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Bird People Poems | Bird Poems About People

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

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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 | 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.

Written 24/02/2012

Copyright © Hussein Farah

Details | Ballad | |

From The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand - THE RUINS OF THE ANCIEN REGIME

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.

Copyright © Julian Bohan

Details | Verse | |

Election Day

This autumn morning with the birds waking up
and the leaves changing is Election Day. I meet
Jane Trichter on the downtown subway and discuss
Henry's upset. Her skin is soft especially her cheeks
and she is intelligent and sensitive. The subway riders
do not recognize their representative.

All day, at the office. I accomplish nothing substantive
but I keep the aides and interns working
and cheerful. On Tuesdays there is always a wave
of constituent complaints, by telephone. One woman's
Volkswagon is towed and the police break in
to get it out of gear. Do they have that right,
can they tow even though no sign said Tow Away Zone?

It is an interesting question but I try to avoid
answering it. The woman persists and succeeds
in committing me.

The people at the office want to bomb Iran. A few Americans
held hostage and therefore many innocent women and children
pay the postage. It may be good classical logic to hold responsible
the whole society for the acts of a few, however, then
I must begin to expect the bomb and the white cloud that waits.
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but we are more likely to thrash the earth to within an inch of its life
than scorch it to charred rock.

Corner of Church and Chambers,
German tourist's language, accent repels me
although I wasn't alive 45 years ago
and many sweet, great Germans opposed the crazy Nazis
but lately I've read Primo Levi's If Not Now, When?,
seen William Holden in "The Counterfeit Traitor",
have followed the argument started by revisionists
who say the Nazi atrocities never happened.

War brought many shopkeepers, bookkeepers close to their earth,
weather, seasons, death.
I see daily life as low-intensity warfare
as my father, the World War II vet, did.
Off to work we go. What is war?
Population control, mother of invention, diversion
from the work of making life permanent.

Today is Election Day and because it's a day off
for most municipal employees, the City Hall area
has been quiet and easy to work in. Henry and Jane
hold a press conference on teenage alcoholism.
Leslie, the other aide, who I'd like to draw
the stockings and clothes off of and feel her whole body
with mine, goes home with her mother, leaving me
standing by my desk with my briefcase at the end
of Election Day.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | Rhyme | |

Chicken Karma

Written in 04 when there was a chicken flue scare...Peter

Chicken Karma.

Chickens fighting back with Karma
Coming down with chicken flue.
People watching all those years now
{people being me and you}
Watching all those cruel fellows
I'm the same I watched it too.

Creatures kept in little cages
Beaks cut off to make them meek.
Never seeing sunny weather
No room to move, of this I speak!!
And now us folk be getting worried
That chicken flue our deaths will seek.

Well I be saying "ain't my fault"
But me, I've ate that chicken too.
And I knew what folk were doing
I'd seen the cruel things they do
And now that karma's getting closer
Will the world go down with chicken flu?.

Dec 30 2004.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | I do not know? | |

Singing in the sun

Some birds sing in the sun
Others sail through storms
Some folks were born to have fun
Others to slave in many forms

As I sit on this stone of introspection
Staring into the pool that is the world
Do I see the reflection of success
Or just another form of madness?

Copyright © John Pen

Details | Ballad | |

The joy of the pheasant shoot

The joy of the pheasant shoot.

Getting set for the big event
The good folk do their stuff
They beat the earth with sticks, do they?
With their little dogs so tough 
They flush those pheasants from the scrub
So all can have some fun
Killing them with smiling faces
As they fire beloved guns.

Then as the pheasants in a panic
They bolt into the sky
Our hero’s with their guns in hand
Make sure that hundreds die
As the air is filled with the cracking sounds
As birds fall all around
Just so these fools can get there jollies
These corpses cover ground.

I wonder sometimes if these hero’s
Have any souls at all
That they could get such satisfaction
Doing these acts so cruel
Sometimes it leaves me speechless
At the way folk get their pleasure
Killing beauty just for fun
Is an ugly kind of leisure.

10 September 2013 @ 1340hrs

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Free verse | |


In a dreamlit night, I looked at a star
Like a bird without a flock.
I do not want to call solitude
What it is,
Because there are other flockless birds
Somewhere in the distance.
Yes, my friend,
We do not have to see each other
To know each other,
Because you cannot see solitude,
Yet you still know it;
When solitude wants you,
Look upon a star
And you will know that you are not alone,
Because many a gaze is friendly with the star;
When you pass a flower,
Know that it is your friend too,
Because you did not thread upon it.
When you see a bird in a cage,
Let it loose,
Because it sings its most beautiful song
When it's free;
Yes, my friend,
Friendship is like freedom,
Boundless and limitless,
Like space in human thoughts;
When a raindrop falls on your palm,
Know that it fell on the palms on many
Like a young friend;
When sorrow comes knocking at your door,
Speaking of the world's injustice,
Know that you are not alone,
Because my heart beats
Just like yours;

When the wind whispers to you
About its thousand years of wandering
And loneliness,
Know that you are not alone,
Because it whispers to me too.

Yes, my distant friend,
Solitude is not ugly
If it isn't forced upon you,
Just like friendship
Isn't friendship
If it is forced upon you.
Wonderful is the friendship
Linked by spontaneity
Like a bird's link to freedom;
Wonderful is the friendship
Linked by space
And nature;
Yes, my distant friend,
We do not have to see each other
To know each other,
Because if we do not meet during our lives,
Our souls will doubtlessly
Meet in the white heavenly fields.

©Walter William Safar

Copyright © Walter W. Safar

Details | Ballade | |

In defense of the chook

The chook defense

Now I’m no vegetarian
Though I’d like that this could be
At seventy I’ll never change
So I’m just stuck with me
And I really love’s me chook
In every kind of way
But now I’m in the mood I’m in
I just have this to say…..

If we’re going to eat these chooks
Don’t we owe them some respect
We treat them like commodities
But what I might reflect
Is, if we treat these creatures thus
That God placed on this earth
Then we neglect our very souls
And too our own self worth.

Those birds are treated so damn mean
How can one understand
This cruelty, are we then humane?
It don’t look too damn grand
And where’s the goodness in a food
That’s never seen the sun
So when we treat these birds like this
What damage have we done?

That chicken flue was scary, once
But who knows much at all
About the karma that can come
From things, unnatural.
It’s time for changes in this world
When dosh is not the ‘all’
And then humane might be a word
That’s truly wonderful

10 July 2013 @ 1301hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Free verse | |

How Can A Bird That's Born For Joy Sit In A Cage And Sing

I am the wounded, standing 
nude in thy midst
Showing to your eyes the 
stripes of thy iniquities
Tears dripping down my chin 
as drops of rain from the grey 
My face wrinkled with the pain 
of the violent conflicts within 
this ancient house of stones
My body bruised by the 
whipping of your politics and 
My hearing deafened by the 
loud cries of innocence and 
justice crying for their freedom 
of being
my soul blackened and 
sorrowed by our loss of sense 
and hope of morrow
The memory of our heroes 
which in its remembering
should teach us not and never 
to be inhuman again, 
Is but a mere miasma to this 
generation of a people who are 
victims of the lash of tyrannism 
A people whose sad silence is 
audible from the quiet Limpopo 
banks to the turbulence of the 
Zambezi flow
From the wonderful sights of 
the eastern mountains to the 
frightening caves of the 
western side that harbor the 
spirits of our ancestors
A people that woke up 
everyday with an unutterable 
question of survival,
A people I stand up for now 
with a blasphemous finger to 
this council....
'How can a bird that's born for 
joy sit in a cage and sing...'
We shall cry!!

Copyright © Joshua munyaradzi mimana

Details | Couplet | |


See the birds, migrating to long distance                                                                                                                     To plan for a life time instance

To breed and to feed the newborn                                                                                                                                            As if they have sworn

In the healthy atmosphere of the world                                                                                                                            Against every odd, as bold

To lay a healthy foundation, for the next generation                                                                                                       After adhering to all precaution

Mankind does not do such novel plan                                                                                                                                   For the welfare of the next clan

Lady delivers child wherever she live                                                                                                                                     Child struggles to strive and to survive

Mankind does not take serious care                                                                                                                             Concern for the future, became rare

Rather, mostly very casual                                                                                                                                      Though this trend is now usual

Lessons to learn from birds are ample                                                                                                                                  As birds are better to people!

Above poem is adapted from the eBook “EAGLE EDUCATES ENDURANCE! AND OTHER POEMS ON NATURE ” by Mr.V.Muthu manickam. Copyright is held by V.Muthu manickam.


Details | Villanelle | |

A Bird's Sorrow

The lonely, broken bird sings a song.
Its chirps and tweets sang of the blues.
We all listen, but scarcely help that bird fly along.

I'm a distant admirer seeing into a soul's long.
People see the reality of me with minds confused.
The lonely, broken bird sings a song.

We often bite our tongue, sympathy is the absence of strong.
Sorrow travels in ones, but love travels in twos.
We all listen, but scarcely help that bird fly along.

We see works of art burn never to ask what's wrong.
They crash and sink into depression, while we cruise.
The lonely, broken bird sings a song.

We silently oxygenate flames while fire is prolonged.
Never to extinguish flames with a helpful hand used.
We all listen, but scarcely help that bird fly along.

Lyrics were cries of damaged wings and heart's prong.
No one wakes up, everyone hits snooze.
The lonely, broken bird sings a song.
We all listen, but scarcely help that bird fly along.

Copyright © m.n.i.w m.n.i.w

Details | Senryu | |

Bothersome Bird-woman

That one sweet moment
when the harpy's song is gone
Peace, once again, reigns

Copyright © Renee Kelly

Details | Free verse | |

Bird Lady

City and county judges have ruled against you.
Despite the court injunctions, you still feed the birds.
There you are again, up at five-thirty in the morning.
You have thousands of seagulls and pigeons flocking to the street.
The noise they make can wake anybody up out of their sleep.
They defecate all over.  The street is matted in white.
Those flying creatures are insalubrious.  They bring diseases.

Birds get plenty to eat anywhere else they fly.
They can cover hundreds of square miles in a day.
You feeding the birds is just like putting Donald Trump on welfare.
You also have to steal to feed your dogs and cats.
How can you keep seventy-five of them in your house?
Are you the reincarnation of St. Francis of Assisi?
I can’t wait to see the day you are evicted.

Copyright © Robert Pettit

Details | Heroic Couplets | |

Keats Nightingale

Keats’ Nightingale

The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism, 
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.

Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active, 
At bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth, 
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth. 

Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure, 
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure, 
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm. 

When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn, 
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety, 
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity. 

Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He’s referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Is that the song of the nightingale is for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.

He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement; 
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles, 
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.

His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.

Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects, 
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects; 
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan

Details | Haiku | |

haiku 9: shootings

     haiku 9: shootings

the birds were chirping---
butterflies played in the air;
then there was gunfire.

Copyright © millard lowe

Details | I do not know? | |

First Flight

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.

Copyright © Katherine Livingstone

Details | ABC | |

Blue Bird

Blue Bird

All alone inside of my magical little paradise called my mind is an peaceful and quiet, the sun is like a gentle kiss on the cheek, and the people are just so warm and friendly but watch out because if you open your eyes everything you once knew will be gone. This magical little realm has an bloody little twist to it. The sun that was once as comforting as an warm blanket was in fact the glistening moon and the empty black sky, and the people are now all blood thirsty monsters that are no longer affected by the sun light are now out for blood.

I run to escape the sickening but yet oh so enticing scent of blood and failure, I run to escape the screams of those who's lives were cut just too short, and I run to escape the sight of the undead, blood thirsty zombies who are on the hunt for others to join their group. I'm running, running to safety and security but all the time there's nothing but pit falls and traps. I'm running and success isn't that far away but just then I see prince charming I stop and become distracted by his promising words but just then he too becomes a monster. I scream and try to run but I just can't you trap me in fire and I can't escape. 

My mind goes numb, I can feel the darkness further enclose around me, my mind goes blank, and I forget about everything. On the inside I'm screaming, fighting, kicking to get away but on the outside I'm a love sick puppy. I know I'm stronger than this but there's something about you that I just can't get over. Just as the darkness seems to grow closer an light appears and an blue bird fights off my nightmare monster and takes me back to my snowy paradise where I'm safe and at peace and I continue my lonely dark and cold path to my brightly lite future with the little blue bird by my side reminding me that I am and will forever be loved by both my family, people who actually care about me, and god.

Copyright © Omesha Curry

Details | I do not know? | |


Many times I wonder, many times I think
What if weren't people but rather birds of green

What would really happen when hurt comes into play
Would we burn our feathers and turn in birds of gray?

From being green and proud
From being free in flight
From singing songs of happy
Would drop with all its might

And distance to the ground seems long and full of pain
That's when the feathers burning and turn birds into gray

If we had only known the dangers of this life
Predictions of the future, all obstacles of flight

The sun that's burning feathers
The wind that throws off course
The rocks that people throw
Don't ever feel or show a sign of some remorse

A long drop to the ground the bird is taking now
With no hopes for happiness, no hopes for life
The trees, the sun, the people are now all in gray
But wait ...The bird of purple meets you in dismay

And you begin to wonder just maybe for a day
You can try the purple and put the gray away

The purple bird is singing and cheering you on
It shows rainbow colors and tells you to move on

Forget the pains, the burning
Forget the color gray
Forget and start forgiving
And let the colors stay...

When moving through the motions of grayness in our lives
Try to look for purple bird that might be out of sight
Just keep the heart wide open
And let the colors in
Remember life's true formula --
The beauty is within.....

Copyright © Jane Bartashnik

Details | Haiku | |

A Nocturnal Bird

a nocturnal bird…
its eyes intently watching,
laughter’s on the ice

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago

Details | Verse | |

Pressing On

She watched the mountain intently
Like a bird who’s nestling of dwelling, complains
Yet, neither will move --
Reality blooms;
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...

Copyright © Adell Foster

Details | Senryu | |

Early Bird

wake early each day

opportunity awaits 

slumber gets nothing.....

Copyright © Rick Parise

Details | Enclosed Rhyme | |

Dream Of A Caged Bird

I want to erase this present tense of disgrace
in my life and quietly sway like a night bloom, 
waiting for great Northern stars and the moon
to satiate my spark less eyes and to embrace

Me with their warmest winks. You see, I dream
of morn seagulls, scattered like Autumn leaves 
and wish to share them a breath that still lives
and my imaginative thoughts, sitting on cream 

Summer dawn with a bottle of pungent aroma
for a companion. Let me, please, be me! Erase, 
erase in my life the present tense of disgrace;
let my dream dreams, free from your enigma!

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago

Details | Concrete | |

The Bird

                                        Soaring high, 
                                                         Up into the
                                                                  Limitless sky,
                                                                          A traveler,
                                                                    With its red feathers
                                                                 Exploded, into force, like    
                                                                An airborne ranger, enjoying
                                                                 Its freedom and it never 
                                                                   Worries what to eat
                                                 And, what to wear like a poet
                                      With his silvery quill, glowing
                    Inside, his soul, yesterday….…
                                                   Tomorrow and forever!
                                                   A master, of his words
                                                     His life, free to write
                                                    And, never worries
                                                 When to stop, nor 
                                                   To die, for his  
                                              Poetry, will be 

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago

Details | Free verse | |


Your need lingered over me, 
Demanding and squalling, 
Drowning me in your 
Chaotic desperation, 
And suffocating the memories 
We might have made. 

Though you heard, 
You would not listen 
To the pleadings 
Of long lost visions, 
Even as they danced 
Before your eyes. 

Then you mistook 
My vulnerabilities 
For weaknesses, 
And mounted your encapsulation 
With grand fortitude, 
Masquerading as love. 

My belief in you 
Was shattered 
By those bruised moments, 
Irretrievably committed 
To the dedication 
Of your definition. 

So came the day 
When your audacity 
Compelled my strength 
And I would not surrender 
To your abuse, 
Regardless of your lies. 

Now a powerful bird finds 
This place heartbreaking, 
For the soaring dignity 
That will never be -  
Because I will not allow 
My wings to be clipped.

Copyright © Pamela Davison

Details | Rhyme | |


Notice the bird? Soaring through the smutty fog?
The beauty of its graceful wings and hopeful chirp
Untouched by the plastic and the pre-tense
But they cannot see you friend, behind their touchscreens

I cry within that you are all that is
Yet they hurry and scowl, too violent to gaze
Too violent to be amazed
And still you sing

Above the masquerade of sin
You softly gaze from a mighty tree
Staying briefly, to remind me, the war weary,
To be.

Take me away, will you? With your song,
Show me the sky and all that you see

Copyright © Sophie Taylor

Details | Verse | |

No cows to look at

No cows to look at
I hear the truck traffic

Everything changes like clouds
The page this poem is on burns

Coming from the funeral with friends
Talking on the telephone

No trucks to grind their gears
I hear the minute hand moving

Birds and people inhabit the earth
A black bear inhabits the earth, too

A rock in the sun
Calligraphy brush

In a mind there is apocalypse
No one can hear it

Copyright © Robert Ronnow

Details | Ballad | |

A Familiar ~Black Bird~

The sun spoke not a word to me,
its voice enshrouded by arrays
of ever thick'ning cumuli,
though silent too their whites and grays.

Peculiar not was such a sky,
save what I saw within its flow:
a solitary Nevermore--
the very same that tortured Poe.

It smeared the cloudy firmament;
foreboding was its lofty flight.
How very strange it was indeed
to see such pinions pierce the white.

What other reason could there be
for such a wicked thing to stray
but serve as devil's advocate,
for mortals did it see as prey.

And as I stood with eyes affixed
on morbid Nevermore's visage,
its conic maw let loose a caw;
twas not therefore a winged mirage.

Perhaps it wished to plague my soul,
the faculty of living flesh,
for that I knew it watched with zeal;
till madness rang, it wouldn't rest.

"Begone," I cried from humble earth,
"you shall not roost within my mind!
Return to hell from whence you came;
too strong am I for you to bind!"

Discern I did its ill intent,
and so elude I did its curse,
but still it looms on kindred days,
and for you I do fear the worst.

Much like the portrait-bound Sir Gray,
withhold your sight from whitened air
in which the candle has no tongue,
for such a wretched roof is where

misfortune's black familiar flies:
a crooked singing Satan's-eye!

Copyright © Michael Perriatt

Details | I do not know? | |

Blue Bird Of Happiness

It's funny, how the first precious gift you've given me
Had coincided with a certain song I keep hearing.
I always started dreaming
Of seeing you again,
After I made our friendship disappear for two years.
I went from crying tears of sadness
To tears of gladness.

The skies and the seas are always my true blues,
Seas that were as deep as me missing you,
And the sky
Is where the gift that came from you
Flew away.
It came back to me spiritually
And it's given me my old strength again.

My memories of me and you
Shall never end,
Because I know, that no matter where I go,
My blue bird of happiness will always
Show me the way back
To where we last left track of each other.

Now I truly feel that we are best friends for real.
Seems like we'll be friends forever,
If we are not
Then I will always keep my most prized treasures.
Because you were one of my bestest friends.
Thank you, my friend
For my blue bird of happiness.

Copyright © Marissa Faries

Details | Free verse | |

You Know I Did Love You

…on a Sunday morn, against the ever watchful
and furtive glances of bird feeders, who enjoy
the occasional, yet so gentle breeze; 
the vibrant façade of this kirk and voices of hummingbirds,
in the rays of my morning orb, you suddenly appear

before me, with echoes of our yesteryears;
your sad, sad face reminds me of happy, happy times 
that you once etched in my heart; now you came, with desire 
of wanting me back, I know, for I can feel it
as I listen to your whisper to the wind “I still love you!”

“Great, just great! You know I did love you, 
but it is too late now Honey!” my eyes silently answer;
…the vibrant façade of this kirk and voices of hummingbirds 
have already intertwined, with resounding wishes 
and marching of bird feeders, to part our ways, for eternity.

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago