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Bird Life Poems | Bird Poems About Life

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

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Details | Haibun | |

Kindred Spirits

~(tanka haibun)~


    Awakened from my walking reverie by movement ahead, I spy a Red-Tailed Hawk perched upon the wrought-iron railing of the flood-wall. The hawk is regal, stoic beauty. I stop walking in hopes of urging the bird of prey to stay its perch. It does, filling me with a sense of relief. I wonder why it let me get so close; if it was my calm, thoughts-up-in-the-clouds, meditative stroll that somehow rendered my thoughts and steps silent enough to catch the bird unawares. We eye each other, a bitter gust of mid-winter wind blows against my face; ruffles the back-feathers of the hawk. I am overwhelmed by a sensation how the two of us know exactly what we are, who we are, what we are supposed to be doing overall, but we are presently caught in a moment of unknowns, letting these unknowns erase the lines that keep us separate -- beast from human. 
I take a step closer, causing the hawk to finally alight, and I am struck by its vibrant feathers adding a dash of colour to the surrounding monochromatic grays. 
The hawk flies only a short distance ahead before landing on the railing again, so we re-enact the scene of this play. I come closer, closer, closer, until the hawk lifts up, flies a bit further along the river-walk, before landing again, until eventually it probably decides, that indeed, this human is going to traverse the entire path, for the hawk flies up into trees located further ahead. As I walk past the trees, the hawk launches out of an evergreen, with twigs in its talons. The bird flies over the river; a river made tumultuous by ice-melt.

in Winter's gray light
a Red-Tailed Hawk paints the sky 
with its feathers,
my soul lifts, follows the bird
over an ice-gorged river

The hawk lands on the base of a church steeple, and disappears behind an ornately carved corner. It appears as if the steeple is attempting to pierce the snow-clouds with its tip, trying to tear gashes in the sky, until spring blue bleeds into gray. On this Tuesday afternoon, does the church seem personified because it is devoid of Sunday parishioners milling in and out of its thick wooden doors? No matter how hard the steeple tries to break-apart the clouds, the grand sky dwarfs the church, causing it to look like a toy model. The church fluctuates between looking like a miniature-scale model, and an architectural feat.

with defiance
the steeple pierces clouds
looming overhead -
the snow-laden clouds
make the church appear small

Passing the church, I find it ironic how today the church is empty inside, yet on its steeple and roof-lines, countless animals are nesting, making this House of God their sanctuary. Slowly making my way home, I ponder about the hawk, how it is not only a predator amongst prey, but a predator amongst predators -- it flies around in plain sight, yet also hides right in the middle of the city. Coming up to the path leading to the back-door of my home, I scan a small trail of footprints in the snow. The footprints vary, but all are familiar to me. 
It is at precisely this moment that I fully acknowledge the Red-Tailed Hawk and I to be kindred spirits; how similar we really are.

the path leading home
is a winding snowy trail
of few footprints,
for only my loved ones know
where I truly live



.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Sonnet | |

The Morning Sun Speaks

The Morning Sun Speaks


Vainly,  I smile at a fine morning sun
ponder today's tasks waiting to be done
Embrace and savor this very sweet morn
enjoy life, that is why we were first born

Sparrow drinking at my lone bird fountain
clouds soaring into another mountain 
I see the carefree bird fly far away
consider the high price I dearly pay

Happily my soul spoke to the red sun
life races onward as I freely run
My toils are but life tokens to be spent
spirit lives with our love paying no rent

The morning sun spoke yet again to me
live, love and grab hold of life yet to be!

Robert J. Lindley, 08-27-2014

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Rhyme | |

Looking at life

Looking at life

It’s beautiful
So many different hues
Of green, It kinds of knocks me out
There is not just a few
As I look among the many trees
How it amazes me
There’s light, and medium, soft and dark
So many hues I see.

It’s wonderful
It’s such a lovely show
There’s Butcher birds, and Ravens
Oh how it makes me glow
Parrots dressed in green and blue
Doves, and wagtails too
On velvet grass that’s feather soft
Neath sky so very blue.

Some folk they think of suicide
Have they not eyes at all?
Cannot they see loves magic? 
How life’s so beautiful
Wake up, wake up, and look at life
All those greens, and blues and yellows
Look at the birds and ask yourself
“Why are they such happy fellows”?

18 July 2014 @ 1240hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | I do not know? | |

His Song and Mine

Sympathy

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
    When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;   
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,   
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
    When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,   
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
    Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;   
For he must fly back to his perch and cling   
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
    And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars   
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
    When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
    But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,   
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!


Why Do I Write?

You ask me why I sing?
You ask me why I write?
You ask me why I bleed?
What choice have I besides?

I long to fly, to run away
To some safe haven just to play
To see the light of blessed day
And give my longing heart full sway

I want to grasp the star and moon
And live my life; t'will end too soon
And kiss the clouds up in the sky
But here am I, what choice have I?

Why do I sing?
Why do I cry?
Why write of pain
No lullaby?
What choice have I?

I want with zeal to be adored
And I want Fame there at my door
I want IT ALL and so much more
Tell me, is anything for sure?

Why so I beat my wing?
I was born to soar…

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Ballad | |

Little Blue Bird of Rain

Little Blue Bird of rain.

Rain, rain go away
Little Blue Bird of Rain, needs to shine again
In her version the sun dried, up all her tears
Leaving hurtful rain inside the bird
Destructive past sudden cheers
Waking up to empty words
When abandoned by her peers
Just not knowing what had just occurred

Drowning herself in a life of Jane Doe.
Never know who she really is
When all she loves hanging her lowest moment
The rain brought out Mary-Jane.
As the bird lost its glow.
The rain tricked her once to use Cocaine.
As her feathers met that one Joe.
He broke her wing and brought more Rain.

Very young, very sweet.
Living her life in the fast lane.
Hard for her to stand on her feet.
Balanced her life on one leg, like the crane.
Curtains hang over her wings.
While she let no one near her domain.

While she flies through the heavy rain.
She finds her comfort with a pen.
Using the lords name in vain.
Cursing all her backstabbing friends
With no one around to explain?
All the sorrow left her on a railroad track.
Ending up like the runaway train.
Only she can get her life back.

If for myself I ever felt pain?
I felt more pain at what she wrote about. 
In my face on my left side 
Your poetry comes to life in my head. 
Visions of her wanting to be dead.
Oh! How I wish this life she did not dread.

You hide the tears you shed so well.
A life with balls you cut the chains.
You diss, Your parents to go to hell.
Little Blue Bird of Rain, don't let them fools drive you insane.

Little Blue Bird of Rain.
If a sparrow could show you,
There is more to life than pain.
Under the umbrella, the sparrow would cover you.
No one wants to see her colors drain.
What a world to master her feathers into art.
The gift of words runs through her vein

The paintings on her wall.
A dream of a bad seed of grain.
One day our Little Blue Bird will stand tall.
To free herself from all the Rain.


  To: Rain aka- Joy Loveless
Our sweet 16-year-old
      P.D.     1-1-10

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Pantoum | |

WHEN I WAS YOUNG

When I was young and life was easy
I never thought but of the next day.
For the young, things can be so breezy
It is the child's way.

I never thought but of the next day
Until that day came upon me.
It is the child's way
And I did not want to see.

Until that day came upon me
I was carefree like the bird on high.
And I did not want to see
The dark adult horizons that would make me cry.

I was carefree like the bird on high
Only to be trapped by love
The dark adult horizons that would make me cry
Crushing me down from above.

Only to be trapped by love
For the young, things can be so breezy
Crushing me down from above
When I was young and life was easy.


Dan Cwiak ... written for:
Paula Swanson's Pantoum contest

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak

Details | Sijo | |

NIght Bird




 I hear the night bird lift his soft lament to the clouded sky
 
When next the rays of sun warm his bower hidden in the thorn bush 

He must live his day and keep his sad song for the shadows

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick

Details | Free verse | |

Learning To Fly Again

Voice of Scandinavia
(learning to fly again)

In the twilight hour
Blue mountain range
Changing to dark giants

Mysterious figures springs 
.. out of the steep hill sides
Hour of mysteries and fantasies

You`ve been runnin`for too long
Now you`ll be hiding in the dark
Protected behind Mother Nature`s shield

At the break of dawn
Mother Nature, relieve my pain
This time it may very well be my last
Take this injured bird up to the mountain range 
Let it spread its wings, and learn to fly again

Soar above high mountain peaks
Colorful valleys - all from a birds eye
Its all I know.. All I ever wanted to know
Great Spirit of Nature.. keep me under your protective wings
Lift my soul and let it fly, let me learn to fly again


A. Ertsland
June 29th 2012

* Inspired by finding a little bird who had fallen out of its nest earlier this year.See ya:-)

Copyright © Arild Andresen Ertsland

Details | Sonnet | |

A Life Sentence

Dear freedom, your sweet innocent voice seems
Now like a distant echo, lost in the wind.
Hopes lost in a set of broken dreams,
With heavy chains, to your heart of stone pinned.

Day by day, night by night, without an end in sight,
Tortured by the ravaging beak of time, flying
With wings of solit'de, displaying its might, 
And hatred-filled eyes, watching me dying. 

These chains around my heart like a vicious snake
Poisoning my soul with darkness and despair. 
A dreadful nightmare from which I will wake
And look into destiny's most wicked glare. 

I stand under shadows cast by heaven's light,
And into sleep I fade, witho't a fight.

Copyright © Andres Rocha

Details | Sestina | |

The Maid, the Magpie and the Mirror

Gazing, at its own reflection is the Magpie.
A magic bird, a mystical creature, with a soul
and the power to see things, the power of scrying.
It sees a tomb in ancient Egypt. It sees death.
A soul locked within a glorious bronze mirror,
Cleopatra and her Maid in a bond unbroken.

Time passes in silence as deep as the unbroken
promise of endless wisdom, gifted by the Magpie.
whose caws the Maid hears, within the depths of the mirror,
calls to the Queen, her Cleopatra, to her soul.
Magpie speaks to She on the Eastern Barge in the afterlife of death,
and to her Maid entombed. The sacred bird so near scrys.

The Magpie sits within oasis staring into the pool. It scrys
for all this time, its vigil, its protection, never broken.
Even when the sarcophagus is carried to the necropolis of the dead,
without, unknown, the bird speaks wisely through reflection, her Magpie.
Entombed, his Queen and her Maid, their bodies but not their souls,
Queen, Maid and Magpie, each cast a last gaze, alive within the mirror.

The Vows of Innocence, the Maid bespeaks the mirror.
Pleas to the Swallower of Shades, both Queen and Maid have scried
to The Burning One, and claim no lie, upon their soul.
As the light dims within the Maids eyes, in tomb unbroken,
she sees the life of her Queen and their Magpie
pass fast upon the brass, last breath of life and dying.

Oh, too soon the end, moans the Maid, I am dying.
Her life's reflection moves bronzed upon the mirror.
She screams, "My Queen," but hears only the caw of Magpie.
All around her other servants succumb and cry, whilst she sits scrying,
and the Magpie flies above in life entombed, eternity, unbroken.
As she beseeches all the Gods to save her soul.

The Magpie's spirit self moves within the mirror's soul.
He swoops gathering Cleopatra's essence, past the dying,
and brings her to the Maids side unbroken.
In afterlife upon the Eastern Barge they join the mirrored
whole, for he, the bird of magic, Magpie, has called and scried
it so. Part light of life, part dark of death, the Magpie.

The essence of each entwine united within this eternal mirror
for the Magpie cannot bear their deaths. He will protect and forever scry
in life the mirror sits unbroken a stolen bauble, and in it they dwell with the Magpie.




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

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, 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

Details | Rhyme | |

Dirty bird

A little bird 
Dropped a little turd

Upon my clean windshield
I pushed the button but no fluid did it yield

My wipers swiped and smeared a stripe
And now I'm mad enough to fight

I grabbed a bottle to sprinkle the stain 
But the wind took it from me to my disdain 

Cursing the bird
With a dirty word

I hear a dreadful sound
I then pull over and receive a fine for throwing litter on the ground

So if a bird drops you a turd and the fluid is all dry
Don't fret don't curse don't even cry

Just pull over and clean the spot
And save yourself alot

Copyright © Bobb Marly

Details | I do not know? | |

I'm like a bird

I'm free, I'm free
I'm free like a bird
who spreads my wings
From the East to the West 
of the World

I'm free, I'm free
I'm free like a bird
who fly across the ocean
From one land to another
With freedom and joy

I'm free, I'm free
I'm free like a bird
who soars to through the sky
From the Earth to the Heavens
The wonderful paradise

I'm free, I'm free
I'm free like a bird
who wish not to be imprison
From the evil doers
have not a heart

I'm free, I'm free
I'm free like a bird
who wish to spread love
From the North to the South
of the World

I'm free, I'm free
I'm free like a bird
whose heart sings
in rhythm 
with the whistling winds.

Copyright © Siti Aishah Abu Bakar

Details | I do not know? | |

A Bird In Flight

While the wind blew swiftly.
The bird flew thrifty.
Flapping its wings.
Faster and harder.
Against the wind.
The bird flew like it was blind.
Swirling all around the skyline.
All at once the wind calmed down.
The bird came through town.
Soaring its wings.
As it roared right past me.
To find rest upon a clothes line.

Copyright © Patrica Bowen Salyers

Details | Monorhyme | |

Midnight Visit

Thump and flutter, scared me at first you see.
Again a flutter, flapping, what could it be,
Then as I peered at window above me,
What did my eyes look upon, oh golly gee?
Red bird upon the screen, was it a he or a she.
No matter of fact makes any difference to thee.
I grabbed my camera quick, before it could flee.
Zooming in with the lens, capturing it free,
Flittering, now still its tail spread outwardly.
Upon the flash, the red bird flew into a tree.
I quickly pressed buttons almost every key.
Hoping, I captured the red bird frantically.
I captured this redbird upon the screen easily.
Now I had proof of my midnight visit, truly.
This night, a beautiful red bird, visited quickly.
What purpose or sign did it have any physically?
No idea, maybe just a crazy red bird’s decree,
No matter what, it is a proven, real live story.

Copyright © cecil hickman

Details | Rhyme | |

Mocking Bird

Mocking bird sitting on a twig
Filling his craw with those ripe figs
Babies are grown flown from home
All that responsiblity long gone, gone

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

Details | Free verse | |

Look

Look from inside yourself and you will see.
All the splendor of God's creativity.
Flowers mountains bird bees
Animals and plants of all species.
Beautiful sights to please the eyes.
All people of every color shape and size.
Look at yourself your are God's prize.
Built by his hands so healthy and strong.
Given the strength to always carry on.
The beauty of life is open like a book.
In every little cranny and nook.
God's love is always there 
All you have to do is look.
Everything is within your grasp
All you have to do is ask.
Look to God to complete all tasks.
See the bird fly and see his grace.
The beauty of God is in every Human's face.
Look! His love shines brighter than sunrays.
Look to God and you will be happy all your days.




Copyright © Marni Robinson

Details | Verse | |

Birds Of The Same Feather Flock Together

Birds of the same feather always flock together


A fool fools those who can be fooled
A thief roams the streets with his fellow thieves
The miserable saddens those who allow themselves to be miserable
The naive are played by those who are naive of karma
The materialism catches those who are materialistic
The disrespectful hurt those who have no self respect
The aggressively insecure intimidate those who are submissively insecure
The fake trick those who are inexperience of faking
The dumb roll with the most dumbest

If you are either happy, successful, humble, educated or anything positive; make sure you flock with the feather that's most positive and important to you. 

KNOW YOUR WORTH; You cannot exchange gold for stones, that's making a foolish loss. Positivity is always an addition(+)  not a subtraction (-).  If you are subtracting, don't be suprised if your life turns out to be mostly negative.

IMPATIENCE is the mother of all COMPROMISE, that's why people flock with the wrong people, don't let it catch you..

THE EYEZ are easily fooled, all that glitters isn't gold (things can be gold plated too), so carefully check things. As They say "FOOLS RUSH IN WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD."

NOTHING IS CONSTANT; Money comes and goes, the famous become infamous, friendships ends, beauty fades, people pass away etc. Do not rely on external things to make you happy, once they are gone you will awaken from your dream. Internal happiness is constant; the externall should just make you happiER. Humble yourself and know reality.

INEXPERIENCE is the mother of all REGRET. Life is a journey of experience, never make the same mistake twice. At best surround yourself with the most wise (listen and consider their counsel) so not to make mistakes at all.

THE GUT INSTINCT, if it doesn't feel right it probably isn't. You have either compromised too much for to little or you are blinded or you put ur happiness on external forces which are not constant or you are inexperienced in the ways of life.

ITS ALL IN THE MIND, remember to CONTROL IT, TRAIN IT and to ACT IT OUT and watch yourself rise to a different level in your life.

WAKE UP; a bird who flocks with the wrong birds wakes up sooner than later and flies to his kind of feather.

THE MESSAGE; a bird that flocks to you with patience, sincerity, passion and unconditional love is definitely for keeps because they are  worth more than gold.


BY HUSSEIN FARAH
Written 24/02/2012

Copyright © Hussein Farah

Details | Haiku | |

- Haiku X 30 - Simple Beauty -

 

          In the morning sun 
          When a bird flies gracefully 
          Of life's simple things






         19.08.2014
         A-L Andresen :)
        Copyright © All Rights Reserved 

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Triolet | |

little bird in the sky

Little bird in the sky
Come sit with me
So I can tell you why
Little bird in the sky
Please teach me how to fly
So I can set myself free
Little bird in the sky
Come sit with me

Copyright © Cheryl Glans

Details | Sestina | |

Animal Freedom

Animal Freedom

A Christmas walk in soft sun of winter
Across crisp fields of umber and green,
A sharp breeze blowing with freedom
On their faces, aglow with the hope
Of seeing one again – a bird; their bird,
Soaring and diving defiantly so.

The eagle. Powerful, swift and so
Free. Wings outstretched on currents of winter
Warmth, rising higher than any other bird.
It’s golden feathers shimmering over green
Hills and clear blue skies, in the hope
Of spying prey, running in a last bid for freedom.

They looked and walked and talked in freedom,
Enjoying the country lanes and paths in so
Carefree a manner; such a rich land of hope,
Bursting with creatures alive in the winter
Meadows: robins, rabbits, hares, a green
Woodpecker, and many a chattering bird.

They paused to rest and listen to bird
Song and breeze, relishing in the freedom
At the heart of nature, so fresh and green;
When suddenly, they saw a bush shaking so
Violently. They stopped and stared, the winter
Wind? Too strong. They watched in hope

Of seeing something curious, or in the hope
Of discovering if this at last was their bird,
Hunting untamed in the wilds of winter.
They approached, careful not to intrude on the freedom
Of the wild, but all they could see was a fluttering so
Urgent, flapping wings, a rubbed-raw leg, a thread of green.

A blackbird was trapped on a branch by green
String; frantic, desperate panic, yet hope
Shone in its eyes, pleadingly so.
They spoke softly, carefully untying the bird,
Which flew off to the wind in a cry of freedom.
They felt proud, liberated, in a wonderland of winter.

They ran home for dinner of green sprouts and festive roast bird;

Bred in darkness and stench, no hope of daylight or freedom.
Incarcerated, deformed, wounded so bad, in a long-hardened winter.


Spare a thought for your turkey this Christmas… 

Copyright © Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake

Details | Verse | |

Wildflowers

Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
 She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell     then came the ice, this went on for months.

The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
 I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.

They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves.  Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
 
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday. 
as they were called WEEDS ..
 The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.

However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .

The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
 Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
  She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB

Copyright © kj force

Details | Free verse | |

Everyday

Everyday

I am trapped in a dimension
Where only repetition exists,
That reoccurs the colour theme of black. 

But the windows are very visible from the doom,
Delineating bright sunlight and pavement colour of the moon. 
Best of all, I can see the birds flapping their mighty wings.

I unfold my arms with barely any strength, 
And reach for them, 
Hoping to become one of them.
Again.

Every night and morning when the outside of the windows,
Is beautifully shaded with calming grey that mellows.

And when it is painted in soft blended colour of thick orange and light yellow,
Birds fly between South and North through the colour of fallow. 

I can tell very easily without effort, 
Each of them holds great stories
Because I was like them once, 
Who also held great stories. 

Yes, I was one of those birds, 
With pride and strength, 
That glided through the treasure sites, 
And enjoyed when the warm breeze kissed my cheeks
Over golden sparkling oceans.

But now my wings are broken,
Memories and valuables torn apart in ashes,
In to pieces that cannot be glued back. 

So I always whisper to myself,
With solemn remorse,
I sure do miss those days. 

Copyright © Andrew Park

Details | Rhyme | |

This beautiful life


This beautiful life

Life is beautiful
So wonderful indeed
I guess I have it all
I have everything I need
To make each moment sparkle
I need nothing more
Oh, it’s remarkable
It thrills me to the core

I wake up each day
It’s then I meditate
This always be my way
How it makes me feel so great
Then I walk the silent streets
Bear dog by my side
Life feels so very sweet
Each moment deified.

Then there comes the dawn
The birds they sound so sweet
As sun wakes up the morn
I have feathers in my feet
As I gaze at orangs skies
I feel joy within
The Kookaburra cries
The day, it does begin.

20 September 2014 @ 0745hrs




Pedro’s Octave 48

Style created by Peter Duggan on date. 15 September 2014.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballade | |

In love with life

In love with it all

I’m in love with all of it
I haven’t got much wealth
I guess I’m getting older now
I’m running down on health
But I’m in love with all of it
Every blade of grass, each tree
I love it with my heart and soul
I adore its mystery.

Everything in life excites me
I don’t know why this be
But I don’t suffer anymore
With depressive misery
Within my world I am a king
Cause I have everything
Every day is dear to me
Each moment makes my heart sing.

That golden Sun there in the sky
Is looking down on me
As he colors all with wondrous glory
Creating so much mystery
As here I sit, so all alone
The whistling soothes my soul
As canary, caged, just sings for me
And the morning feels so whole.

16 September 2013 @ 1125hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Narrative | |

I loved My Life of Bird

I fly in the sky
I swim in the sea 
I sleep in the night
And in the trees I live

The forest once was my home
That I always cherished
For me and every one
Who lived on this beautiful heaven?

Coming into the flame of fire
Together with my family
Helps me to remember and tell to all
That has caused the dead of all?

Came five days ago
Three to four men
With something in there mind known as the plan
To destroy what was known as our home

Came few men 
After few days
To destroy us all together with the forest
To clear the land

They lighted the fire
They parked some big bulldozers
To clear the trees and removes the stones
After everything is burnt by the flames of the fire

Together with my family
Praying to the god as one
To forgive our sin 
And tell the reason for this everything

Nothing I heard from up
But something from down 
As few men said
For the development, let happen this destruction

Copyright © Balbir Singh

Details | Free verse | |

The Humans and I

Ones who wage,
Ones who rage,
Ones who take,
Ones who pay,
Ones who craze,
Ones who rave,
Ones who crave…

Ones who fear,
Ones who breathe,
Ones who give,
Ones who need,
Ones who will,
Ones who weave…

Ones who plead,
Ones who beg,
Ones who beseech,
Ones who entreat,
Ones who appeal,
Ones who volunteer,
Ones who disappear…

The ones who follow,
The ones that don’t know about tomorrow,
The ones who don’t deserve the morrow…

The ones who sleep,
The ones who cry,
The ones who live,
The ones who die…

The ones who proclaim,
Those who say they create,
The ones who ache,
The ones who don’t wait,
The ones who hesitate,
The ones who don’t concentrate,
The ones who fornicate,
The ones who procrastinate…

Those who fall in temptation,
Those who get in frustration,
Those who sometimes feel desperation,
Those who keep going without caution,
Those in motion,
Those in tension,
Those losing notion,
Those being poisoned,
Those getting in distortion,
Those following the broken diction,
Those dying like the billions,
Those without unction,
Those washed in the oceans…

I might seem cold,
But it is you who is bold.
I might not express,
But it is you who doesn’t let me progress.
I might not seem like I seek,
But it is you who doesn’t know me…
I might seem like I need,
But it is you who might always be begging on your knees.
I might seem dull,
But it is the one that is fool.
I might not be alight,
But it is you who isn’t truly alive…

I will remain neutral,
I will remain silver,
I will remain gray,
I feel darkness,
I feel light,
I will remain hallowed…,
After all, it is you who deserves no life…

I am a metal hawk,
I am a mountain goat,
I am a silver bird,
I am a gray wolf,
I am a white tiger,
I am a mystic rose…,
I am I…

I’m alive,
And I survive,
You are here,
However, it is you who deserves no life…

Being human does not imply that you have humanity…

Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz

Details | Rhyme | |

FROM THE VOID TO OVERJOYED

In the beginning the Lord created a great deep,
So deep that no eye saw anything but obscurity.
This deep we now by name call the heavens,
Accompanied by the creation of great vacancy-
A formless void that is uninterrupted by shapes.
It is the undefinable foundation for that yet to form,
A place we now think of as the planet earth,
Which passed the tests of the primeval, perfect storm.

Now with this creation comes the beginning of time,
And for measurement a transparent hourglass,
With an exact amount of sand enclosed within,
Which has until this moment been at an impasse.
Not a grain has been able to pass the constriction,
Until the Creator has commanded it to go.
As the primal beauty comes into existence,
Change enacts sand to fall in the chamber below.


With the passage of time within the hourglass
The Lord’s creation enlarges and expands;
It becomes the abode for another creation –
The harvest of the Lord’s desires becomes Man.
To Man the hourglass is a no longer fashionable,
And it may even seem to be ruling his day.
So he looks to the Lord for a savior—
For someone who-win or lose-will want to play.

The solution from the LORD is Woman,
A helpmate fashioned of Man’s own bone.
His dream has become his reward,
And She seems even better than homegrown.
Her figure is the perfect hourglass,
And her countenance is a bonny display.
Plainly It seems Man never saw the lady coming,
Since  his plain morning bird became his bird of prey. 

Copyright © Albert Price

Details | Etheree | |

Dharma (Etheree)

One
little
morning peep
she would speak to 
greet my day, my sweet 
African Grey . . . She was
my friend, my confidante. I 
bottle fed my baby bird and . . . .
we would sing. Such joy she brought me in
her sweet way. My precious friend died today.



For the "Blink Contest" Sponsored by: John Heck 


Note:
***My daughter lives alone with her two pet Siberian Huskies 
and her 2 and half month old African Grey Parrot she named
Dharma. Jennifer called me this morning at 5am crying to tell
me that her little bird died at the Vets. I wrote this Etheree in 
her honor.




Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Narrative | |

A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE hubris or BIRD BRAIN

                     A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE ( hubris)
                       

In the Arctic nights the jazz born North Lights sound
with a music of their own. Fair winds ferry fragile birds--
take to the skies in search of sympathetic warmth profound

while white breathless silence magnifies each sound as it is heard
and few venture forth, like bears they dash to find a haven
where they can hide until reluctantly the sun has stirred--

But, there is one jay bird who is not one of nature’s craven
creatures-- Waiting for a spring call from his mate, he hops into the hungry snow
to dance a dangerous dance in icy morning with the ravens.

There is a God flung magic that dashes high above the haughty human know
among the ancient secret kingdoms of the mystery sky--
And there it is that Wisdom’s Word is spread by wing and wayward winds that blow

their way in worldwide splendor and intricate magnificence that defies
the mind of man.  It is a truth that dalliance in vanity is inborn---
Man or bird, into the nature of some spirits-- it low lies

and becomes incited when grand fame or imagined glory has been shorn
by another .  And , so-- in Persia when the Prince of Peacocks heard
murmurs of the razzing ravens and the sassy sparrows high sky airborne

a proclamation that the World knew now there lived a peerless bird--
plucky-proud, surpassing the peacock -- Jay magnificent with a spirit daunting, a weight
of valiant blue in shades escaped of double rainbows, color-blurred

who bedazzled all nature’s eyes and winds of ear, that judiciously beheld each trait.
The peacock, no longer Highest Prince of Birds, screamed a terrible and cosmic sound
of jealousy.   Ignoring all the glory that still made him great--
the vain and foolish peacock fell-- stunned and breathless to the ground.




Victoria Anderson-Throop  2012 ©
Written in Juja, Kenya
Bird is Stellar Jay, common in Valdez, Alaska

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop