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.
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 | Year Posted 2013
Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.
With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.
He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.
Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.
I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.
A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?
My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
Who can change what it is to be me?
The owl, hidden there in a night's beauty,
a beauty that most don't even try to see.
I am a deceiver in the shadows
who can show you a different light,
and open your eyes, once closed.
Come nearer. I am not known to bite;
there is nothing here to be afraid of.
Who is just your friend in the night?
In darkness, who will hear my call?
I may be wise for my age at times,
though I never claim to know it all.
My voice is heard; still I go unseen.
Tell me who is magical and mystical,
and yet, all things in between?
Owl: mystery of magic, omens, silent wisdom, vision in the night, deception
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015
Upon the lakes they do swim gliding so effortlessly
These species of graceful waterfowl the largest of anatidae family
In their beautiful pure white plumage with elegant long curved necks
Blunted beaks and big webbed feet living together by water's edge
These magnificent creatures of the waters are a sign of purity and love
Remind us of the blessings in our relationships a gift from heaven above
If all goes well in there pairing they will stay together for rest of their life’s
When they glide upon the waters of our awareness they bring us deep insight
These birds of Mother Nature they’re exquisite and unique
Bearing exotic waves of beauty to our dreams as we do sleep
They swim around in our divine mind adding colours of delight
Encouraging us to spread our wings and take our glorious flight
Courting occurs on rivers and lakes throughout the known world
Whilst they live on plant life tiny fish and scattered bread as well
You might see them duck their heads as they feed upon their foods
But you better beware of their aggression whilst they protect their broods
The elegance of these myterious birds are displayed in a ballet dancer
Dancing into our emotions with their romantic artisticpower
Transforming our souls with delightful moves bringing us into harmony
With a brilliant performance of balance, control and technical flexibility
The beautiful dying swan pours its heart out as death draws near
Greeting this with an exceptional beautiful ending balladeer
Its modulated voice singing the swan-song of death so sweet
This harmonious sound can be heard as its last creative piece
The crown retain the ownership to all unmarked mute swans
A ceremony takes place once a year and lasts for five days long
Swan upping is a tradition dated back to the twelfth century
Markers row up and down the rivers paying tribute to the Queen
In England they’re a protected species and owned by Her Majesty
The wing spans on these wonderful birds can extent to several feet
These sacred aquatic birds male and female cobs and pens
Those little cygnets and swanlings on a swan lake that never ends
© Copyright KC.Leake
8th December 2014
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © kevin leake | Year Posted 2014
Perched on a sturdy branch on yonder tree
Pouring out your heart in sweet melody
With a full throated birdsong rhapsody
Filling me with such joyful ecstasy
Do you sing sweetly to woo your lady
Who listens somewhere on a nearby tree
Her heart must surely melt at the beauty
Of the song you sing so effortlessly
Is your song a joyful testimony
To honour nature's musical bounty
Given to creatures from earth, sky and sea
Whose music blesses all abundantly
Or is it part of a profound mystery
Heralding a supreme divinity
Which pervades all silently and deeply
O bird, I'll ever be grateful to thee
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014
Wolf And Owl Take Shape
Smoke and red cinders rise together in retrograde simplicity
On counter rotation, winds sing through birch and oak
Marbled moon remains sour yellow through the ecliptic edge
Cryptic night, where owl and wolf find warmth and cover
Nestled in the coarse blanket warn by Tabitha, the young one
Her tribe sleeps through winter
She holds them in her mystic spell, mild heart and smile
They breathe cold mist together in history hallows
Unfolding cold reveals their open eyes
Reaching out into the distance as wolf howls
Unknown mysteries of life feel their kinship
Heaven opens up to them crisp on the fire light
Wolf moves his wool but only slightly in a twitch
Owl takes flight, returns alarmed
Back to the blanket and young girls arms
It rests with comfort feathers by her heart
Wolf and owl take shape, Tabitha smiles
They all take one long last breath and hold it in
Wait till spring to release it again below the mystic stars
10/17/14 Free Verse, Prose Poetry, haibun – Poetry Contest
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014
Lost In All This Mystery
How wonderful it is to be
Lost in all this mystery
As Willy-Wagtail in a tree
A lovely song does sing
How great it is to be sat here
The sky so blue and oh, so clear
I love it when the dusk draws near
Such joy to me it brings
When that silence comes along
Such stillness, meets the birds sweet song
It’s in this stillness I belong
Such joy to me does cling
I love to sit and meditate
As the light does dissipate
Such peace this evening does create
As the birds they take to wing
I love the feel that ends the day
I love the beauty in the way
The moon and stars begin their play
And love’s in everything
17 January 2016
Copyright © peter duggan | Year Posted 2016
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 | Year Posted 2010
I loved a man, because and because.
He was dear to me then, and now.
Don't search for reasons for my because...
You'll never find them out.
I loved a man, for why and for why.
A different man, you see.
Don't search for reasons for my for why.
The doves are in the trees.
The doves in the trees have secrets, you know.
They coo them all full out.
But only the birds know what they say -
why I loved both the men.
Contest - Poem that time forgot 2
Sponsor - Silent One
Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015
Seeking God in nature
If you seek God then look around you
In life’ sweet beauty you will find him there
In the flowers or in the morning dew
Who with you, their hues and perfumes share.
In the lake that shines beneath the sun
You’ll find him there. He’ll look into your face
He’ll be there too when morning has begun
As the birds sing out in wondrous grace
When the lightning comes, and thunder rolls
As the rain pours down and the winds blow strong
You’ll feel him as a whisper in your soul
He’ll comfort you with his soothing song.
When you close your eyes, and see your self
You’ll feel the silence, then, you’ll know he’s here
He’s always here. He is your hidden wealth
Whispering his message loud and clear.
He’s everywhere, always here, he is
Everywhere he is, is filled with bliss
9/10/10/9 for 4 stanza's
alternating rhyme schemes
a/b/a/b/ c/d/c/d/ e/f/e/f/ g/h/g/h i/i
Copyright © peter duggan | Year Posted 2016
A gentile man of vivid dreams oft apt to walk at night
Followed where his feet would lead under the pale moon light
When chance he did into a grove of oak and alder trees
He spied a pool of nature's own fed by an ancient spring
There upon he cast his gaze beneath the moon so bright
And saw him something oddly fey revealed with second sight
At once belief that made him he who walked where others went
Faded in the mist of myth and planted there instead
A vision of a greater truth not seen, and yet perceived
From deep within the pool of being, liberation to receive
Reflections at the water's edge revealed his truest form
A life he's yet to realize, or a life he's lived before
For there upon this moon lit night, deep in that ancient wood
Where once there was an aging man an ageless raven stood
Twice born of myst beneath the sky, no longer bound by fear
Casting off his worldly flesh, he leapt into the air
He set his course by moon lit ways, a shadow taking flight
Till found he day light's brilliant rays that freed him from the night."
~Christopher Thor Britt
The Everything Halloween Poetry Contest
Copyright © Christopher Thor Britt | Year Posted 2013
Farewell, then, AUKN boss,
The next this year makes three.
By the time they find a substitute,
Slovenes will be at sea.
He tried to cover his behind;
AUKN boss of bosses,
As every week, balances grew bleak:
He weighed merits and losses.
With all this he'd no time to eat,
And round and round he flew.
And now he's split in a hissy-fit;
So helmsman, too-de-loo!
Day after day, day after day,
He drifted on the ocean;
Guano-vernment rained on his ship
Their suggestions for promotion.
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Corporate boards crosslink;
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Let's take you for a drink.
Accountants talking rot: O Christ!
Missions, visions - oh please!
Yea, slimy characters need legs
And slimy policies.
So has he done an hellish thing?
Not hired who? We dunno:
Was it absurd, to have a separate curd
From the whey Slovenia owes?
This wretch won't play, after 60 days;
Pissflaps, he'll have to go!
God help ya, gospod Bencina
From the fiends, that plague us thus! -
It's time to go — shot like cross-bow,
The AUKN boss.
Ah! walk-out day! what evil looks
Had I from Ernst and Young!
Who's at a loss? AUKN's boss
Wouldn't take a bung?
"You'll be" quoth one, "abolished - no
Stigma to double-cross."
He chose to go - why? We don't know:
Harmless AUKN boss.
Re-reading the original gave me a great idea for dinner until I realised all the storks have all flapped off to Africa for the winter. Pity, as I have some ancient marinade from Tuš. Like the subject of the poem, I didn't have the stamina for a Coleridge-length effort.
The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world. www.maria.si
Copyright © Julian Bohan | Year Posted 2013
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…
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 | Year Posted 2013
life flies, so quickly away
As I sit and watch from an old window
Where I love to play
So fast, in your dreams you go
In the evening hours, by the old window
What do you want to know?
A child’s cry, breaks the silent hours
The beginning of new life, at a new window
Where a new soul grows
Bright lights flash into your quiet dream
From distant stars, through the old window
Where their reflection screams
I sit by my own old heart
And dream it flies, out the old window
Landing safely into its own shadow
love flies so fast away
on this frozen day, by the old window
love warms my heart today
A blackbird cries, as it tries to fly
where I see her try, by the old window
And I feel her cry
Weather beating wings falling open wide
A shivering heart eyes like an old window
In the frozen snow
I know she will have her day
As I watch her fly away thru the old window
Where we love to play
written 04/02/2012 by: cynthiaFerguson
Copyright © Cynthia Ferguson | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2012
Since childhood I was always fascinated with nature
Curious to know how plants grow
Always intrigued by the ingenuity of ants
And mesmerized by the coordination
And spectacular tactics of birds.
Birds come in different colors and species
They symbolize many conditions and have various
Significance and meaning in different cultures.
You have the nightingale and the humming birds
And the whippoorwill is perhaps the most cunning
of all species because it can camouflage itself.
Even though you can hear its distinctive sound
It's difficult to be identified.
I used to listen to them singing in nature
singing melodious tune, tunes that span beyond
Centuries, tunes reminding us that life is still divine.
I love to watch them soaring in the sky
flying from north to east, south to west
Until nature bids them to take their rest.
Birds embrace freedom and they hold the power of truth
they are unique messengers so the next time you see one
land on your doorstep just figure out if it is genuinely from nature
who send it, and what it is trying to say before you angrily chase it away.
Birds have wit and might, they are powerful
communication tools, they earn their keep from nature
and that’s how they stay alive
like the cows and the sheep
they can see way out in the deep.
Something peculiar has been happening in nature
I have been observing something unusual from the sky
While walking down the street the sun burst from
underneath a dark, cold overcast sky
and spread its light over me then suddenly disappeared.
Each time I take a stroll an army of birds appear from
nowhere and split up into different directions,
they form groups of six, seven and eight, three,
four, two, one and groups of twelve.
Sometimes they are so many that I can hardly count them.
It didn't seem as if they were on a journey, it appeared as if
They were caged up somewhere and were suddenly released
into the atmosphere.
My curiosity grew deeper when I pounced upon
a man attracting the birds with feed laced with
corn grain and black sunflower seeds.
This was quite unusual because
no one in the entire neighborhood feed birds
I could read right into this mysterious cultural behavior
not only was he making a statement,
he was marking something by placing
the bowl of feed in front of the house
under my window and luring the birds to
fly from all directions to feed from the bowl.
They say that black birds are symbol of human soul
and they symbolize happiness, intelligence and wisdom;
they also have deep religious meaning.
Always remember that everything we do
evil always hinges close by good
to make things seem inconspicuous.
Legend has it to say that the devil appeared to St. Benedict
in the form of a black bird to tempt him.
Long time ago my kindergarten teacher
used to teach me this poem by mother goose,
“Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye,
four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing
wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in the counting-house counting out his money,
the queen was in the parlor eating bread and honey,
the maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes.
Along came a blackbird and snipped off her nose.”
Birds are free habitats of nature
they do not earn their keep from artificial feed
but from natural food in the environment.
So the next time you see a bowl of bird feed
laced with black sun flower seed and corn
do not take it for granted
something is deeper than bird feed.
©2015 Christine Phillips
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2015
Whoever dwells now in that nest?
Or the priest who wants to rest?
Wherever is my cousin, the pest?
Or the priest who wants to rest?
This morning a minor sin I confessed.
To the priest who wants to rest.
Look! He is getting undressed!
The priest who wants to rest.
Hush! Quiet or he'll be distressed!
The priest who wants to rest.
You speak Manx? He'll be impressed!
The priest who wants to rest.
I need ants! Who can help in my quest?
Or the priest who wants to rest?
TV shan't get your brain blessed.
Who said so?
The priest who wants to rest.
He claims to have climbed the Everest.
The priest who wants to rest?
Dinner is ready but we're missing a guest!
The priest who wants to rest.
Toilet's occupied! I can't hold it! I protest!
Who's in there?
The priest who wants to rest!!!
He's done with his nap. Yes, you guessed.
The infamous priest that you detest.
April 29 2014
Contest: Any Poem # 29
Place # 3.
Sponsored by: Poet Destroyer A
Copyright © Ivo Cosentino | Year Posted 2014
anniversary, bird, change, courage, immigration, mystery, sky,
'Geese' Hiaku: 'Ode to the Canadian Goose'!
Canada’s Geese © HAIKU
All Northern Geese ‘crop’
Seasonal tour ‘reruns’ twice!
Flag-poled Staff © HAIKU
Two pilots each tour
One Canadian goose ‘flagpoles’
Two tails split ends!
Canada Geese Fly By! ©HAIKU
Soar far north in summer months
Down south in winter!
Canadian Geese © HAIKU
Arrow signs direct
Sky-masses of geese ‘elites’
Comings and goings!
Flights Yesteryear© HAIKU
Canadian Geese consent
To ‘v-shaped’ sky-tipped arrow points
Past’s learnt direction!
Canada Geese Tours © HAIKU
‘Fly-by' Geese Tourism
Northerner or Southerner
Two seasons a year!
Canadian Geese Vacation © HAIKU
Arrow signs direct
'V-trailing' geese to the sky
Masses 'enlist' onward!
Flights To Yesteryear© HAIKU
Canadian Geese mark
'V-shaped' (sky) tipped arrow-points
Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015
at sixes and sevens
on a crow's nest
Copyright © Elias Uddin | Year Posted 2014
Sitting there late last night!
I took everything in with my deepest breath about me.
I could quiver feeling the warmth sinking slowly in,
I was covered over distances which I could now see.
I had left myself.
I was gone again.
I was above and beyond the clouds,
Soaring deeply with every one of my though,
Higher and higher I rose,
Reaching loftiness’ I have never once felt.
I was a bird in flight!
Stunning with privilege I had brought.
Feeling myself from deep within!
Standing there that night,
The radiance beamed all around me so I took this in.
And lo and behold, there I went again.
I could feel myself while locked deep with my thoughts.
I was absorbed inside by everything surrounding me.
I felt the depth that my eyes could never ever once see.
Loosing all truth of myself, every sensation my soul had caught.
Further and further I rose, reaching capacities I had never felt.
I’m a feather in the air,
Gathering sensations inside of myself.
I lay there that night, mind, body, and soul with me.
I was calm with the breeze,
Inside of myself,
And once again I was a bird in flight soaring so high and much too free.
I was locked sound with my deepest thoughts.
More and more I rose and impact for impact I felt.
Feathers of a bird in flight and one of me I have surely got.
Ever since that night, many, many things have come to me.
One by one, gathered by the sensations carried all over me.
Touching inside of myself, again, again, and again!
Higher and higher I climb to reach the very tipsy top.
Gathering it all, I am more of me when more of me can be felt.
I am the breeze in the air touching the many feathers these birds have brought.
Many feathers just from sitting here, but each the soar of the wind has surely caught.
I’m a bird in flight gathering all that is real or not and all that is captured in of my-self.
I am surely the feather that fell from the very top,
Because I am now what then I surely was not!
I am simply that feather in the air falling loose and free inside of myself.
®Registered: 1997 Ann Rich
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2010
The silent bell rings in the night,
Calling the devils to kneel to the light,
What once was, becomes no more,
As the light breaks through the open door.
What you think and what you feel,
What you saw and thought was real,
Is now only dust on the road,
The desolate remains of your ancient abode.
The new light is rising on the hill,
The new song is singing down in the well,
The new souls are dreaming of your face,
The new hearts are beating at you pace.
The old ideas and reasons you gave,
Are buried in the tomb and in the grave,
The rotting bone and flesh are gone,
In the morning dew, in the morning sun.
The light shines through the open door,
Casts no shadow on the old dirty floor,
The ancient laws of reason and might,
Crumble to dust in the morning light.
What once was real and certain as rock,
Is now the dream the baby forgot,
The new light coming to wake you my love,
The silent lamb and the flying dove.
more of my poems at :
Copyright © ness tillson | Year Posted 2013
Life is a creative
A dance with
A non-sensical Mystery
Extending through and beyond logic.
Nothing holds it at both sides
Yet here it is. (There it is)
Copyright © Graham Eakin | Year Posted 2013
Trapped in a cage, an iron shell
Perhaps yearning to be free
Just like a prisoner in a cell
Who feels the pain of caged agony
It patiently bides it's time
Choosing its options with care
In silence it attempts a mime
Enduring desolate nights without fear
A slight opening comes into view
The chance is here and none too soon
It spreads its wings as if on cue
And heads out to the great beyond
Now no boundaries can ensnare it's soul
As endless mysteries then unfold
Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2012
A canvas high and felt traced tips
With background broad and tint azure
None posed in space with limbs being clipped
The sketch of liberty one saw
When pillars then in holes are tucked
Sore eyes in Gaya’s comfort seek
While plumes of sentiment are plucked
Love lingers on in love’s mystique
Time let the warble low to swoop
And beak like marble gloss to shine
Thoughts flicker on life’s endless stoep
In tandem with the sun that mimes
That morn when words and wheels are cleansed
Found true and veiled in mortal condensed.
Copyright © thabiso nkoana | Year Posted 2013
Luna flower spread open scented blossom
In response to the full moon's soft yellow glow
So much designed like a Sand Dollar
Amazing the resemblence even with first sight
Humming Bird Moths drawn to the glowing white
The irresistable beauty and appealing scent
Ten were buzzing, humming drinking nectar
From white beauty by only moonlight
Ants were working even at night
Drawn to the goodness that will leave at dawn
Preparing a storehouse of goodness for winter
So that the species can survive to rule summer picnics
That scented sticky nectar must be delicious
Tasting like a very rich clover honey
So sweet that just a tiny amount sweetens
So many slices of simple bread
Amazing the blessings to enjoy from simplicity
The simplest things in life sometimes give goodness
That wealth can't provide
Sometimes wealth has gardens but not enjoyed
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
Where is it you go?
When there is no snow,
And warm weather is ever so near.
We see you around,
When snows on the ground,
Suddenly you just disappear.
At the first sign of spring,
Those snowdrops do bring,
And the flowers all start to grow.
Through all the sunshine,
There will be no sign,
Where is it that Robins do go?
Copyright © Robert Broadbent | Year Posted 2015
I saw my dream fly away like a bird that escaped my body.
It is dificult to touch something that can fly like a bird because dreams are born to
live free in the mind, as the birds to the skies.
You can see the dreams, but from the moment that you try to touch them they
disappear...just as the water disappears in the desert if you go close.
Don't try to taste the apple of paradise.
See it but don't touch it.
Because the dreams keep all the secrets and the magic of our lost paradise.
Copyright Constantinos Grigoriadis © All rights reserved
Copyright © Constantinos Grigoriadis | Year Posted 2008
The Mystery of the Owl
Owls are such an interesting breed of birds
What are they thinking?
Do they ponder the mysteries of the world with just a simple blink?
….It just makes me stop and think….
What actually goes on in the mind of an owl?
Do they ponder the perplexity of mankind?
Do they measure the amount of evil?
I say owls are the most intelligent of birds
And they have been stolen as a symbol of evil
For there is nothing truly evil about an owl
They are the most sacred of all the birds in heaven
Surely if you ever met one in the heavenlies
He would have an opinion on this matter
No Bohemian Grove ceremony!
No child sacrifices to Lucifer!
An owl in all of his wisdom would fly as far away from this evil!
When you arrive in the heavenlies and stand before the Creator
You will learn of the mysteries including the mystery of the owl
An owl is a loving friend that sits on the shoulder of our Creator
You can even have one as a friend if you pray hard enough
So the next time you consider an owl
Remember this quaint little story
Remember that everything upon this earth is truly not what it seems
For in the book of Matthew it is written, Ask and It Shall Be Given
For this is how I learned of the MYSTERY OF THE OWL!
Copyright © Gwendolen Rix | Year Posted 2014
On the ground, stark still
The child immobile stared, saw
Its dead broken will
Songless feathers cold
Limping back from shivered tears
The bird speechless too
One bird flies no more
Death disshevelled to it clings
Like a silent heart
Each dying makes dust
Dust the silence of the song
Dust, death of a bird
No post mortem whys
Knowledge sorrows has no cure
Death cloud us with sighs
One tear glistened then
The mother tugged her away
Heart beating like wings
Dead before the church
In coldness, nothing flies now
In the silent skies
Hangs still the clod cloud
Air in air, a frozen will
Like a dead bird - falls
The mortal thread dangling dust
To featherless wings
A bird's desire fled
To this feathered crumbled heap
Shall I trust to sleep?
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
Who wouldn't want to fly,
to simply lift your arms
and soar aloft
with eagles and hawks?
Who wouldn't want to gather
straw and string, weave a cozy nest,
lure a mate, raise the young,
push them out to fly on their own,
and go on their way?
Who wouldn't want to splash
in fountains, feathers and all,
on a sweltering summer day?
Who wouldn't want to join
the mockingbird's song,
into every listening ear?
Composers have echoed his notes,
in string and flute,
and the melodies we love most
rustle through leaves,
breathe into ocean waves,
thunder down mountains,
and walk with the dead.
Yet, there remains
the mystery of birds.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014