She is learning young
Pure genteel pleasures of a garden
Amid the fragrant roses and towering lupines
That give the winter pardon.
Sweet feminine echo of her beautiful mother
She holds up her watering can
a tiny version of the other.
Now she mimics to perfection
The sprinkling of flowers
as she giggles with delight
At birds in secret bowers.
She can't wait for the 'morrow
Her duties to employ
She is mother's little helper
And Daddy's little joy
For Isaiah Zerbst -Gordon Dunlop Leslie Contest
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
mournful cries fill the air
mother bird calling for its baby
eaten by the cat
mantis catches butterfly
I am sad: yet, that is
the way of nature
loud feathered thud
- flight into eternity
deceptive glass pane
On a pile of fragrant petals,
I found a small bird nest.
It had fallen from the plum tree
And settled there to rest.
The blue eggs were all unbroken,
Petals had softened fall.
Mother bird was loudly chirping,
Hovering over all.
I dared not touch the fallen nest
To leave a human smell.
I merely looked into its depths
To see that all was well.
Pushing bright petals around it
To hide it from plain view,
I gave a wave to mother bird
And said, “It’s up to you.”
I did not chance that way again
For a full month or more.
I stopped to check upon the nest
That had been there before.
The eggs were gone, the fallen nest
Was lying all askew.
I worried that bad had happened
To the small eggs of blue.
And then I heard a happy sound
And spied the mother bird.
A message passed from her to me
Without a single word.
I took her song as a thank you
For my feeble attempt
To guard her nest from predators
Who’d treat it with contempt.
There were four balls of downy fluff
On the branch right by her side.
I stopped to admire her little brood,
Then went on with my ride.
Upon the highest branch, glistened with dew,
Of the strongest oak in a forest, dense,
There rests a songbird of divine essence,
With a song as soothing, found far and few.
Beneath her tough wing, hidden warm and close,
A little fledgling rests his weary beak;
Bruised from his flying, too close to the peak,
But sheltered by she who does love him most.
And that little fledgling, high in the trees,
So sweetly guarded close by his true nurse,
May seek a small feed from her beak or purse,
But furthest too fly, he is last to leave.
Though he burned and tarnished his silken wings,
From ambitions flown to close to the sun,
Across the world's oceans that bird would come,
With the loving song his mother bird sings.
Across the scarlet sunset ,
I see a little sea-bird.
Pretending to be strong ,
Actually its making a feeble cry.
Flapping wings again and again,
Its afraid and not giving a try.
The great sky and the vast sea ,
Is making its throat dry.
Everybody came to boost it up ,
Finally mother came with a fishful cup.
In the name of God ,
The little one jumped.
With eyes closed and heart thumped.
And wow , its magic ,
Its faith and love.
That made it fly ,
Above the sea and across the sky.
She built her nest of straw and mud,
anchored to the rocks on our entryway.
Through the glass in the front door,
we watched her as she sat up there
on her eggs, allowing babies to grow.
After they hatched, she hovered close,
quarreling at us for coming too near.
She sat motionless on the nest at night,
covering them for hours with her body,
warming with the spread of her wings.
I think she liked that nesting part best;
daylight brought endless hours of work,
bringing worms for wide, hungry mouths
and guarding nearby to keep danger at bay.
Then came the task of teaching them to fly;
an enormous effort for such a tiny mother.
We watched them grow too big for the nest,
crowding so their feathery butts hung over
the edge, their droppings cascading down
over the rocks, onto the porch below.
One morning's surprise brought a view
of an empty nest; the babies had flown.
Mother bird returned to begin once more.*
Amazed to see her back on the nest,
we opened the bird book to find her,
this Eastern Phoebe, who has found
home in Missouri, returning each year
to grace our mornings with sweet calls.
*Note: Our task was to suffer the obstacle course of a ladder, extension
cord, and a continuous fan on the front porch to keep baby birds from
smothering in the heat, plus scrubbing the crud off the porch floor. The
first two broods were okay, but, in July, the third try was a killer.
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.
On an open road through the driving rain
She drove fast and deadly like a hurricane
Sad yellow stripes in between white lines
Covered cold dead flowers and some valentines
Her baby grows and her mother cries
A painful evelution right before their eyes
She left him bleeding as the future glowed
From a dying past down the open road
She fights the lions as she curse it all
The men the drugs and the alcohol
The radio dj makes it all look good
With songs about love and of motherhood
She saw her future going down the drain
Her baby's tears feeds her growing pain
A blade in the night and the bad blood flowed
Down in the gutter on the open road
A big black bird at the top of the shelves
Judging what they all did to themselves
With fingernails growing like a raven's claw
She will never see what the big bird saw
Like the drugs of the dying like a martyr's faith
There was light in the dark but no open gate
She hunted the keys to the secret code
As she watched him fade on the open road
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
that each has a
With his reputation,
there is no
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
He matches her mood.
His movements are
as they twist and
twirl in their
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
With steps that are
light he glides to
he meets her, bows
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
It matters not
whether we all stay
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
This egg will be
food for his hungry
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
He’ll sit day and
night until the
He knows, that time
to be continued...
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,
Now boned to carcass stick.
I wanted to hold one more time,
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.
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?
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.
Called to you from down here
Had to hear your voice
Thanked you for the love you gave
Loved you for your choice
One sleepless night
Drawn to the stars
Fiery flight of glory
Red beauty of mars
Delicate and eased
Character so bright
We were very pleased
On one sleepless night
Passion in approach
You presence all so near
You swooped down from the star lit sky
And flew away with my fear
Escaping from the patterns of my life
From crime and hate and inner strife
I visit a place that is pure and serene
Where i'm alone as a morning bird sings
I followed a path forged in stone
immersed in beauty, that nature owns
It is nature that owns the morning haze
That envelops the glory of this mystic maze
A labyrinth of answers to my dreams
this paradise is false,or so it seems
As the sun beamed its radiant light
i choose a place and did recite
I gasped at the trees and fertile soil
that inherit the flowers as my quill toiled
The flowers have blossomed this early spring
Akin to a babe, immaculate and pristine.
The scent of the air is not of smog and dirt
that blackens the white and decays the dirks
Yet that of a fragrant scent from the flowers
that abides in memory to this very hour.
i heard patter from a creek a distance away
Gentle and calm it enraptured my stay
And to my eyes not a ripple shows
As i induced a wish then tossed a rose
Akin to a morrow, i saw my reflection
Hued in beauty of Mother Nature's protection
For all this beauty that envelops me
unfolds clearly for the world to see
And to the world like a perpetual fire
it flares and glows never to tire
prevailing past the wars hate and crime
the creek remains until the end of time
The morning bird wings again before me
Adieu Mother Nature I'll never defy thee
Yes! the bird of faith will lead the way
To some other secluded haven to stay.
I do not know?
The bird took off into the sky,
Spreading it's wings for flight.
A gentle breeze eased it higher,
Yet further from the ground.
The mother bird gazed on intently,
Protective of it's young.
The bird was gaining height so fast,
It's mum now a mere dot.
The older birds flew up above,
Swooping and diving for fun.
The bird looked down in anxious fear,
At the houses far below.
Never had it been so very high,
That people looked so small.
To him they were now tiny blobs,
Not bigger than him any more.
The breeze around him suddenly ceased,
And the bird started drifting down.
The people below were no longer blobs,
And his mother was entering view.
As he was swooping back down to the nest,
He took one last glance above.
Still the older birds were playing,
Not a single care in the world.
They hadn't to worry, they hadn't to work,
For they had already learnt to fly.
She watched the mountain intently
Like a bird who’s nestling of dwelling, complains
Yet, neither will move --
A surge of genius
Strikes the hollowed core ~
Worrisome thoughts she shan’t abide…
A mother’s love still strives,
Strong willed fledgling must now -- fly
Search to build, its -- own nest
-- Mother bird soars above the mountain -- mind at rest
An elder once said teach them well in the ways they must go… Like a hawk one must keep a
watchful eye for they are still your prizes; you never know when they may come home to
roost again... Or at least visit…
However, if they can't respect the home then its time
For them to fly on their own...
I was told over and over when I was an innocent four years old,
"Spread your wings, child!"
By the man I loved most, my Grandfather was inspirational.
He was the one that thought me how to read and write.
My parents were never there for me, they were often tipsy,
Smashing the bottles upon the floor and sometimes upon me.
When this happened, my Grandfather was always there to heal my soul,
And he would always say "Spread your wings, child!"
My parents were later found dead, overdosed on the latest drugs.
Even the cruelest people deserved sympathy, I thought as I cried.
They did bring me into this world, even if it was an accident,
So I simply moved along with their memories.
My Grandfather was a strong man as he battled a fierce war of cancer,
His last words were "Spread your wings, child...."
I screamed until my throat was sore, for I had no one else to love, no one,
Was this what the world had to offer a ten year old?
Now, a twelve year old, I have found a sweet family of my own,
A mother that could not have children and left lonely because of it,
She smiled and held me tightly when I first saw her.
Now I have someone to love.
Now, we sing and dance, sit around reading "Oliver Twist,"
With her teasing me and telling me I look like the protagonist, it's true though,
Sometimes on the warm summer nights, we'll watch the stars wink.
Now, I've spread my wings wide open!
Everything I have told you is true :) How could I lie? That wouldn't be right! It's time you got to know me, this poem is my life, reader!
In memory of Oliver Kirkland, my dear Grandfather
Happiness is a beautiful smiling word,
That soars the skies like a radiant black bird;
Culling ebony sheen downs from her sable breast
To fluff and cushion the crib of her protecting nest.
Murder and death are conjuring words too;
Sneaking around and stealing your children from you;
And though their bodies pile up in streets and on the bloody ground---
Like trees chopped down when no one’s around, justice hears no sound.
The long arch of justice has been bent backwards to times of old;
The streets have replaced the hanging tree and the noose by a bullet hole.
We now understand the strange fruits stories of which the ancestors once told;
One by one, our little sheep are being justifiably culled from the extended family fold.
While we cannot and must not substitute one tyranny for another,
We will and must protect the seeded child of every black mother.
The Stellaluna story, in verse.*
Hanging upside down
on a tiny tree limb,
she sleeps in daylight
with wings folded in.
No feathers on this one;
just fur, soft as down.
With wings spread wide,
she searches the ground.
Nocturnal, she forages
to assuage her appetite,
feasting on ripe fruit
in the black of night.
* Stellaluna, a baby bat, is the star of a children's book by the same name, written by Janel Cannon. An Owl attacks her mother, she falls off and into a nest of baby birds. She hates worms as food, and insists on hanging upside down, outside the nest, to sleep. Mother bird is frantic, to no avail. Stellaluna teaches her nest mates a few bad habits, like flying around in the dark.
outside the picture window
which provided pleasure to the
whose days of raising their own
were long gone in the past,
a mother blue jay had two babies &
the couple watched the whole thing
for the nest had been built
in the lilac tree
which had been planted years ago
right beneath the window.
one day, the red squirrel,
whom the family dog had been
chasing for such a long time,
the two had become something of
a morning novelty,
had climbed up the tree &
killed one of the babies while
its mother wasn’t home.
when the couple discovered that the
baby had been killed,
as some remnants were left which could
be seen from the window,
they were quite distraught to say the least
the death of the little bird kept them up
late at night for the next few nights.
while the old woman pleaded with “god,”
proclaiming “why! why! why!” when
she got up in the middle of the night,
as if one of her own children had died,
the old man told her that it had been
evolution which dealt with the matter---
mother bird had not built the nest
high enough, and so the red squirrel
had been able to get at the new babies.
the old woman pleaded with her husband,
saying that red squirrels didn’t even eat meat!
the old man said that they did,
she just hadn’t seen them, or perhaps the
squirrel just never got so lucky---
“they got to get their protein somewhere,”
then she went on saying that the squirrel
could get that from nuts &
so it went on & on.
after a few days went by
the large rat traps in the garage coupled with
the large wads of peanut butter used by the
to lure in the squirrel,
did in fact succeed in killing it &
the old woman then felt justified.
‘“god” wanted him dead,” she said &
the old man, carrying the trap with the squirrel’s
neck broken & bloody, ready to hurl the whole
thing in the woods remarked with a smile,
evolution dealt with the matter.”
I do not know?
A young yet beautiful little bird to set free.
Motionless among the others but integrgated by the height of the tree.
The leaves set falling,the colors of the world.
The liscences yet not own,for the heart of this baby girl.
The ground yet settles beneath the plants so to speak.
The hightest level of elevation for this bird thats to weak.
The consumers of the family,yet know not to tell.
That the baby bird is not ready ,to come out of her shell.
The eyes of anticipation ,though wonders above the others.
A little more time for the baby bird to fly away from her mother.
Afraid to see the sun set,alone so the baby bird does not set free.
The breath of this baby bird is the true heart of me.
A little Bird,
Moved for living,
He had chosen a tree,
When he saw his native man.
He didn’t frightened,
He welcomed him and sang a song,
Tried to fragrant his love,
And danced on the branches.
One day a guest came,
And parked his car under the tree,
When he saw the bird droppings
He stared into the man’s eyes.
He felt insult,
He had decided to cut down the tree,
He didn’t notice,
Baby birds are growing in the nest,
Tree fell down on his mouth,
They cut the branches in pieces,
When a cat saw the little birds,
They were hiding for their life.
A Man was standing in front,
He didn’t stop them,
He provoked her,
Innocents were her taste.
A bird was crying above the shade,
He noticed, a dog, cat and man,
Everyone was dumb and deaf,
No bird came back to sing them a song.
It was a cold, windy but cloudless day
There was a Crow in a Jupiter tree
He cried out as if he was mocking me.
This morn, the day my mother passed away.
Death -death this godless creature seemed to say
With dead black eyes, my face he seemed to stare
This gaze cut deep to my heart, left it bare.
Fly from here, demon bird with squawk so gray.
Be not a messenger of death I pray.
From window, the last sound my mother heard,
Was the call to die from this evil bird.
On dark wings this scavenger of deaths prey.
Such callous, heartless, evil bird this Crow
To steal from me, her ever loving soul.
I do not know?
Oh bird Oh bird why do you ache
Is there something wrong with your wing or beak
Lord help this bird in its tough times
We’ll know you’ll bless it in a blink of an eye
Oh bird Oh bird why do you cry
When you know that everything will be all right
He knows that you are thirsting for much needed water
Just never doubt if it takes longer then expected, but count your blessings and let minute go by minute
Oh bird Oh bird I love you so
Oh Bird Oh Bird I never want you to go