Submit a Poem
Get Your Premium Membership
spacer

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

View ALL Bird Poems

Search for Bird poems, articles about Bird poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Bird poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Bird Poems
Read Bird Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems



123
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!


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



.


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


Details | Bird Poem |

Dancing Bird - with video link

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtpPcmLKRFU   Dancing Bird


Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window, 
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion 
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him. 
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.  

Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.  
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony. 
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before.  I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin 
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons. 

Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.


Details | Bird Poem |

The birds

The birds! The birds!

Uncountable the subject pronoun words
give tongue to humbleness, henceforth to speak;
contributing to poetry for birds,
our inspiration nested on their beak!

He's watching leaping sparrows eating bread,
while on his terrace sips green Ceylon chai;
it seems to him that poetry has fled,
and gone with the banditos, bidding "byee".

Alas! The birds have taught us all we know,
encyclopedic, scientific, art...
Cause he would not be 'mong ya apropos,
if poetry was meant to be more smart:

{ Thy Tristan I shall be, divine Izolde;
thus, like a bird of valor, debonair,
I'll fly to thee, because I have been told,
that someday I'll become a billionaire.

Among the birds, oh maid, I picture thee
abducted by banditos (or eloped?)
thus I, compose my poetry to be
reminder of the corns that have not popped.

And thus, envisioning, thy magic curves,
I'll be a triumphant filibustier,
my self-igniting foolish verse, and oeuvres,
will reach (oh, dolly bird) thy round derriere.

And then, if not for other, thus, demand,
my manuscripts will serve a strident cause,
vociferous upon the meadowland,
by the banditos will receive applause. }
 
© 02-18-2014, G. Venetopoulos
(Iambic Pentameter)
G.V.


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


Details | Bird Poem |

Chicken Cot UFO

Chicken Cot UFO

It crossed the gloaming skies above the roofs,
in awe we followed then, its jazzy course;
mysterious would be the incensed spoofs
this ireful ship, upon us, would enforce.

Hmm..
..We said! Abominable was the ship
that traced its gaudy eights in air with hum;
predestined to avenge our ego trip,
atrocious poulets, would not succumb.

The chicken soldiers were a frightful troop
in pink-pistachio uniforms with spots,
that insolent, bombarded us with moop,
to hit our heads that were devoid of thoughts.

In order to placate the chicken troop,
some started to recite their verse to skies;
confronting that attacking chicken group,
- bird poems they opposed to battle cries.

The angry war-birds listened to the verse,
that was composed by stunned, exposed confreres,
their cackle was bemocking and adverse,
- upon their heads they wore rouge voluperes.

This myth reflected what would happen if
extraterrestrial cots invaded Earth,
relentless chicken-birds in martial tiff
would moop upon some artists of top worth.

© 12/11/2013, G. Venetopoulos

moop = Matter Out Of Place


Details | Bird Poem |

Night Bird

Did you hear the night bird call
as Summer tumbled into Fall
and leaves piled up against the wall,
it's then you miss her most of all.

Did you hear the night bird sing
as Winter tumbled into Spring
though flowers bloom, no joy they bring,
her absence colors everything.

Did you hear the night bird cry
as endless seasons tumbled by,
unanswered still, the reason why
she left you here alone to die.

Did you hear the night bird's song
as time forever tumbled on,
memories, the grief prolong,
without her everything is wrong.


Details | Bird Poem |

As night draws near

As night draws near

Gleaming in the silence
And the brightness of the sun
The trees beside the river
Are dancing, every one
Upon this cooling evening breeze
I’m lost in all of this
As river does reflect the all
My heart is filled with bliss.

Ravens flying overhead
They fill the silent air
With throaty caws, of loneliness
Their songs fills everywhere
With the breath of evening mystery
To herald the dusk in
As day does fade to darkness
The evening song begins.

I’m lost within the sweetness of
The dusks sweet, silent song
I think that it be in this darkness
That my soul does belong.

Bird songs come, then fade away
To be lost within the stillness
As darkness comes to fill the air
With the sweetness of it’s breath
In the depths of sweet serenity
The spirits come to play
And all the nymphs and fairy folk
Do dance the night away

31 October 2013 @ 0514hrs.


Details | Bird Poem |

Oh, what a feeling in me

Oh, what a feeling in me.

Oh, what a feeling in me
To be, on this wonderful day
I’m here on this beautiful morning
I’m alive in a beautiful way
I’m hearing these birds all around me
Just singing a love song for me
It’s a wonderful, beautiful morning
By this river that captivates me.

It be five o clock in the morning
In the joy of this beautiful day
The kookaburra how he be laughing
In such a magnificent way
I think that he knows I am happy
This bird he is laughing for me
Oh, here in this countryside morning
I am filled with such sweet mystery.

The river gets into my being
As I sit here alone in the dawn
It’s wonderful, beautiful feeling
I feel like I’m being reborn
Oh what a sweet combination
All this morning, and nature, and me
I’m in love on this wonderful morning
Just me and this sweet mystery.

26 January 2014 @ 1155hrs.


123