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Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

The Mulberry Tree And Its Birds Part Two

A GIFT FOR EVERYONE ESPECIALLY FOR CHILDREN The Mulberry Tree & its Birds IMPORTANT NOTE: Now watch a short Video film made by me (placed on my Music Channel on You Tube) based on this Poetic story and enjoy a Great Secret revealed in this short Video Film about India's grand past and about its prosperity and how it was stolen nearly 2500years ago. Use the following URL : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5dpe5_GRKE One day When Bulbul* was warbling On its branches A strange big bird with round beak Came over there To eat Mulberry’s sweet fruits The bird was expert In changing its colors Like the colorful sky But like some arrogant child She could not make anyone It’s friend on the Mulberry tree. By the time Anyone could have spotted its beauty It suddenly changed its colors And became invisible, Before others While hiding behind the leafs And the branches of the Mulberry Alone the bird came over there And alone she flew away Without any friend For some other tree. 10 Suddenly, The sparrows began to chirp Watching a Koyal* sitting Somewhere very close to them On a nearby branch of a tree. But, strangely, for all of them A Neelkanth* also Came over there And opened before them Its beautiful blue color wings. From where the Neelkanth came And for what destination, It would leave no one knows. Before the eyes Could have feasted fully All that, beauties of the Birds And the beauty, All around, the Mulberry tree A Yellow Green bird Came to drink, Water filled in a Pot Which was lying on my terrace, Not very far off From the Mulberry tree. 11 In those moments It seemed to me, As if, someone has opened A treasure Of precious, colorful birds For the tree. 12 The Shahtoot*, Used to play often The Music Of flapping sound, Of its leafs Whenever, the wind blows With, its strengths, While, touching the leafs And shaking its branches While saying slowly In the ears of the Mulberry “Dear Shahtoot – Create Music in the air” So that, we may dance together On the tunes of the wind. 13 And then the Mulberry Began to show Its beautiful dance On the tunes Of the fast blowing winds And watching that dancing beauty Of the Mulberry tree And the beauty Of its dancing leafs, The birds Often used to get filled With an unknown Happiness and joy But, sometimes The dance of the Mulberry tree Causes fear in birds And then they began to make Loud noises like crying To show their fear and anger. 14 But, when they were happy The birds began, to chirp loudly As if, They were greeting, the Mulberry For such a wonderful dance and music. 15 I used to get astonished and lost To see, Such an excellent beauty And grandeur of Nature Which, always reminds me My relations with you, O’ Shahtoot, which is as old, As are the days, of my childhood When we used to play Kilkil Kaantaa* On the lower branches, of your tree And my childhood friends Used to come like birds Searching the chalk lines Made by me, on your branches And cutting them To tell that they have found The treasure, hidden by me. 16 But, I always feel sad O’ my dear friend, Shahtoot That I could not save you From those onslaughts Due to which You just vanished, Suddenly one day For ever and forever. 17 Now, that place Where, the Mulberry used to smile Every Morning and every day Hardly get any birds To listen to, the melodies of Koyal* And the chirping sound And music of Bulbul* and of the sparrows. Even our, kids and children Of today Hardly get, any opportunity To see now colorful birds Flying and sitting On a branch of tree. They almost never see The Neelkanth* flying in the air While showing, it’s gorgeous Beautiful blue wings To tell the story of its birth O’ my dear friend Shahtoot*. 18 But, perhaps This Poem on you, O’ my friend ‘Shahtoot’ Would make you immortal For ever Because, now you would live In the hearts of everyone And you would bloom On the mind and hearts Of little kids and children Who would plant more and more Mulberry trees So that colorful birds may Keep coming on their trees And they may enjoy The beauty of Nature which lies In Plants, Trees, Birds And Animals. Such efforts of the Of kids and children Would make you immortal For ever and forever When they would listen to This story of yours And of the singing birds Which always come On your trees In the season of Mulberry. 19 Ravindra Kanpur India 10th November 2013 NOTE: Protected under the copyright provisions of Poetry Soup and US copyrights. *Bulbul=A sweet singing Bird of India *Koyal= A melody Bird of India Shahtoot= The Hindi name of Mulberry tree and its fruits *Kilkil Kaantaa= Kilkil Kaantaa* A child game of India in which,one player makes some lines by chalk on any such object which can be searched by the other player to cut these lines and win. Note: In this Poem I have not placed only a small part of this unique story which would be the real attractions of my Video based on this unique story.Hope you would like that full wonderful story of my Video as and when it would be placed on my You Tube Channel. Love and best wishes..Ravindra K Kapoor


Long poem by Prince Rage | Details |

Oppressor and the oppressed

Oppressor and the oppressed.

Who is the oppressed and who is the oppressor?
Who has the right to beat a random person on the street?
Who has the right when to pronounce a person guilty or to see that they is the victim?
Who has the jurisdiction to carry a gun and to unload on a random person because of the way they is playing life's game?

There is a president but he has a nation that needs to be run, there is a mayor but he or she needs to govern protection and education for every man,woman, and child. There is those who vote and those who do not, there is those who KILL for a FEE and those who KILL to protect those who threaten and attempt to poison their feed. 

In the Crayola box there is over 8 colors and how many of them do you see fighting to maintain a piece of land that doesn't even have their name? These colors have managed to get along but why has us as artist slander there good name? 

You may agree we should be free, others may agree to lock them away, the third party may vote that we should have a Hunger Game and declare a winner from each district and let them be reminded by name and plaque.

Will it not be funnier if things went back to being the same before the post-Europeans, before the ice age, before slavery, before time itself? Before evolution, before the industrial revolution, do you believe it will solve the conflict of today? Do you believe it will create a new name of a newer society that is under a different system?

The enforcers enforce a punishment that themselves would not want to see happen to people of there kind, the victim sometimes is the guilted, the drugs may make a person a bit deranged or even appearance may look strange. But deep within their brain hides another person who has experienced a pain that became so unbearable so they hid behind a false name. Drinking, smoking, feeling of looking at trees in 3-D is all the same when you are being called a different name, but let it not change you into something that you did not dream of to be. 

Look at me, I am me, you may see prince, others may see another black person, another person may ask me name and they may read my palms and tell me that I carry. Both a Spanish and African name that I was originally given to from birth. But hey life is a curse. You can argue with what happened in the past but will that change the date of today's oncoming past!

But the most funniest thing about our past is how much we cherish it and pray for its ways to be continued on today. But look around you what do you see... I won't say any name for my name is not even copyrighted, BUT EVERYBODY WANTS TO START A RIOT! I look at the people around me and I think how can you say that we need to bring change when your thinking and doing the same as the person who once stabbed you in the back?

I'm not saying don't hate the Man, I'm not saying say **** THE POLICE, I'm not saying that the president is part of some dummy corporation, I'm not saying that their isn't a war that has begun, but if you choose to believe what you hear than you will get what you perceive to be your reality!

I'm not saying don't go to school, I'm not saying don't drink, smoke weed, or snort yayo, I'm not saying that you have to rob and be branded a theft, I'm not saying that you shouldn't give love a chance, but everything is up to thee on how thou wants to perceive the world.

I'm not saying that if you close your eyes you will dream, I'm not saying that if you smoke crack you will become a fiend, I'm not saying that THERE IS NO DEMONS ONLY REASONS, I'm not saying that if youse look into the mirror you will see another person in your eyes, I'm not saying that the soul lies behind the eyes. But if you believe the lies you will think that when the truth is told you will think that, that is the lie.

There is a oppressor and there is there oppressed. There is the depressed and there is the depression that we all feel. There is two eyes but they act as one. Nobody asked to be POOR, nobody asked to have WEALTH,nobody asked to have POOR HEALTH, nobody asked to be born with ways that needs to confine to limited space.
But hey the more you believe the lies. The more that you have to believe you will be confined Into thinking that this life is a lie. 

There will be battles, but instead of battling and slandering. Why don't we make our voices be heard like that over a beat slapped with claps and a set of drums. Kicking the  inside of ears.

Let us prevent the internal bleeding of our heart that is beating (BREATHING)!

Fin! 


Long poem by Tuisha Sircar | Details |

Demise of the Frail and Assail of the Skies

The bird wanted to fly

But the wind wanted to blow

“Rest now bird”, said the wind

“You now take it down slow,

And let me flow.”

 

The bird accepted thinking it was a request,

And ignored the proud in his words,

She sat down on the branch to rest,

Keeping down her guards,

Unaware of what is next.

 

An hour passed,

But still the wind didn’t stop,

Now the pace became fast,

Now the wind gone, in place was the storm.

 

Unable to stand against it,

The bird felt helpless.

The emergence of automatic persuasion,

Left the bird in stress.

 

Her home is not the ground,

She lives in the sky,

Feeling gloomy and bound,

She doesn’t even try to fly.

 

She stays where she was,

And starts envying the wind,

The kind of power he has,

That brought down even the born free.

Flying is what she loves,

And the feeling of spreading the wings,

Something that cannot be expressed in words,

The beauty can only be felt within,

But when the storm persists on blowing,

The persuasion reminded the bird of a cage.

The feeling of being trapped,

Even turned down the sage,

Within the bird and now a panic engulfed,

Because everything was happening against her will,

And the storm and his manic laugh,

Harassing and shrill,

Dominating over the world with his power.

 

 Now there is water added,

Pouring everywhere from the sky,

So hard that the vision blurry and fade,

The bird now wants to hide.

And so she trusts the woods,

Under the leaves she takes shelter,

Hoping the safe place could,

Understand and help the helpless her.

But today even the trees are of no help,

The rain is too heavy,

No matter where she hides,

Towards her somehow it will glide.

 

A day passed but still the storm wasn’t satisfied,

He kept on blowing,

Kept dominating the little with pride,

But the bird was now over sorrowing,

So, she decided to challenge the flowing.

 

And it seemed like years had passed,

Since the bird took a flight,

Into the blue and those effects that lasted,

Of serenity, luxury and rights.

 

Now the tolerance was coming to an end,

Her loud chirping of frustration speaks,

And so she comes out of the safe place and,

Into the grey she leaps.

 

It’s like, she dares the storm,

Even though she knows it’s futile,

The proud in him confirms,

That the end could be brutal.

But the little now doesn’t care,

She just wants to fly.

 

The storm does see the bird’s hindrance,

But would not understand the heart,

He will do what he wants,

That is what he is doing from the start.

He will choose when to come,

His wish no one can predict,

When his fun will become,

A thing getting vapid,

He’ll spare the imploring planet.

 

 

The rain can be the reason of someone’s laughter,

It can also make one morose.

The torrent of pouring water,

Is also something he does.

If his will says,

It’ll be a shower of delight.

If he wants it to be the other way,

It can become an element of fright.

 

Now after going a mile,

The bird is in terror,

Still the storm being hostile,

And the bird being the bearer.

 

Though she is tired,

But hasn’t lost all hopes,

And so with eyes like angel she desired,

The thoughts of good and optimism.

But when she looked up with faith,

And saw the grey sky,

She fatigue and her pale breath,

But still she flies.

 

“Stubborn she is no less”,

Thinks the storm, and now he the outrageous,

Losing his charge on the rage,

The sky shines a red that’s vicious.

Then from somewhere a lightning bolt,

Suddenly strikes before the bird,

While she runs from the jolt,

Several others in her surround appeared.

She moves carefully,

But the storm is furious,

And he would not stop,

Until he becomes victorious.

 

Then a surprising tremor ripples,

Through her and little’s every part stops,

Down the bird with rush tumbles,

With eyes full of teardrops,

And her vision turns grey,

But did she lose the fray?

 

As the bird, hit the soil,

She remembered a life,

A life that never once gave her the turmoil,

But always love in rife.

Also a light that the bird saw,

When she first opened her eyes,

Now got vacuumed,

Leaving behind the blackness of demise.

 

The storm witnessed the whole saga,

But still he won’t remorse,

A beautiful little lay dead down,

Sometime else, again a creature would morose,

Because the nefarious never bows.


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Bird Feed Under My Window

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

                                                                                       







Long poem by Ken Jordan | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/ravens_curse_657410' st_title='Raven's Curse'>

Raven's Curse

Poet:  Ken Jordan
Poem: A Raven's Curse 
Edited by:  Sparkle Jordan
written:  February/2015


        On a late January, (winters night),  when once wake eyes now sleeping,  dogs now howling, and cats now screaming -

         And the  lull of a torrentially rainy season -   has sink to a 
drought -
         
         Now to realize that the harsh
wet winter, so glum and bitter,
 has vaporized to  mere droplets, 
is dreadful -

          A obnubilate fog, thick and eery, persist to float quietly, 
gloomy and dreary -

           While seven giants, stand 
rising with arms to the sky - statuesque,  beneath ominous 
clouds.

          The creepy, crackling noise from (tree giants),  statue still,  
came forth, a pendulum sway -
 
rocking back and forth, so dark, 
so grim - shaking through gale 
force winds, to activate 
hidden fears-

        Through the darkness, and
cold black starless night, waylay 
a fowl,  in the shadowed - black  in the blue moon light -

        dark shadows crawl through 
giants maze - something restless 
in a  particle haze - 
    
         Yet, nervously thy stand,
to a solitary voice/ gurgling 
from the arms of giant trees?

      "What is this?"  that  speaks no voice? 
    " What gurgle's and lurks, in 
giant redwood trees -
       Who are you? A dream, a nightmare, to wake from sleep -

        Time slips fast, as seconds go past, and the gurgle voice, fades 
to a soft audible, a  hear-less 
hush -

         Thy  dour howling winds, 
witness a baneful gurgling 
of such, in giant trees -

        Suddenly, the  mysterious 
noise fades in the melancholy, 
and despondent night -

      Sleep calling, thy walk away, 
in the dense dawning light -

         So I go to thy dwelling door,
 and hear a baleful croaking - 
which - awakened fears 
once-more. 

        And the  voice resonated 
loudly, through the arms of giants -
  thy feet still - stuck!
like quicksand -

         caught in the shadows 
of a ghost, black as night, 
         croaking, in giant trees....
giant redwood trees.

        And the minacious,  wicked sounding "call," cloaked  a steady sense of foreboding. 

       Screams ring out,  in the
melancholy, and despondent 
night -
       What do you want? You are 
not real!" I lament -silently, amid haunting whispers, sorrow 
and grief -

       The saturnine voice echoed clearly,  through the thick fog so dreary.  Whispering -

       "A solitary Raven, perched  in giant trees, giant redwood trees, 
is a fowl of mystery; a premonition 
bird of black,  dark as shadows." 

        "Wait!" Art thou the omen,
to bring forth glowering presentiment? 
         No acceptance shall thy render to this invisible imagination.

        Thy dream no more, thus,
 shall not be contested -
         Be there no raven!...no raven, 
in giant redwood trees - be gone
no omen, decease! 

         So go now, in faith, thou walk
with no evil -  no raven! be gone,
no omen.. decease!

         Darkness, and shadows fade invisible - morrow joyful, no
shadow silhouette -  
         Quietly, and calm, no wind, 
no storm - a lone dove fly's -


(c). copyright 2015
all rights reserved -


         



          

            


Long poem by Chris D. Aechtner | Details |

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



.


Long poem by J. W. M. Earnings | Details |

In My Life - Quit Whistling the Blues, You Mockingbird

I’ll love you, even if you have strayed into the darkness Stop whistling the blues, you mockingbird – whistle with your might your marvelous tunes of accord and faithfulness! I love you from the bottom of the ocean to the heavens above I’ll love you – I won’t get over you and you’re my love at first sight – you were and still are a dazzling, surreal sight – you kiss me and I’m overwhelmed with passionate bliss I will love you if you would step out of the abyss with me I’m fearless to say that I used to bleed out remorse Before I met you…of course I used to cry myself asleep because I felt so alone Before I met you, I was on my own V.9: My heart bled with grief from the inside When I saw you, grief-stricken by the death of your friend My heart beats for you alone – you were always by my side Be sad and distressed no more – I will love you, even in the end My heart beat’s beating for you – you are such a thrill My heart aches for your love My heart thumps with victory and marvel I’m mesmerized by the mere sight of you – you’re as gracious and elegant as an angel above *chorus* I won’t give credit to myself for saving you from the flames of abominable, taunting fate – I want to say that I’ve unchained you from the death’s snare But, I must tell you someday, so that you’re aware That you are someone special in my heart – I can’t conceal the truth of what I feel for you deep inside In my life, in my life, I’m still stuck in the solitary cave In my life, in my life, I thought I wasn’t at all brave I was caved in by the cravings of my heart The darkness once ripped me apart But, you repaired me and I recovered pretty fast So, please listen up! I must tell you about my good and bad past Fear doesn’t exist here Get a grip on the rope of hope All anxieties are gone We dream on like daydreamers, awaiting another great, delight-illuminated dawn I’ll love you until my life is no more I’ll love you, even if you have strayed into the darkness I love you from the bottom of the ocean to the heavens above I’ll love you – I won’t get over you and you’re my love at first sight – you were and still are a dazzling, surreal sight – you kiss me and I’m overwhelmed with passionate bliss I will love you if you would step out of the abyss with me I’m fearless to say that I used to bleed out remorse Before I met you…of course I used to cry myself asleep because I felt so alone Before I met you, I was on my own V.10: We welcome the dawn with open arms – it will do you no harm Greet all positive, good news with happiness You are my lucky charms, my love – your hands are so, so warm Stop singing the blues…stop whistling the blues, you mockingbird – whistle with pure gladness Quit making us quarrel with madness!


Long poem by J Eliza JAMES | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/natures_single_dads___the_australian_emu_372914' st_title='Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu'>

Nature's Single Dads - The Australian Emu

Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days

Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test. 
His pedigree line
has proven with time

that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay; 
there is not enough
food for them all. 

They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance 
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation; 
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin. 
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride 
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.

With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time. 
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth 
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending. 
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right, 	
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
 	
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally 
to deliver these in
your own way.”

After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes, 
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect, 
so with care he
covers every one
well.

He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure 
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by; 
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.

The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch. 
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood; 
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.

to be continued...


Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

My Angel Spirit Bird Neelkanth

My Angel Spirit Bird Neelkanth                    Dedicated to Deborah Guzzi

I dreamed one day, 
I was climbing a hill,
Away, far away in the Himalayan mountain 
But I was only a beginner, of climbing a snow peak
I wanted to climb to see the world, 
To feel the Sunshine
And the beauty of the glacier

Perhaps my fascination for climbing the hills, 
Was traced by my mind, who knew me more than me
It thought to fulfill my long cherished desire,
If not in actual, at least in my dream

I wanted to feel, how splendid it is
To see the world 
From a snow covered peak  
To get a bird eye view of the world
To learn more about the earth, humans and nature

In moments of those total silence and aloofness,
I found the blue wing bird, like an Angel spirit for me
My beautiful blue bird Neelkanth,*
Was my only friend and inspiration,
To complete the mission 

I was climbing the snow covered hill
Like a Mountaineering trainee,
My tools were few, but my aim was true
My only companion, in the journey of my adventures,
Was my blue wings bird 
I know from my childhood days, as my ‘Neelkanth’*

I found my blue wings bird, hovering always near me,
Like an Angel spirit, to save me from falling,
Its beauty lies, not only in its blue wing,
But the poison it stored in its purple throat ring, 
To save the world from the effects of poison

I was climbing the hill,  
And my favorite Blue wing bird, 
Was accompanying me, in those difficult moments, 
Like a true well wisher and a true companion

At one place I found that,
The snow rocks were difficult and steep
I tried a short cut, to somehow reach the top,
And then came my Angel spirit,
From somewhere suddenly, 
Giving indication to stop immediately 

I decided to go, as the spirit was indicating, 
I changed my course, as shown by the Angel spirit
Next moment I heard a sliding of the snow rock, 
The rock which I was trying to climb,
Were falling and were slipping deep in the glacier

My eyes became tearful, when I saw my Angel spirit
It had saved my life,
From being buried in the snow glacier,
For ever and for ever

After seeing my expressions of love and gratitude, 
The bird flew away from there
Leaving me inspired for many more coming moments,
To start climbing the hills again and again

Next moment I was climbing,
The hills with more vaguer, as usual
My angel bird had given me enough
To keep trying
Till I reach my goal
Or feel the Sunshine

Ravindra

Kanpur India 30th April 2010

* Neelkanth.    Indian Roller. Neelkanth (Hindi)


Long poem by Thomas Hsi | Details |

Forget Me Not At Least For The Night

Copyright 2014 RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS LAM HSI-ANDRESS
"Just Another Lily White"



To Jacko and Eso...DIDST THE GRASSES...BLOOM?
THE ROSES......THE PETALS AND THE SNOW...THEY FALL......HERE!
AND.........I.........FELL...TOO!

HE............FELL TOO!
THEY LIED.........AND.........HE FELL......AND......DIED!
SUPERS NEVER DIE..............THEY ARE THE ETERNALS!
THEY LIED......AND......HE DIED!

AND.........I.........KILLED!
I.........KILLED!

THE CRYSTALINE VEINS......THEY BLED......AND THE RODS...TURNED...
A MURDEROUS...RED!
AND IF I CAN EVER RETURN..........I MIGHT......IF......I COULD!

SHE IS DEAD.....................THE CRYSTALINE MONSTER!


DO........................THE FORGET ME NOTS......HATE ME?
THE ROSES............AND THE CARNATIONS HERE......ARE CHEAP!
THE............PIIKAKE IS.........LIKE HEAVEN!

AND HE MADE LOVE.........LIKE THE PIIKAKE!
AND THE TEA HE MADE.........LIKE THE PIIKAKE.........A NIGHT WITH A......
WELL.........'KNIGHT?'

AND HE SAID.........FORGET ME NOT.........AT LEAST FOR THE NIGHT!
AND I SAID................I HAVE TO GO........AT LEAST FOR THE NIGHT!

MY HAND.........AND MY FOOT.........BROKE IN THE FIGHT!
MY SKULL........IT BROKE TOO........BROKE IN THE FIGHT!

BUT............SHE IS DEAD.........THE CRYSTALLINE MONSTER!

THE FIGHT.........WAS IMPOSSIBLE!
HE LOVED AND HE DIED!
I LOVED.........BUT I LIVE.........IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!

I AM STRONGER THAN STEEL.........THAN ANYTHING!
LONELINESS AND THE FORGET ME NOTS.........WE BOTH CRY!
CRY THROUGH THE NIGHT!

THE GRASSES.........LIKE HEAVEN.........ARE SOFTER STILL...THAN LOVE!
AND I FELL.............AND I LOVED.........ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT!
HE SAID HE WAS A 'PRINCE'.........BUT.........MORE LIKE A CLOWN...
REALLY!

I LOVED ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT.........I FELL!
TELL THE ORANGE HAVENS.........SORRY!

THE FORGET ME NOTS.........ARE CHEAP HERE!
AND 'THEIR' LOVE IS...........CHEAP TOO!

MY CRYSTALINE BLUE EYES.........ARE SOFTER NOW!
AND HE SAID.........MY ARMS ARE THIN AND SOFT......BUT STRONG!

THEY LIKE THE DISGUISE............GUESS.........IT'S DIESEL STRONG!
HIS HANDS.........ARE SOFT.........AS THE GRASSES!
MY HANDS..........TOO STRONG.........AND LIKE STEEL.........I FELL!

AND WHEN 'YOU' GO............FORGET ME NOT?
IF ROSES ARE RED.........AND VIOLETS ARE BLUE.........THEN AM I TOO?

AND............I WILL FORGET YOU............BUT.........FORGET ME NOT?
THE BIRD OF PARADISE............AND THE 'BITCH!'


AND SO I WILL FORGET YOU...AT LEAST FOR THE NIGHT?



Long Poems