It is strange
how things that we see
and take for granted
in everyday life
should suddenly instil
in our minds
a new awareness
of their presence
A silent moment
a brief pause
from life's ever quickening pace
a moment of peace -
in times like these
a common thing
like a dried old tree
becomes alive with beauty
It stands like a quiet sentinel
who has witnessed
many an event
Time has passed by
but it remains
silently standing there
What secrets do you store
in your noble branches?
How many events have you recorded
that man knows nothing of?
In your younger days
when you wore your mantle of green
you nested the carefree birds
to their offspring
you gave protection
When the sun scorched the earth
you gave them cool shade
On a cool windy night
you gave them warmth
How pleasant was their song
to your ear
as they sang a song of thanks
You were a playmate to the children
When they romped at your feet
or climbed on your branches
Time grew older
and the children became lovers
You saw them kiss in your shade
soft with the light of the moon
The aura of their love
touched your leaves
and you blushed
they have all gone away
but you still remain
still waiting and watching
How many untold events
have you witnessed
faithful keeper of secrets?
O that my soul could commune with you
and share of your rugged beauty!
Most Noble Tree!
forgive me for my
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2013
Reflections of imperfections
have shown me a way
that I can move mountains
through my power of faith
even though I can't see him
I know he is real
through the power of prayer
and a Love that I feel
It's growing inside me
like a flower in bloom
shall I reveal my powers
or is it too soon
I am reading the signs
through my darkness I find
a reason for belief in
the light of mankind
that I know shall overcome
the greatest of odds
the Love I seek amazes me
especially through the flaws
because now I am inspired
through the hero's that bring
my throne through the darkness
on which I return on as your King.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013
The mockingbird returns in spring.
What it does best is sing, sing, sing.
Its sings of this and sings of that
and leaves no doubt of where it’s at.
It sings all day . . well into night:
grows irksome past that first delight.
And always comes back from its stay,
to that same bush, not far away.
The birds of winter soon are gone.
Most of them have now moved on.
And mockingbird with typical gall,
Attempts to mimic one and all.
A busy bird it glides and swoops.
Will challenge one or even groups.
When feeling threatened for its young;
A bird-war barrage has begun.
This slender mid-sized bird of grey,
Will be here soon; it's on its way.
Once again to sing, sing, sing,
To let us know it's really spring.
And late into each summer night,
Once I get past that first delight.
I'll wish from on my patio chair:
It wasn't here, but rather . . there!
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
(Dedicated to Folake)
Your eyes, woman
are like twilight rainbow
amorously bearing aloft passions of mine
toward androcytic ecstacy.
They tell of endless lights.
Night skies clarion the warmth of you
keep me balled-up till
i am tilted to your adorned essence.
May I call up words to adore you,
agglomerate them into a panoply of worshippers
unsandalled before you
like Moses at the burning bush.
And now you seem to fall asleep
but you tell me it's the heavy night
bidding toward a sunny dawn
wherein our love is lighted.
Slowly I let you fall asleep
impatient with the long night
waiting to gaze once more
into the eyes of my lovely love.
Then a lip is placed on yours
and you rouse up wide-eyed
smiling at my romantic move.
We enjoyed the night, cruising on.
Copyright © Onis Sampson | Year Posted 2013
I am a heart full of love
that shook the pilars that held her colussium up
her heart filled with sorrow,
I swing such fury toward her heart and soul
she cowards away from me,
in fear of falling in love and not knowing what is in black
and not searching what is in the light of pure white.
I am a heart full of love,
she runs and takes the long dirt road,
through the raging mountains of the quiet countryside,
as the meadows of lilacs slowly die when Spring comes,
the blooming of the rose,
like the blooming of my heart,
a blossom on a cherry tree fall and harbour in the wintertime.
I swing toward her, she falls in fear of wanting attention and love.
Lost in the midnight twilight,
the flaming torch guides her through the dark holes of meaningless souls.
and like a frightened hummingbird,
she flees away from the secrets of falling in love.
A heart full of love ready to love,
it is diffcult to feel and to show,
but as if a rose that blooms in Springtime
my love is ready to bloom.
Pettles lay along a darkened atmosphere
lit up only with four wax candles
a portrait of a woman hung over a mantel piece
in honour of my one true love.
As the twilight shine though my bedroom window,
I show a heart full of love,
to take and to hold for eternity.
And as she slowly moves forward,
she takes me home with her,
and opens her chest and shows me her heart
with a glass of red wine and charming cigarette.
She sheads tears of pain and sorrow on my broud shoulder,
I curise her hair, silk laced hair,
shining against the twilight and the moonlit sky.
My heart full of love,
so divine, so original
a one of a kind.
We make love in the midst of the twilight,
as my dream girl is now reality and my pain is no more,
her pain is no more.
Too show such love makes a man feel free
and his soul lighter.
She holds him there,
as the sun rises over the mountains.
The birds sing a tune of cheerfulness,
and they talk about everything beautiful and kind,
that is still left in this cruel and empty hearted world.
Romance and love shared
with a heart full of love,
smile and kiss upon smooth lips,
feel me against your tight body,
and love me till the morning
when Blue eyed Death is staring us in the face.
and we go with him,
and play a game of risk,
and together forever,
onto a diffrent world
we shall love each other forever,
for you and I both have a heart full of love.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
On that cloudy weekend in June
I hear a soft and graceful tune
from the grey bird on the tree
Singing sweet lullabies felt
blessed in the moment
My body tingles of joy at sight
Gazing out through
my open door,
Letting thoughts fly free
Releasing love out into the horizon
Heart filled with emotion came
Grey bird stood playing its tune
for awhile and on the wings of
Then as the rain fell from the
sky the grey bird flew away
I blew a kiss to the clouds and
utterd these simple words of I
Love You father ( who's now in
heaven ) and yet I hope to hear
that grey bird sing again once
more for me
Farewell, love your son
Poem contest for Debbie -referential
Copyright © Brian Otoole | Year Posted 2013
I recall one winter’s morning I went fishing with my mate,
And we'd both been out the night before, and got in far too late.
But a promise is a promise, and I said that I would drive
To the gravel pits in Park Street, where we'd start at half past five.
We both liked going piking – though it’s quite a little trip,
But once you've got your bait out, you can have yourself a kip.
And as we rarely ever catch much, it makes such a peaceful day,
For if we’re not busy sleeping we can fish the hours away.
Then just as I got settled down, with the float out in my swim,
I heard my mate start shouting - what the hell was up with him?
So I quickly reeled my bait in, and grabbed my landing net.
I thought, I’d better go and help him; it's a monster I would bet.
And when I got behind him, I could see what lit his fire,
A swan had swum across his line and tangled in the wire.
Well it fought and flapped and spun and squawked and tried to get away,
But the line was far too strong and tight and would have held all day.
There was sadly nothing we could do, it really was a sod,
Though my mate, he kept his grip on, case it flew off with his rod.
Eventually it stopped moving; you could tell that it was dead,
So we pulled it in and cut the line that wrapped around its head.
Thank God that no one saw us; we were down there all alone,
I said, “We'll have to hide the body.” He said, “No, I'll take it home.
We must be sure that no one finds it, so I'll give it to my dad.
And as the Queen’s the owner – she’s the last one we want mad.”
I said, “What if we're pulled over and police start searching me?
We'll be locked up in the tower and they'll chuck away the key.”
So I drove home oh so carefully, in my fear of being stopped.
It was the ‘baddest’ thing I'd ever done - I'd die if we were copped.
Then at last we got to his house and we hid it in his garage,
As long as my mum never knows - it could cost my dad his marriage.
He said, “Just leave the rest to me; I'll phone you later on,
And tell you what my dad decides about this bloody swan.”
Well, the hours went past so slowly, and the guilt began to claw;
It felt like we had robbed a bank and were hiding from the law.
Then eventually he rang and said his dad had flipped his lid,
And if I called by next morning, he would tell me what he did.
Well it made for me an anxious night, and sleeping very hard;
How would I explain a visit from the Yeoman of the Guard?
I reached his house at ten to twelve; and dinner smelt just great.
His mum said I should stay and eat, and laid another plate.
And when at last we all sat down, she carried in the roast;
It was the biggest bird I'd ever seen, and was like I'd seen a ghost.
You see, my mate's dad’s a butcher, and to him a bird's a bird.
And his mum thought she'd cooked a goose, so not to say a word.
It was the finest Sunday dinner that I've had in all my days,
As it tasted just amazing in a million different ways.
So that’s why they're protected - and just posh folk are allowed,
It's because they taste so special and just one can feed a crowd.
Then his mum gave me a doggy bag to make my taste buds tickle;
I was the only boy in work next day with rolls of ‘swan and pickle’.
(Sorry Your Majesty it was an honest accident)
Copyright © Dennis East | Year Posted 2016
i am not a bird whose black
for i am a blackbird
with my lumpy back
turned away from her
the dying moon
shadowing pale blue waters
made this blackbird teary
where as a bird who was black
they'd be dreary
but i felt the dying moon
hover over my galaxy
i soared closer
for a pinch more
i am the last blackbird
facing this mountain
in awe that her final thouqhts towards me were beautiful
she freed the sun
for the sake
of the butterflies flying inside me?
Copyright © Chante Reeves | Year Posted 2010
It burns and it stings.
More than drowning beneath
More than remaining in a
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why?
It burned and it stung.
The markings remained,
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little
known loathing were the known
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the
child that cried
Never was their relief for the
child that tried
You were that lovely bird that
understood the complications of
Nothing looked the same in
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears
The others-they were yet to
Caring Mother, o' so fair
You were that beautiful bird
filled with care.
The others came and were not
alone. Their two suitors sat on
Rampage and rage why did you
I began to wither and wither
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a
The droops of the Lily of the
Valley became the slumping of
My lovely bird the enemy had
taken you and the person you
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its
intricate self and you became
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
Mother, Mother what moved
Your intense spirt vanished only
to supplement a monster.
Mother, Monster and your tar
How did I kill that liver that was
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you
My lovely bird and your big
I'll tell you once, but never
Pain is only a flower for it
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as
quickly as lice.
You dear bird hurt me well.
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest
You brought me up, then you
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you
down in your deep black
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights.
Copyright © Layla Elkoulily | Year Posted 2013
From the mouth of babes so came forth your perfect praise Unless you change like the little child and receive one as such meek and mild Chances are that your heart is hard do not miss the kingdom by half a yard Leaving the womb crying for breathe no doubt before you leave this world facing death cry out He will give you a new heart full of love just ask like the child harmless as a dove
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014
Cold Black SHEILD,,, Darkens
The Sum of All Fears,,,
by fright,,,in us,,, but Arises
This warm covenant sighting
Blooded Moon Era cover,,, over
Jamaica,,and looms this fiery
bird,,, as A guidance of angels
council,,, swoops,, the sound,,,
of fire speaking in tongue,,, for
those who believe,,, thy
testimony,,,Thee O'Lord our
Father, Son&Holy Spirit, shall
fulfill them,,, unto those who
not weary HIM,,, shall cometh
upon to be SAVED,,, amongst
the King's Return,,, at worlds
end,,, shalt have a
afterlife,,, into new beginning,,,
and to all who deny him,,, shalt
perish fire forever,,, among the
pit of hell, with a two-headed
serpent,,, anti-Christ,,, by a
bitten stamp,,, SO CHOOSE
THE CHOICE IS YOURS,,,,
(C) All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Carma Reed | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
I had a waking moment but it was soon
to be forgotten.
Rising from a peaceful sleep, now I'm
Feels like myself and my mind have made
a deal, for now this revelation has to
I know in perfect timing the truth shall
be revealed. Right now I shall continue
chiselling at my chains, it's strange because
the words "free bird" seem to reign.
Copyright © Andy Craig | Year Posted 2013
A man was frightened and entered into a room,
He fell in the corner and touched a broom,
He read that wording to touch a middle pot,
You can get some money that’s I have lot.
When he touched a pot it grew up a tree,
Please pour me water otherwise you aren’t free.
He picked a pot and starts to search water,
When he found a well he heard a loud laughter,
I need someone’s blood if you need pot water,
Otherwise don’t blame me I have a man slaughter,
He suddenly saw a bird and thought to kill him,
But bird said, you can slaughter me first go and tell him.
He told him to the well, I have a bird to kill,
Do you accept the blood that is only my thrill?
Mice heard the talk and he got a shock,
Why is he killing a bird, he has blood hoick?
Why is your heart n’t kind and have no mercy?
Please forgive him a bird I have a clue courtesy,
I can cut your wein you can donate blood to a well,
I am offering my friendship, that’s my thrill.
He was happy to donate blood and got water a pot,
When he poured water to a tree he laughed lot,
A big fish eats a little never have a mercy thought,
Friendship can solve a problem that’s my money pot.
Copyright © Daljit Khankhana | Year Posted 2005
MY POEM ABOUT DEPRESSION
A dark place, A wet slimy wall and a damp cold floor, A refusal to surrender or to be seen as weak and needing of support, a mask of two hands, one voice.
A pin hole of light above my head, a dusty environment imagination projecting the universe, A faint sound of life beyond the old well, curiosity takes me away from the worry and i forget i am alone.
The well fills up with water the more fascinated i become in the wonder of life. The clear water gives me choices, keep laying and drown or suffer the movement of change and survive.
A couple of days or weeks maybe month pass and now i can see all the sunlight coming from the opening of the well, i am still up to my neck in water and it soon starts to rain, slowly washing all the old thoughts away, there is now water flooding into the well and naturally i start to kick my legs, i don’t want to die, i want to be happy again in the sunshine. I go with the follow, my head breaks through the darkness into the light.
I push down on my weak arms and climb out.
Two feet, Two hands, One park full of a million voices.
Your amazing, your strong, the universe has your back.
Copyright © crizz pie | Year Posted 2017
Today when I woke up I could not
Get that thought out of my mind.
How you kept on pressing the point
Trying to win the argument.
Yet how can you win an argument when there is no fight?
What was done is done and now in the gloomy
Aftermath, all that remains is to wonder
What happens now? Do we go on as before..
Or do we create a new reality
Sort of like a lopsided Phoenix
Not a colorful plumed bird
Not a joyous survivor from the ashes
But a weary and faded version
that yet proclaims its strength
That teaches us the possible
In our survival
My soul longs for the normalcy
Of chicken noodle soup
Of eggs and bacon
Of ocean waves
Just regular stuff
Along with the lopsided Phoenix
Showing us the way
To end the argument that never happened.
Copyright © Carol Ryan | Year Posted 2017