ran after soft girls with hard sexy bodies only
to find sex great but true joy O' so elusive
A journey lead me into a wild life looking for
clues to peace and love. I found great pleasure
no real gain. I sat for years begging for an answer
when suddenly a little bird told me-
Stop, you are trying to force it!
Love flees from force. Settle down, look around
and you will see Love seeking you out! A great
truth hit me like a ton bricks. I obeyed that
little voice and now married ten years to the
Love that searched me out!
Hallejah and I praise her with a Shout!!!!!
Stop, open your heart, look and listen.
That same little bird just may speak to you!
Robert Lindley. 08-13-2014