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.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
He is always awake before dawn
At four of five in the morn
For what is there to gain in long sleep
Except into pain and poverty leap?
And before all, he gives forth a worthy praise
To his Creator and Giver of days
For not to worship he knows not why
Whether times are low or tides are high.
And with the prospect of rising rays
He begins to plan where to walk his ways
How to work his job a darling deal
And make his day a perfect seal.
And there he is, in the forest and field
To walk, to work and to wield
To play his ploy a trap to form
So he may catch the wonderful worm.
And there he is, serious and set
Hoping to win his bounteous bet
Though he may not go with a greatest grain
He is always there tomorrow to try again.
He calls his helper who sometimes helps
Carry meal for children for they don’t serve selves
They eat and thank God, and then rejoice
And share in love and warmth of their days.
And back home he gets always before dusk
For what is there to see in darkness, if he may ask?
That is that, of the early morning bird
He finds food for wife and child, and gives them good guard.
Copyright © Willy Munyoki | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
Above a crimson sun-raise.
Albino Hawk can soon fly.
He spots its prey, from miles away.
I'd dare say.
His swooping,swift, and sudden,
Entrance is frightening.
We squint with inferior eyes.
Upwards towards brilliant sky.
Grasping His awesome feats.
I'd dare say! Dumbfounded!
His weakness builds His strengths,
I'd dare ask.
If this progression lasts,
Will some day Hawk-eye, overcome us?
Somewhere from the third row.
Sits Darwin's eyes aglow.
Saying, "I told you so."
Just God Who says , "Not So."
And Id' dare ask.
"Does Hawk-eye own a soul?
You should very well know.
The nature of His game.
His assent more mundane.
We should very well say.
If truth we could grasp.
Copyright © Oliver Krier | Year Posted 2015
wake early each day
slumber gets nothing.....
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2010
Yard work is no work
The heavens promises fun
Join in nurturing.
Inspired by: Mystic Rose
Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2016
Alarmed four a.m.
Ceased by the day I am
A bird’s work ethic
Sponsor: Marvin Celestial
Contest Name: Senryu on Your Own Existence
Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2015
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 | Year Posted 2008
Man tries to draw bird
Birds true essence eludes him
He still dares to try.
(January 10, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
Copyright © christine a kysely | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
Have u ever really stoped and pay attention to the birds in the morning
have you listened to their praises,their praises of joy thats its a new day,
they fly like its the first flight do u watch them
Can you feel the joy they feel have you ever tried to feel it,do you see the
aerobatics being performed by them, its a show not even fine gold can buy
when they perform in the sky
Flying frenzy is the acts they perform whilisting so sweet telling you its time to get
on your feet do you listen to them
As we have jobs to do and to perform they have as well letting us know the time
Copyright © Arlington quarless | Year Posted 2007
The Batman was standing to the side of the bumbershooter looking askance at
the penguins' aide so intent was the man in the plastic wrapper that he failed to
see Robin coming up behind them and lost his nanner in a Robin manner he
was soon tied up like a handcuff furrowing into the background noises of the
Penguin lair the hair of the penguin was slick jetted black ebon nighttime fright
and he launched a bird kick almost getting Batman in the jaw Robin came
unglued and he is rally very strong he launched another bird kick in the belly of
WHAM Whack Thwack POW SOCK WHAM the fight was soon over and the
Penguin land in jail.
Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2007