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Best Bird Poems

Below are the all-time best Bird poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of bird poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Bird Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Bird poems are below this new poems list.

Dear Cute Bird by Alhemaidy, Abdullah
The Bird and the Coconut by roberts, Ed
The Green Bird by Wings, Broken
Song A Bird Sings by Utterback, Alicia
The Fleeing Bird by Jacks, Timothy
The Bird is an Artist by Annis, Jacob
Flying Bird by bajantri, jagdish
a green bird in winter by Simpson, Skyler
I Love You Bird- Waiting Contest by Loo, Laura
SILVER BIRD by NYAGA, LEWIS

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The Best Bird Poems

Details | Bird Poem | |

The tawny Throstle

Trudging under frozen starlit skies
Against stiff Winters bitter blowes:
When ambling up past frosted trees
From the wooded valley down below.

As stepping into a clearing glade,
Surround ragged drifts of thinning snow,
Once Summers haze - long since forbade,
Now pale Moon beams all aglow.

For within this realm of Twilight,
Perched high up in a bush,
Snugly within his feathered form
Roosts a warbled Darkling Thrush.

Stirred from his ruffled thoughts -
Dulcet voice lifts upon still night:
With euphonious notes so sweetly sung -
Poured forth in harmonious delight!

Oh tawny Throstle; nemesis of
Nightingales, 
Did Heavens Choirs ever sound so sweet?
Your scrawny throat of melodious rails
That kept my lover from her feet.

Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2015

More great poems below...


Details | Bird Poem | |

The Moon, The Swan, The Rose

The Moon, The Swan, The Rose


I see an enchanted image that you’ve never dreamed of
With reflections twinkling while dancing on wave drops
Of a dreamy blue lake that is a mirror of one white swan

A dancing beauty with a pureness that blesses this water
She floats like a princess with such an elegance and grace
As splendor ripples through a lens of her divine existence

A canvas painting as one masterpiece beyond compare
As the moonlight manifests a sweet rose in my dreams
Beautiful to desire now that nothing shall be disturbed

Within a frozen memory a brilliant diamond illuminates
As the full moon’s image enters the depths of her soul
And a sad, certain loneliness leaves her spirit exhausted

Arising before my eyes on the wings of angels I see all
Clearly now with an excited, fluttering magical heartbeat
Believe me—that this eternal blue sky is incredibly real

With a golden orb of light colors reflecting so exquisitely
Now as majestic images of God’s Heaven appear above
I see His very image of the Moon, the Swan, and the Rose





Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 2, 2015 (Unrhymed Tercet)

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

- A Bird Sings Only When It Is Happy -

  



A white dove flies gracefully across vision
Shines as transparent pieces of ivory joy

I give you a Candle of Love, for inspire and encourage you
Blown gently upon a soft warm lovely breeze 

Falling slowly like a ripe apple 
With sad confusion, I promise you heaven

Everything will fall into place and gives you, perfect pleasure of life
Love whispering on wings fluttering deep

It is possible to change your tomorrow, if you seek your dream today
To watch the light change i pray for your beauty to return

My arms are full of flowers, the beauty the unfathomable grace
Reborn under a promise of color inside the mist bouquet dream 





Written by Liam Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :)  11.04.2015 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

Kindred Spirits

~(tanka haibun)~


    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.

with defiance
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


Details | Bird Poem | |

The Flight of Bebo

Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings 
'cause he knew he must try

There were two other birds 
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb

It must be so hard 
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me

I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?

Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor 
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever

He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings

Bebo worked hard all week 
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair

With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?

The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high

Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight 
just get up there, you'll see

Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see

The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly

From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight 
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight

Copyright © Roger Horsch | Year Posted 2013


Details | Bird Poem | |

The Butterflies Dance - Whitney

 
~The Butterflies Dance~ (A Double Whitney) The sun is so warm and nice there is cheer everywhere cause spring has sprung one more time and winter so cold is now gone. The robins have returned and the hibiscus and the roses bloom again to my delight Now I see butterflies dance. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2012 January.27.2015

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

Death Tolls

The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls
of the plover flock, long before they are spotted.
The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky.
Markings of white and coal black weave,
wing-stitched, a blanket maker’s dream.

Sigh makers 	they close on the beach 
at high tide, the horizon shivers      the
sand blanches. These ravishing scavengers
light on the tattered edge of wet to dry,
dawdling with the dead.

Plovers are diminutive scroungers, one-legged
dancers, hopping to the pull of tide, dining on
crab-eggs in black-tie and feathered tails, their
gray skull caps lined with a black brow. 
Sparrow-small birds dress to the nines. 
 
A feast for the birds, fall crisps, crab moltings,
go on for endless miles. September is beginning
and soon winged ones will fly to sunny shores.
The cold Atlantic will moan for the loss of music,
the unstitched sky will part. The avian choir is off 
to the mud flats of Carolina. 


First Published Eunoia Review January 2015

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

Night Owl

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


Details | Bird Poem | |

Woodstock

~Woody Wood From the Hood~

Deep, inside yourself, you walk a sour way of life,
Carving my name, on every tree with a hunting knife
You log in, then log out
A Birdman So Fickle, he Stinks of doubt!

Blind today, bald tomorrow, 
Big Bird, will be your only friend
I can't seem to forget the day, you shed your final skin
Revealing a darker snake, than the one in my garden
Leaving the word betrayal, up to the imagination 

Trust not the fool, who thinks his halo is heaven sent
Using a fake ballpoint pen dietary supplement
Thinning out his wings, and losing the symbolic meaning

Aging in a way, that spreads crows feet from top to bottom
Sapsucker revolving yellow as if it was always autumn
Pecking Hard Wood, MR Pecker of all woodpeckers 
Forgetting who's the real Home-wrecker

Your dragging pants are no bother, Mr Woodpecker!
I've gotten used to the tree talking and your creative vision
Let's just say, "Gangster to Gangster, I gave you a mission."
Keep rapping and tapping the same old street sign, 
Woodstock, on demand, crap out the peanut punch
Whatever suits you for breakfast and lunch
Don't forget dinner's also about me

Go ahead!
Peck away with deception, reveal your sullen evil feathers  
A disease urine Birdman, doing it snoopy style
A flightless, lightless liar, nothing about him's worthwhile
Keep manipulating the weak, whatever turns you on
I'm not ready to shoot you down with my shotgun

~SKAT~

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bird Poem | |

One Broken Monoku

gathered on the lawn at Sabbath's dawn -

                                          a chattering of starlings

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bird Poem | |

A Springtime Song

Mother nature’s songs I cannot exceed 
Of the Whippoorwill out in open field
They partake of mother’s bliss free of greed
Birds and their songs give of mother’s free will

Meadowlark songs of many are preferred 
Though Scissortail flycatchers slice thin air
I favor Mocking bird of which I’ve heard
He sings all bird songs, I desire to sire

Mocking bird songs do surge with bird’s great urge 
Whip-her-Will, he sings at night on the hill
Of Mocking bird songs , be of which I splurge 
Awesome flight as dotted blades of windmill 

Nature,  birds and songs to springtime belongs
Nature’s spring refreshes men with bird songs 

First Contest: Sonnet Me
In honor of: Sara Kendrick
#1) abab, cdcd, efef, gg

Copyright © john freeman | Year Posted 2011


Details | Bird Poem | |

Haiku 69-About The Swan Lake

swan lake a feather falls silently

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bird Poem | |

Whilst walking through the woods

Whilst walking through the woods one day
A crystal brook there, shone so gay
The sun was shining oh' so bright
As brook reflected all it's light

Buzzing insects all around
Oh' they made a delightful sound
Birds flew upwards to the sky
These parrots made a hue and cry

Carpet of flowers with lovely scent
It seemed this morn way heaven sent
The flowers opened to the sun
This walk for me was so much fun

Sheep bleated from far away
Oh it was such a lovely day

Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bird Poem | |

I AM AN EAGLE

As father gave the push, my mother whispered, “Fly, my child!”
Resplendent in my feathers, yet was frightened of the wild
unknown for that where I grew up, I had to leave and find
the reason for my wings and claws, and how I can’t be mild. 

The rush of warm wind cushioned me as I took my first flight,
majestic bird who gracefully flew to such soaring heights.
From that day on I fed myself and did my parents proud
for they have taught me not to let the prey escape my sight.

For forty years I roamed the land and soared over the sea,
but then the time had come to make the choice that’s hard for me.
Up on the steepest rocky mount, I went and by my own
removed my brittle beak, talons, and old wings painfully.

Why did I have to go through all the changes and the pain?
Those parts were worn and have become my weakness and my bane.
So now that God has given me another thirty years,
behold me after my rebirth, the eagle soars again! 



*For those who would care to see,this is a 3-min video on the eagle's painful rebirth
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXTrWPvP0iQ

Eagles: illumination of spirit, healing, creation, Divine, Spirit (feathers are sacred healing tools)
PICTURE YOURSELF AS A BIRD POETRY CONTEST - 9th Place
SPONSOR: ANDREA DIETRICH
13 May 2015

Copyright © Kim Patrice Nunez | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

I Am An Owl

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


Details | Bird Poem | |

GRACEFUL THE POSE


How graceful the swan’s pose that circles a quay Her elegant plumes flitting away, To dance as night-tide approaches When furled gait twitches, In a bold Pose! Stars behold This charm like a rose, As waltzes on tides enclose The bloomed poses of her last display. How graceful the swan’s pose that circles a quay.

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

Just because someone says something does not mean it is true Golden Eagle story

One fateful day, an eagle's fledgling fell from its nest It was lucky to be alive - feeling concussed, needing rest Once the dizziness stopped and it came to its senses It was in shock - surrounded by chicks and wooden fences As its mother flew high in the clouds - searching for her child The baby eagle could not hear her calling and became riled! All the animals laughed at him, because the chicks were so cute with constant bullying - he felt sad, alone and became mute Days went by and it started to behave like a chicken - confused Guess that is what happens when you are continually abused A year went by and now it began to look quite unique Grandiose golden brown wings, talons and a hooked beak A golden eagle flies with elegant superlative precision and lets not forget about its legendary long sighted vision One dark and gloomy day it saw some wolves approaching on their hunt Warnings went in vain - they just thought it was a popularity stunt! They looked in awe, when in fear he spread his wings and flew onto a tree As the predators brutally feasted on their kill - he sheltered in safety Belittled by others he had become ignorant to his potential He began to develop and forgot all that was inconsequential With sharp talons swooping for prey- gliding low and high Flying amongst the horizons - now an emperor of the sky 10 October 2015 Golden Eagle contest by Shadow Hamilton In life people will always try to bring you down and sometimes we accept it and live like chicks - ignorant to the strength we have inside. The moral of the poem is that we all have a calling and cannot let the chains of life prevent us from fulfilling our potential... Also, just because someone says something, does not mean it is true... So spread your wings and achieve your potential.

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

I AM A MEADOWLARK

When I first flew the nest, my spirits were low; how my world has changed from one year ago. Now fully fledged, I spread open my wings! My voice, once a whisper, now gently sings. You can feel my music through verse all day long, for my chosen words make a joyful song! With confidence up, I fly round your group— my perch for relaxing is ‘poet tree’ soup! Chosen Bird is a Meadowlark - cheerful, inner journey 05~12~15 Contest: Picture yourself as a bird Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

CONCEITED BIRD

arrogant and proud nothing ruffles his feathers train of eyes watching *The peacock’s tail is known as a train Jan Allison 8th April 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

The Young Gardener

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
http://www.pasionporlapintura.com/art-gallery/george-dunlop-leslie-painter/leslie-gd-the-young-gardener-oil-painting-reproduction/

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013


Details | Bird Poem | |

Feathers

ink through calamus
the poet feathers his art
with plumes of bird songs


8/13/2015

Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

Sunrise Breaks on a Morning Camp

It’s been a long day beneath hot sun,
with sunset looming and daylight done,
came across water with a stand of trees,
deep in shadow with a zephyr breeze;
a perfect place to camp for the night, 
joined by galahs in the fading light,
with swag rolled out near a cooking fire,
heating up a damper and then retire.

Stars like crystal light the outback sky,
way out here they don’t seem so high,
Dingoes howl beyond a red sand dune, 
a mopoke hoots ‘neath a silver moon.
And through the night as I try to sleep,
the night feeders either call or creep,
could there be a pig or a kangaroo?
maybe a camel or an old emu.

Sunrise breaks on my morning camp,
The sky is lemon and leaves are damp.
I poke the ash and I grass the fire,
add kindling and the flames reach higher.
I hear the call of a warbling wren,
a butcherbird and a water hen.
There’s nothing better than bird song,
by a campfire near a billabong.

The billy boils for a cup of tea,
bacon and eggs sit upon my knee,
already the thermals are in the sky,
a wedge-tailed eagle is soaring high…
passing by with babbling words,
is a feeding  family of apostle birds,
all quite content to stop for a chat,
as long as I feed them bacon fat.

Sunrise has lifted on my morning camp,
the suns’ in the sky, now nothing damp, 
I roll my swag and I douse the fire,
with the campsite left as it was prior
for the budgerigar and the cockatoo,
or a flock of redrumps passing through.
I won’t see them for I’m on my way;
perhaps next year on another day.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015


Details | Bird Poem | |

Blackbirds In The Rain



blackbirds in the rain walking among the fallen leaves under the old mango tree with dripping leaves bathing the grass below blackbirds diligently lifting the rain soaked fallen leaves peering underneath for insects and worms flushed out by the drizzling rain pausing to gulp one down then scooting off again searching for more sitting under the shed with raindrops playing their music on the galvanised sheet roof with a beat that resonates within my inner being putting me in a trance connecting me to the rain and the puddles on the ground with the raindrops gently tapping the water's surface creating rings that collide with one another disrupting their individual shapes creating a dynamic new pattern reflecting their unity and bubbling with energy in the drizzling rain O what a deep feeling of peacefulness and serenity with the rain the dripping leaves and the puddles serenading my spirit with the eternal song of Nature and merging it into the Unity Of All Things
It was raining today. There was a constant drizzle for hours. I sat in a shed attached to the house, watching the blackbirds in action in the rain, searching for their food. The constant rhythmic sound of the rain on the galvanised sheet roof of the shed and the gentle drama playing out in the backyard with the blackbirds was a spiritual experience for me connecting me with Nature and the unity of all things as mentioned in the last verse. .

Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bird Poem | |

Sinister Encounter

Poe laid flowers on her grave
    His lost Lenore
    One he’d love forevermore 
    But doomed to see her nevermore

Storm clouds expelled true daylight
     Yet near her grave on a dead oak tree
     An ebony raven stared and seemed to agree
     “Nevermore,” the bird mocked, flying off with ironic glee

Clouds burst, pelting the cemetery with rain
     Back to his horse and carriage Poe ran
     Was Poe a pawn in this raven’s game plan
     An unhealthy racing of his heart began

Arriving home, Poe sought to forget
     But there was the red-eyed, sinister bird
     Perched on the pallid bust of Pallas, it said just one word
     “Nevermore,” was all Poe heard

Stealthily the bird had entered through an open window
     “Did God summon you to add to my grief?”
     Poe pleaded, “Will I ever find relief?”
     “Nevermore,” cried the demon, to Poe’s disbelief

Poe tried to rid his home of the tormenting invader
     “Fly away; take your word with you!”
     But the evil visitor would not bid adieu
     Its single word was malicious; Poe could not misconstrue

When rainfall ended, the raven flew to the windowsill
     “Be gone!” Poe screamed, his voice filled with hate
     It eyed him once more, leaving Poe in a crazed state
     But loving memories of Lenore it could not desecrate



*Written October 1, 2014

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014


Details | Bird Poem | |

Autumn on my page


There is a wind ,  which sketched,
Without my knowledge,  the message;

Autumn had lying words,
On my page.

It was by way of red leaves,
The bird of passage,
Twirling in space,

I followed it of my glance
And its woven loops,
On the canvas of the sky.

I just transcribed,
What the wings,

Supported on the wind,
Said to me.

-
(translated from french )
--

C'est un vent qui traçait,
A mon insu,         le message  ;

L'automne avait couché les mots,
Sur ma page.

C'étaient en guise de feuilles rousses,
L'oiseau de passage,
Virevoltant dans l'espace,

Je l'ai suivi de mon regard,
Et de ses boucles tissées,
Sur la toile du ciel .

J'ai seulement retranscrit,
Ce que les ailes,

Appuyées sur le vent,
M'avaient dit.

Copyright © rene Chabriere | Year Posted 2014