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Bird Loss Poems | Bird Poems About Loss

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

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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 | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet | |

The Bird Sings

If I were a bird, would you clip my wings
then cage me away with pretty things?
And, if my wings were to be clipped
why not just burry me within a crypt,
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
For to have wings that cannot soar,
then why not nail me to the floor?
Tonight I shall make my final swan song
knowing I have been locked away so long.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant so kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So still the caged bird, she sings
without her sky, without wings.
Sometimes laments, sometimes sighs,
sometimes she whistles her own reprise.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So then curious is it, the caged thing
who finds she has the heart to sing?
Because it would seem a great strain
to be caged seems twisted and profane,
for a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
When asked, why do you sing, bird?
The answer is a simple word,
hope, for escape from behind these bars
that keep me caged from the stars.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
Birds should have no master, no kings
and love cannot be clipping wings.
But now it seems I must live confined,
in this hand crafted cage of your design,
but a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So must I wait for these wings to heal
and relearn how the wind may feel.
If I must be caged, still my heart sings
of the day I can again use my wings.

Copyright © Rhia Madison Thomer | Year Posted 2011

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 | Year Posted 2014

Details | Choka | |

A Predictable End



The lovely thorn bird

in truth so aptly named

death is his destiny born

a tragic ending

impaled on his home of thorns

sad and predictable end...

Copyright © Sharon Ruebel | 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 | Verse | |

Culling

From loss, Love’s searching might
Kill doves with pine and spite


------------------
Entrant: Rob Carmack
Contest: In it's Essence
Form: Verse : Essence
10.12.14

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

SEA OF LOVE

Oh sea of love!
How bitter the mem'ries I have!
This place reminisce the pain
Of not seeing my love again.

Your birds up high
Remind me of his goodbye.
Your water so deep
Makes me yearn and weep.

So let your breeze blow,
And dry the tears that flow.
Let your waves take away
The griefs and sorrows that stay.

Oh sea of love!
Erase the mem'ries I have!
Wash them out of the blue,
Take them away with you.

Copyright © Flora Mae Gudez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

The Apple PASTURE

DONE



                             The Apple PASTURE

Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture.
Were once was and all well meet.
A pure and dear site.
Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden
grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars.
Oh how I long
To drift into the apple pasture
Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow.



                                               Jay

Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? | |

''Little bird, what troubles thee''

Little bird, what troubles thee
      is it the worm in your belly
little bird, what pains thee
      is it the worm of misery

is it the bitterness in your heart, 
     or the offense you can't forgive
is it the anguish that sets you apart, 
     or the hurt that holds you captive 
 
is it the cancer of bitter love, 
     or the loss of deserved affection 
is it the cruel withdrawal of 
     his tenderness and compassion 

life is much too brief
      and youthful love's even briefer still,
your forestalled relief 
      keeps you from seeing His eternal will

what befalls you 
      is neither unshared nor a mystery
God sheds His tears for you
      in the midst of your painful agony

little bird, what troubles thee
      is it the worm in your belly
little bird, what pains thee
      is it the bane of misery

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

A Bird With A broken Wing

                                                                     *~*

I sit -looking at the river gracefully bending
   Flowing smoothly over moss covered rocks and stones
Measuring in endless time -my life
   My loves, my losses
Posing my thoughts with unspoken words
   Just me and the river...
Sitting all alone 

   I cry- my whetted, salty tears
Like the river weeping her warm liquid waves
   Showering the earth with her promising shades of life
Breathing her liquid grace over all the lands she saves?
   Yet…
I could not save us

My hungry heart hides my tears as I breathe in your image
   Calling your name -whispering our story
And all the tender moments 
   Of our once remembered glory 

With my thoughts softly weaving their dreams
   I trace the memories of the sweetest fruit from the vine
Painting vivid pictures of warm candlelight and roses
   That turned into a sad, bitter tasting wine 

My grieving spirit hides the breeze that softly blows
   Whispering in its low, hushed voice
My sad, lonely story…
   That only I and the river know
Hiding my shattered heart
    A bird...
With a broken wing

                                                                *~*

Copyright © anne p. murray | Year Posted 2012

Details | Tanka | |

trail marker

barn swallows return from seasons I've never known to bring me new wings - my eyes scan the old dirt road searching for a summer lost
_______________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Six Blue Jays

Six blue jays converge at the birch
To sing their anomalous colloquial song,
They fashion a serene scene as they perch;
My mind so inclined to blindly sing along.

As I ponder their ways, in my midmorning daze;
I recall a tale my grandmother told—
Of a desolate day through a dishwashing gaze;
A heinous sight she was doomed to behold. 

Through her window; across the drive,
On the very top of some man-made pole,
A sinless and beautiful robin arrived;
Assembled a nest and called it her home.

She laid some eggs at the edge of spring,
And by summer they joined the day,
She taught her young about everything
For the time that comes when they should stray.

But then one day while mother was out
Collecting a feast for the rest of her nest,
A single blue jay swooped in for a bout—
Snipped off their heads and left.

Mother came back to the horrid mess;
The tragically pointless abhorrent wreck,
And with frantic confusion and great distress
She flew into the window and broke her neck.

So as I stare in the garden today;
And view such a seemingly innocent sight,
Behind the charm of those six blue jays
Could possibly rein six times the fright.

Copyright © Lxnnnie Rutledzh | Year Posted 2016

Details | Epic | |

A LONE BIRD

I stood alone
On that roof
Picking dust from my feet
A great traveller, I was.

I thought alone
In my spirit
Designing ways to mend my heart
Creative, I was.

Nothing came by; I had no audience
I needed no listener
Yet my tale was on the lips of all
A great artiste I was.

I stepped daintily
Among nature
Not a soul watched
An amazing dancer I was

The sun turned moon
The stars lit up
I kept awake the fireflies
An old storyteller I was


I moved on with passion
To sell that thought
With no one willing to buy
A great merchant, I was

Only the breeze 
Whispered assurance
Only the river
Gave me back my speech

Everyone was busy
Beside me no one halted
All but me remained seen
A great chameleon, I was.

Desperation had set in
Why wasn’t I visible?
I was right there
Right beside you

I must be noticed
I must be heard
I must be watched
I must be applauded

I lifted that shield
I took off that armour
I was seen; and slayed
A stupid fool, I was.

©Naa Takia, All rights Reserved 2012


Copyright © Victoria Nunoo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet | |

No Love For Nature Or Man

Far-reaching the flames engulfed the remote forest,
Impetuous haste of wild dogs to grasslands,
Resonant croaks of ravens with burned feathers;
Escape from death, fleeing into the darkness of night. 
The arsonist had no love for Nature or Man;
he started the fire to appease his pleasure,
he'll be eternally damned for burning down 
the forest: to every creature it was a treasure.
He didn't feel sorry for the leaping wildcat,
for the huddled owls that were soundly sleeping, 
for the wingless butterflies that fell on his hat;
how could he justify a behavior so horrifying?  
The police found him dead by the ash-filled pound,
he struggled for breath writhing on the hot ground.    


Written on 4/23/2016

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

The Bird that is Loved and Loathed

It burns and it stings.
It hurts.
More than drowning beneath 
the ice.
More than remaining in a 
kindled flame
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 
felicity 
Nothing looked the same in 
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears 
of joy.
The others-they were yet to 
appear.
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 
the throne.
Rampage and rage why did you 
come?
I began to wither and wither 
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a 
human raceme. 
The droops of the Lily of the 
Valley became the slumping of 
my heart.
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 
you so? 
Your intense spirt vanished only 
to supplement a monster. 
Mother, Monster and your tar 
filled lungs. 
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 
turn?
 
My lovely bird and your big 
brown eyes
I'll tell you once, but never 
twice.
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 
strength.
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 
slumber. 
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights. 

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy | |

FINAL NESTING BOX

You lay in the wooden cot,
a broken sparrow,
Crushed. Bony. Frail.
Hair once plumed gold,
greyed to clumped feathers
like ragged  trampled wings,
strawed out on the dank pillow.
Face once blushed pink plump,
Jolly kind of soft with life,
Sucked to bone. Nose to Beak.
Echoes of the mask it will soon become.

I stroked this woman 
now bent back to foetus pose.
Once sworled to shell, 
wrapped inside myself,
Safe.
Now boned to carcass stick.

I wanted to hold one more time,
my child, 
frightened the last air would puff to nought from its hollowed breast.
But my sparrow turned and smiled,
a grimace to crack open any gates of envisaged hell.
Macabre teeth, once glowing love and laughter to the skies,
Now pecked to ochre stalks.

The pitiful bird pained to move.
Mucous mouth clacked open wide
To receive some lasting morsel of life.
Only its beady blue gaze 
flashed a soul of its former self, 
eyes to haunt the sea.
I swallowed back my tide of tears,  
waves of memory flooding sands of life we’d shared,
from fledgling dawn cry to this,
the final nesting box.

I wanted to stuff this cot with down 
of a million eider.
To cosset and hold soft this scrawn, gnawed through. 
Pluck teal, goose, swan.
‘Who would have thought it would come to this?’ it croaked a laugh.
I matched smile with smile.
I held the tiny claw.
Desperate not to cling too much to pain, 
too much to past.

I wanted to wrap up this dying bird 
Limp, in my hanky.
White folded white, fold on fold.
Run through the streets
shouting at the world, at some unseen power.
NO. 
She’s mine. She’s safe. Take me. 
What cruelty did I do?  
What evil must be stuffed in this maternal breast
To hold this daughter dust in my arms?

Copyright © Laura Payne | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse | |

It Breathes


I wonder if it’s that hard?
I am young and full of years.
I walk this beach every day and watch
The tides come in, and drive back out.
Birds fly gracefully above my head and
The breeze blows sand into my face.
My feet sink into the damp out skirt of the shore
And I splash around in the water.

It’s not easy to come across death and not respond
In some sort of way. I am full of energy
And you lay by my side faded away.
 Even though you are only a bird
You deserve a proper burial. Your wings have
Insects circling around them. Buz-buz and zzzz.
 They are waiting for me to
Go.  But I can’t just leave you here.
What if it was me laying here dead?
I would like to think just because I am human
And you are an animal, we are similar.
We both share the same air,
We both need nourishment, we both live and
We both die. I’d like to think if I were you someone
On this planet would care.

You once flew with that sun kissed colored wings 
I walk with these porcelain painted legs
As I take off my white zip- up sweater and show you respect
I gently cover you before the rest of the inspectors come.
How you ended up along this beach
Lifeless and deserted, I shall never know.
Maybe you were sick? Or it was just your time.
But I will give you a proper burial
It’s a seed that I must sow
Showing respect for a life

As the tide comes and it goes.

By: Sabina Nicole

Copyright © Sabina Nicole | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Lost Bird

when
the 
heart
is 
perched 
on a branch 
listening 
to some
music 
it doesn't 
want to hear 
and lets in 
that stranger 
it doesn't 
want by the door
it only wishes
for some mellow
wind 
to carry it 
to 
a better place.

Copyright © Rushda R | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Clouds

There once was a whole bunch of clouds
Clouds are not very loud
If you fly through them in a plane
They feel no pain
That’s why they’re clouds

Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric | |

Walk On

If I could write a story,I'd write about the past.
The masks and all the words I was afraid to speak.
It would be a story without moral.
I've learned nothing from this journey.
The chapters would be short and simple
In the form of thoughts and riddles.

If I could write a poem to heal myself
I'd un-bandage these wounds
And let them bleed on my page.
I promised myself I wouldn't wait.
I wouldn't have hope but thanks to you
That's all I know.
I'd pack all these things and give them to you,
Because I know patience and love are both virtues.
But if you burned them as physical memories
You know I'd understand.

Wave steady and ignore the tragedy.
Torn between the stories and poetry.
Wave steady and ignore this disaster.
Rummage through the wreck and salvage what you can.
Walk around and hope that you never see
This fragile bird and his broken wings.

There's no shame to sing your favorite song
To save your life.
I'll sing all that I can sing,
And I'll say all that I can say
To make sure I turn out alright.

Walk on and ignore  this tragedy.
Torn between the stories and poetry.
Walk on and ignore this disaster.
Rummage through the wreck and salvage what you can.
Walk on and hope that you never see
This fragile bird and his broken wings.

And I'll sing all that I can sing.
I'll say all that I can say
To make sure I turn out alright.

Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Korean Commas

What am I to say to you dear sweet Jim
You have chased me away and now I am gone
But what about you broken by your promises
To me it's a sad old song, you've been gone for way to long
I doubt you knew, fondly whispered memories- same old song
For me there is and will be nothing left to do
You could never now complete the man I knew
The words were clear I was left in the shadows now with out you
Same old memories same old you I cried untill heavens turned blue
I am not ready for challenge I will not play the game
I am still hurt from the memories, hiding from the pain
Embarrassed becasue I am left standing here this way
Alone because of a man whose arms I have held so long
Caught burying worries and facing all the blame
But what about you, forgive yourself and start again 
You'll be the same old guy to all of them

Copyright © Courtney Courtney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry | |

Dodo Bird

Have you heard of the dodo? Where did they go? Those birds were so precious. They lived on Mauritius. As a species among the rest, it must have failed the survival test. A few centuries ago, they went away. None of them can be seen today.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

Queen of the Boneyard

From a distance away,
I can spot a proud tail fin,
Standing upright among 
A sea of dull metals.
As I approach, it’s evident that
Here rests the Queen.
The pinnacle of aviation.
The game-changer for aviation.
The tried-and-true Boeing 747.

You stand proud and tall,
Among other 
Smaller,
Slower airliners.
Your presence silences the boneyard
Into deep awe.
The disdainful rust is only a reminder
Of your free years,
Taxiing graciously like a swam,
Blasting out of the airport
Like an unleashed missile.
You were unstoppable,
Your postures wowed the 
Thousands of plane-spotters.
You are the beauty, the royalty 38000 feet up. 

You are a safe fortress,
For however many passengers that you took in,
You let that many out.
Safe and sound.
You achieved something so amazing,
That aviation itself is changed: 
With merely 4 engines,
And a pair of gracious angel-wings,
You connected the world. 
You are the role-model for the future,
the true Queen of the Skies.

Yet, here you stay,
After decades of service,
wistfully among other aircrafts.
Airbus 300?
DC-8? 
They aren’t even close to matching
Your legacy, your glamour.
Yet here you stay.
Gathering dust,
Being picked apart.
The airlines who claimed
to be proud to have you,
All forgotten about you.

But I haven’t.
And plane-spotters haven’t. 
And pilots haven’t.
All those memories, 
Pictures of the soaring heavy,
Fresh and vivid. 
There, you will remain forever,
The way you were,
The Queen of the Skies.

Copyright © Andy Wang | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

I Saw The Bluebirds

I Saw The Bluebirds 

I saw the bluebirds flying into love
nesting in those trees high above
The owls were hiding in the same tree
awaiting night to fly about so free!

The woodpecker was pecking, pecking away
was he happy, who can ever say?
The mockingbird was just singing loud
knew it's beautiful calls, so very proud!

The blackbirds flew in as a big flock
giving the other birds quite a shock
The crow cautiously flew to another spot
one far more calm and not so very hot!

The robins stayed low in the green brush
slipped about so silently in a low hush
I saw the bluebirds quietly watching it all
sitting on that nest for the very long haul!

R.J. Lindley
O5, 16, 1979

This from long ago. I once visited those woods weekly.
Went there for solitude and to enjoy the sheer beauty 
that Nature so bountifully offered!
Those beautiful woods were cut down in the mid 90's..
So many beautiful spots destroyed forever. Such old growth
 forests take several hundred years to regenerate. And even 
then can not reproduce what Nature had created in tens of
 thousands!

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain | |

Lament of The Old Man


No sooner was the old man dead
did the crows gather round his bed,
and no sooner had he shut his eyes
did those vultures revel his demise;

As soon as all the birds were fed,
the candles out, the taste of dread
was spread on wings across the skies
as his soul flew and my soul sighed.

Copyright © Paul Allen | 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 | Lyric | |

Dear Seth

Dear Seth,
Still one more year to go because
you let things get to your head.
I know you’re trying to overcome this,
but this negativity I cannot bed.

And all the kings horses
And all the kings men
Couldn’t put your head
Back together again

If roses are red
And violets are blue
Exactly how sweet is the
Sugar I gave to you?

Dear Seth,
Things are getting rough again.
Time is going by so slow and
I’m only receiving more sad news.
It seems you’re clipping your own wings.
Your freedom you have sold.

But if Adam and Eve were meant to be
Why do I feel like Eve and you the snake?
You have fed me your poison, which
I am no longer tempted to take

If that mocking bird don’t sing
Then I’ll know I can’t change a thing
Hush baby now don’t you cry
Everything should be alright

Dear Seth,
The days are dragging by, but it
seems there is no reason for this.
There is no support left to hold.
Not even when I think how much of you I love and miss.

And all the kings horses
And all the kings men
Can never put my heart
Back together again

If roses are red
And violets are blue
Why has this sugar
Turned as bitter as you?

Dear Seth,
The day you are released from
these bars will never come.
You will always be trapped inside
for it seems now, two is lonelier than one.

But if Adam and Eve were meant to be,
With me Eve, why did you choose to be the snake?
You keep drinking the poison you find,
And the poison that you make

Not once have I heard that mocking bird sing
I know now what I did, didn’t change a thing
Hush now, don’t be so loud when you cry
Everything was supposed to be alright

Written May 29, 2009

Copyright © Kristin Baker | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Ode to Larry the Bird

Bright yellow feathers,
Deep black eyes.

A voice that could carry
Through the winds of time.

A sweet little fellow,
My friend for years and years.

I just can't help
But to shed my tears.

Much to soon you left me 
Here all alone.

You really helped
To make this house a home.

I knew you were in heaven
When I heard the Angels sing.

That screechy little voice
Was singing straight to me.

Please know that I love you
And I will not I forget.

The sweetest little friend,
I had for a pet.

Copyright © Sabreen Wolf | Year Posted 2006

Details | Narrative | |

A Right To Swear

A Right To Swear

by 
Lem Griffiths

July, 2016.


Young gulls - love., 
How that fickle wind blows,
Soaring, dive bombing., 
As their fancy takes, not a 'blue sky' care -
O'er the chaos below-screeching of laughter,
They've earned the right to wail and cry and swear.

I looked down from my window,
In the nano second of a beat,
Yes., he'd once soared higher.., higher-
Or  balanced above all the recklessness., 
Life's precarious bird on a wire.
In the late Autumn's heat.

Just yards, at a junction, prized from his weapon,
'Lamp post lynching seemed nigh,
Til a uniform, roughly plucked him,
To give account.., 
To the young school gang., crying ., 'Why?'.

An interview, he can't be late -
He never got the job,
The 'mort'-gauge, a leaky roof,
All meant nothing to the mob.

Whilst back down my road, in solemn silence we stood,
His wings broken asunder,
Mrs lollipop closed his eyes, 
As a gust ruffled his hair., 
And in the distance -
A deep rumble of thunder.

So..., so long, young sea gull from number 28,
The homework chasing - no more,
The years and the town - all seem to stem from that day,
There ought to be a law....., 
Damn it, Dad.., there ought to be a law.

Copyright © Lemuel Griffiths | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

KLJ 12012

A line, 

Maybe a bird

traces its way across

                A canvas of White

Stagnate and panning the landscape

it becomes enamored by 

                the amount of blank space left

 From deep within,

a glow of Green, 

blending with yellow and brown hues,

begins to wick its way 

                across the feathers of the Bird.

 It glides close to the ground and encircles the bushes

the hues begin to passionately fill them in

turning twigs, lightly sketched, in to trees

                 blowing gently in the breeze
 The bird 

then glides up toward the breeze 

catching it,

sweeping back across the canvas 

                to wash its wings clean

 Looking down, a feeling, 

                a muse, 

causes a glow, near its heart this time 

filled with violets blues and just a bit of white 

                begins to wick in to its wings

over flowing, 

it begins to flood across and down the rivers, 

cascading over rocks gently placed 

                by a steady hand

 Catching another breeze 

it dips and turns towards the sky 

allowing the shades of mixed blues to flow gently 

                on to the canvas

 with each flap of its wings 

shapely clouds fade in to strings over tree tops

giving a once clear sky

                life

the bird begins to dance around the newly formed obstacles 

slicing tiny details

giving movement for the flock to 

                glide through

 Content with this the bird, the line, 

                or maybe a lost soul, 

falls in to its place among the sun beams of a perfect day. 

Soar high, little bird, soar high.

Copyright © Stacy Brown | Year Posted 2014