Bird Home Poems | Bird Poems About Home

These Bird Home poems are examples of Bird poems about Home. These are the best examples of Bird Home poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

The Sea Gulls Came Home

The horizon was brewing ominous clouds,
Dark as if they came out of hell.
The once azure sky became hazy
As the north wind chilly breezes
Puffed up more stratocumulus,
Rain-heavy clouds that signified storms.

I rested against the balustrade
Of the promenade, looking down at the sea.
Waves upon waves dashed at the dark crags.
Sea spray washed my tired face.
Above the seagulls came to enjoy
The thunderstorm that would soon erupt
Above the small bay, now emptied of boats.

The sea gulls were indeed a sight to see.
Only a hundred or so circled the inlet.
They were truly a harbinger of storms.
They flew against the wind, or with it,
Or soared above it, much as they felt like it.
They plunged into the sea for food
Irrespective of where the chilly wind blew.
They were an elegant sight to see.

As the first drops of rain fell, I betook myself home.
My wife was waiting anxiously for me
Afraid I’ll get wet.  “Watching the birds?”
Clearly she was not very much amused.

She turned her back on me, as thunder boomed
And lightening flashed but I went with the wind,
And clasped her round her winsome waist.  
She did not resist, neither did I.

5 June 2017
POTD 6 June 2017

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

Details | Haiku |


Parents nurture young Finally freedom to fly Fledglings spread their wings 28th April 2015

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Personification |

I am a Swallow

Turning and dipping in graceful, acrobatic flight,
my spirit soars against a sky brilliantly blue;
from these heights, I view life in its completeness,
its complex boundaries and limitations sharply defined.
I maintain my composure, calm and unruffled by the storms . . .
I sail above the strife where the sun spreads warmth upon my wings.

From this lofty perspective, I watch over my dearest ones.
This clear air provides treasures of wisdom, beauties like the facets of precious jewels,
sparkling with the vibrance that makes joy complete;
I glean and feed them to my little ones,  giving them nutrients to enrich their minds.

Home is my central focus. 
I learn and implement all that I can to make my nest comfortable and complete,
a rich environment for growth. 

Do not intrude; I protect what is mine.

© May 11, 2015, Faye Lanham Gibson

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haibun |


The fog has not yet lifted from the enclave. The candyfloss glow of the sun suspended above the horizon of the valley in the Jock of the Bushveld Concervancy* where I have made my new home reflects on the ghostly blue of the dam in front of my house. One of the nesting pair of fish eagles does a low flyby. The distinctive call of the fish eagle is synonymous to me with Africa, pulling on my heartstrings like no music can. A primordial longing fills my very soul. Banished to purgatory for the best part of my life, this paradise is my just reward in my golden years.

the fish eagle swoops – shadows cast by papyrus teem with silver carb
An African Jacana teeters with its long toes on the emerald green leave of the pink water lily. It pecks delicately at something at the edge of the flower, before taking flight; long legs dangling behind it like superfluous appendages – its sharp, ringing tone cleaving the morning silence.
Buddha’s Flower Sermon† encapsulates all – tropical winter
I am not alone: a blouapie (marmoset) with his distinctive cobalt blue and crimson genitals surveys my progress along the path to the jetty. Damp, golden leaves carpet the pathway, the pungent smell assailing my olfactory receptors, alerting me to the many unknown vegetation growing in abandon on the embankment – names of which I need to learn and applications I need to discover. Something scurries among the roots of the macadamia tree and plops into the water.
spring stirs in loins, driving out the long winter of dormant passions
[I have used the natural world around me at my new home in the Low Veld, South Africa, to describe the calming, spiritual effect of my surroundings in this haibun, after an emotionally traumatic year. The new surroundings are akin to Paradise, where I have yet to learn the names of the flora and fauna around me.] * † 16 July 2017 Edited 21 July 2017

Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2017

Details | Blank verse |

A Beautiful Fall Morning

Very early Fall morning…crisp and clear.
Sitting on the patio, sipping hot coffee.
Only my path to and from the bird feeders,
Rain gutters hung on the stockade fence,
Has disturbed the beautiful, glistening dew 
Blanketing a lush, green Bermuda lawn 
Awaiting the season’s final mow and a Winter sleep.
Early morning sunsmile creates a mist, a little fog,
That artists have great difficulty recreating. 
And the sprinklers are making music too….
As I filled those bird feeders, 
Only the patient cooing of white wing dove
Waiting in the surrounding trees
Could barely be heard above the sprinkler.
Feeders filled, I walked away.
The air erupted with bird song.
Our giant privets were alive with hungry sparrows,
Each announcing breakfast.  
All the locals seemed to understand.
The robins and larks, the finches and cardinals chimed in;
But only the jays’ sharp calls could be heard above the din.
What a ruckus…but so beautiful a song,
It is a ‘wall of sound’ to be envied by rockers.
Orchestrated by Mother Nature….Mrs. God.
The sprinkler's barely heard....
ch ch ch ch ch ch ch ch 

Squirrels wait out of sight.
One may bark now and then, but
They’ve learned that patience pays.
It’s not just time to feed those damn birds;
It’s time to feed the greedy squirrels too;
And chow time is well worth the wait:
Sunflower seeds. Peanuts. Suet.  Dried fruit.
You can almost hear them as they gobble,
“Mmmmmm.  Man, this is the good stuff, Bro’. 
I mean the good stuff.  What a life.  
I’ll never leave…not even for a girl squirrel.”  
It’s as if they think they’ll never eat again;
Every morning.
As if we hadn’t been feeding them 
Every day of their lives…and their parents.
If we could tell them apart.
They would have names.

Well....everybody's happy.
All this and good coffee too.
What a beautiful Fall morning. 

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Dance of Cranes: on Coming Home - SF

It waits on the wedge of a field
no longer lonely, another
 floats in for a landing above
 a sea of yellow flowers

Who will  forget that wonderful fuss,
the mock scolding  of an absence
now  being celebrated
The preaching  by a full range of
 vocals - wing tips folding and unfolding
against a new, and thinking sky

For Andrea's SF Contest

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

North Carolina

North Carolina—a beautiful place of humble abode,
On summer vacations or all the year round.
Rife with history, the Wright Brothers showed,
Thanks to Kitty Hawk's sand dunes at heights quite profound,
Hosting Earth's first manned flight on wings at our coast.

Carolina Tarheels—the battle cries loud,
Across our green state, Biltmore east, towards Kill Devil Hills.
Rolling gently across cotton and tobacco fields plowed,
Over civil war lands defended with vigor and skill.
Lakes and streams they're a plenty, abundant wildlife to boast,
Identified as "Southern" south of Mason-Dixon’s own line.
North Carolina place of wonder, from mountains to coast,
Appalachian Trail hikers by the thousands lovingly opine.

So the next time you feel, the need to discover,
Visit North Carolina's splendor, with a friend, sister, or brother!

Copyright © Michael Wegman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

Simple Pleasures

at the airport people and planes are waiting
at the gate on both sides of the sliding glass door
feelings and metal birds are randomly rotating
some red colored eyes will begin to pour

having flown thousands of miles high and low
fleeing from solitary traces of their past
tears unveil what kindred spirits know
huge hugs the heartfelt homecoming at last

having reached their gorgeous and homely porch
sharing more than one memory or a worded thought
two soul mates touched by the warm light of a lit torch
talking what their solitary lives have taught

mutual feelings continuously pop up out of the blue
this shared space feels like a true home at last
closest friends share anyway what they already knew
their suffocating childhood and parental cold passed

a flock of birds lands in their garden and in the oak tree
the biggest red-feathered Cardinal in the tree chirps
all together they orchestrate a heavenly symphony
soul mates touched by a healing power that really works

January 18th 2016

Copyright © An Anchored Poet | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |


Home is where the butterfly goes;
Somewhere no one may ever know.

Home is where the sparrow flies;
A nest in softest shadows hides.

Home is where an old man can die
In peace.

Copyright © Cameron Hartley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

The Bird that is Loved and Loathed

It burns and it stings.
It hurts.
More than drowning beneath 
the ice.
More than remaining in a 
kindled flame
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 
of joy.
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 
the throne.
Rampage and rage why did you 
I began to wither and wither 
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a 
human raceme. 
The droops of the Lily of the 
Valley became the slumping of 
my heart.
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 
you so? 
Your intense spirt vanished only 
to supplement a monster. 
Mother, Monster and your tar 
filled lungs. 
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 
brown eyes
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

Details | Rictameter |

Make hay

Make hay!
Meant the macaw's epiphany
Coming in propinquity of the demesne
Pondering the erstwhile efflorescence of dalliance, she chirped
The bucolic redolent was everywhere, smelling petrichor in the air
This land is her home, she whistled with serenpidity
Harbinger of ephemeral life, she chattered: 
While the sun shines,
Make hay!

Copyright © Ali Nusreth | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Three Carol Brown

Carol Brown
Today you are crown
Our Queen you are now a figure Renown
Don’t bother about their gossip just leave them alone
If the baby bird leaves his home and fly away because he feels it’s grown
Tell it to remember that; what goes around come aroun’
 And it remain people’s mockery, a clown
If your shoe color is brown
Don’t give a damn
Carol Brown
Don’t give a damn
If your shoe color is brown
And it remain people’s mockery, a clown
Tell it to remember that; what goes around come aroun’
If the baby bird leaves his home and fly away because he feels it’s grown
Don’t bother about their gossip just leave them alone
Our Queen you are now a figure Renown
Today you are crown
Carol Brown

N.B. Read this poem non-stop and enjoy it.  Dedicated to Carol Brown, I feel she is a rare gem Poetic and passionate. What shape is the poem?

Copyright © Nurudeen Olaniran | Year Posted 2012

Details | Couplet |

Tiny Bird

I can’t complain I’m sheltered and fed
But this nagging ambition still builds in my head
Of what was written and what was said
Of a lonely road far from my bed

You don’t venture far tiny bird in the thicket
The home you mind is safe from the wicked
It’s a shame you can’t fly far away
And see all the cultures time built on its way
With the people of both peace and war
And the beauty of things in nature to adore
But your home is well kept and happy it seems
But what of your heart, your wishes and your dreams

I can’t feel shame it would make me weaker
About the wasted moments left to the meeker
The scoundrel in me keeps my heart from fever
But fever is wanted by my soul the dreamer

So tiny bird would you say you much wiser
The time you spend you count like a miser
Or is it that you take simple love in your day
In the little you make from the soil and the clay
Do the storms bother you at all little one?
Do the storms keep you hiding waiting for the sun?
I see the light is there in the weather so destructive
Are clouds to you renewal or counter productive?

I take it we differ in thought and song
Though I can no longer say yours is wrong
But I take from you a lesson - a lovely subtraction
In the happiness to be found in simple satisfaction

Copyright © Mathieu de Casanove | Year Posted 2009

Details | Bio |

06072014 Get Along Home

,b>Get Along Home

When I was young

Life on the farm was difficult to understand at seven

The rooster flogged me

Dad in vengeance chopped the heads of everyone of his mates
 numbering a hundred

As he watched in the coop

Perhaps I didn't understand the reality that since I ate at the table

that I had to pluck the feathers off too

It was one of the hardest things to do

As a young lady he taught me manners and I served
 his gentleman guests-

as they looked upon me, the youngest daughter
Perhaps God had greater plans

for I wanted to see some of the world outside the farm

When Dad got sick, he left a hundred sheep for me to tend

It was the happiest and peaceful I've ever been despite the pain in my life

Perhaps God had greater plans for me when my mother sold half the stock
and I was left to work a waitress job at fourteen

And I liked serving the people
they were much different than the farmers I had met

I had my chance to leave home with my mothers permission at the age of sixteen  ~ 

I moved to Georgia
and I knew God had other plans for me

Its been thirty two years now

when will I learn that society isn't too good for me

I find myself on my land looking and feeling the breeze on my cheek

steel tears from my soul; they don't come

for I've never been loved by a man at all

I thought about throwing in the towel, and becoming a hermit
Perhaps God has greater plans for me

He spoke to me the other day
I know the voice of my Lord
He wondered why I do that..

pretty much, sell myself short

He said there is such beauty and wonderment
and I blinked as a fawn

Perhaps I do not know how to communicate well in public,

in fact, even people in the small towns nearby say I am the nicest lady but odd

Life is harsh as we search for acceptance

my inner child trembles and I am so very hurt
for who could love me?

As the old folk sing an old folk song:
(get along home Cindy, Cindy)
(get along home Cindy, Cindy)

Perhaps God has other plans

Life is difficult,

no doubt about it

My poured soul flows

and I lack comfort that I need

harsh words are more than I can bear these days

and I find many blessings knowing I don't have to stay on this earth for all time

Perhaps I could show the world my inner self so kind

but I'm shy;

to get hurt again

I've never given that to any man

but Dear Ole' Dad

Copyright © Cindy Cayton | Year Posted 2014

Details | Heroic Couplets |

Me and the Swallow

I like to be a swallow to fly everywhere,
To learn about patience and all about care.
He flies to new places; he meets new mates.
He breaks all boundaries; he enters all gates.
He loves all colors; loves them all the same,
Just like us humans;  we each have a name.
He also loves flowers; loves them all the same,
Just like us humans; we each have an aim.
For things around us they all have a goal.
No one is an island; no one is an all.
I like to be a swallow to have no fixed home.
The sky he takes to remains his lovely  home.


Copyright © OMAR JABAK | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |


As I reclined and looked at the horizon
I complemented myself with a proving smile
because the sunset was so lovely
and I had not seen one like it for quite sometime
The omnibus colors of the sky blended so perfectly
Magnified by the tilting shadows of the glaring sun
and before it had finally rested
I felt my life painting is done.

Copyright © Edgar R. Eslit | Year Posted 2015

Details | Tanka |

Lark Tanka

A week old hatchling
The mother lark feeds with love
White clouds come above
Sudden tempest ruins all
Solar eclipse in lark town
May 25, 2016
For Traditional Tanka - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Jade Puddifoot

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

The Fall of the Egg

A Blackbird seeks out
another bird’s weakness,
(fly nest, die nest, 
you’d better get away to another) 
Sparrow, why did you throw away your egg?
Now you beg,
but I know that
you’re marrying the Blackbird
(give the word: scurry, hurry,
find another home)
Then a peck, claw (what’s the law?)
Make another egg
for the Blackbird
(chase an egg, make it drop away
to the black day)
Die nest,
Another fell away.

Copyright © Garth von Buchholz | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |

Pressing On

She watched the mountain intently
Like a bird who’s nestling of dwelling, complains
Yet, neither will move --
Reality blooms;
A surge of genius
Strikes the hollowed core ~
Worrisome thoughts she shan’t abide…

A mother’s love still strives,
Strong willed fledgling must now -- fly
Search to build, its -- own nest
-- Mother bird soars above the mountain -- mind at rest 

An elder once said teach them well in the ways they must go… Like a hawk one must keep a 
watchful eye for they are still your prizes; you never know when they may come home to 
roost again... Or at least visit…
However, if they can't respect the home then its time 
For them to fly on their own...

Copyright © Adell Foster | Year Posted 2008

Details | Lyric |

BiRD from our home

Love is love, 
that's what he said
there's no doubt in my mind
love for him's in my head.

Because who say's hello, 
when you were thinking of them?
When I didn't say hi
he just understands

a young face and a catchy smile
boy you light my night 
when others are in denial
of the life they could have
the beauty you create 
with just two hands 
I think I call this fate

You have a pen, 
and I a pencil 
together we're gonna make something special
you're gonna paint something I've never seen
and I'll be sitting there, a queen, fit for a king

You're a gem
shining bright
you light up my life
make me feel like I could write
something about the way you can finish my sentence
You know nothing about me 
but I'm your perfect acquaintance

Copyright © Amy Kramer | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |

A Sonnet of No Name


a)	Twisting - tangible all within my grasp . . .   
b)	Mystical - just a mere lisp of a word . . .   
a)	Captured - beheld such liken to a clasp . . .   
b)	Never such a beautiful sound like bird . . .    

Sorry I have lost it with this verse - Lets finish with something else . . .  

c)	Harken - yee cometh into my strong arms . . .    
d)	I yiven you gifts - and bestow yee more . . .   
c)	Cometh ma leof - I will seeth yee no harms . . .   
d)	Oust thy sorrow - cometh in clos’ the door . . .  
e)	Settled ma lass - I mea’ yee no alarm . . .   
f)	Oft fine table - for you - all yee can eat . . .   	
e)	I yiveth all - In yiveth my most smarm . . .  
f)	Settle ma lass – I yiveth yee na gleet . . .   	 

g)	Once nigt’ waned - the lass wer' quite settled . . . 
g)	Layeth forth - lass - cometh yiveth yee metal . . .  

I hold no responsibility for this "Shameful" attempt of a - "Sonnet"  . . . 
Was written while eating my bag of chips - sat on the car "Bonnet" . . . ; ) 

And "Yes" I did check the "Syllabels per line this time . . . : ) 

Indiana Shaw . . . (*-*)

Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |


Worms crawl to the surface
To die
Commit suicide
We are like worms
Wiggling inside 
Our minds
Trying to break free
And fly
A bird catches us
In it's beak
And starts to flap it's wings
Carry me above the clouds
And help me breath
Let freedom ring
Don't carry me too high
So I can't find my way
Back down
The Earth raised me
From the dirt
The home of my heart

A worm can't fly
Only believe
And try

Don't leave me to drown
In your bile
Your talons pierce my skin
Scratching away at the pedestal
Leaving my words
Snap me in half
I'll keep squirming
My life won't stop
Just because I'm hurting
A worm's heart is it's body
It tears and it dries
But in the eyes of a bird
It is life giving

Don't carry me too high
So I can't see the ground
Don't carry me too high
So I can't find my way
Back down

Copyright © Kay Ham | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric |

For The Birds-Contest

A Home Within A  Home

We, the birds, and our friends, the bees,
Fly only where there is abundance,
To get our mouthfuls,
And lips smacking with honey.

Wherever we see flora
Our fauna will be there,
Where we find richness of beauty 
We will be feasting our ever hungry eyes.

A home full of love
Will have room to keep us warm,
Where there is warmth
There is bound to be protection.

We birds, and the bees,
With our God-gifted vibes,
Fly on to the wings of the wind 
To dear welcoming homes.

We know, that nooks and corners
Of  airy-warm homes,
Have room for us to string  strong new nestling,
Soon to echo with our chirpy fledgelings.

October 23, 2015
Contest: For The Birdz
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen

Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015

Details | ABC |

home is where the heart is

 like a kid in a candy store im told by myself , you could look but you cant touch.
embraced the feeling of an outcast sometimes i feel like the only lonely hand with no other reaching out to clutch.
i take a deep breath and then i sye.
windows to the soul is out of my control to open and close but im no stranger of peeking in between my curtains and  blinds.
good guys finish last and sense their the last men left standing how can i not question how long do they have to stand alone?
its said home is where the heart is so what can be called sanctuary if my heart became a rolling stone?

Copyright © mark brown | Year Posted 2016

Details | ABC |

home is where the heart is

 like a kid in a candy store im told by myself , you could look but you cant touch.
embraced the feeling of an outcast sometimes i feel like the only lonely hand with no other reaching out to clutch.
i take a deep breath and then i sye.
windows to the soul is out of my control to open and close but im no stranger of peeking in between my curtains and  blinds.
good guys finish last and sense their the last men left standing how can i not question how long do they have to stand alone?
its said home is where the heart is so what can be called sanctuary if my heart became a rolling stone?

Copyright © mark brown | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |


I've learned to rise from my own ashes 
In the midst of war
Because I refuse to stay beaten on the floor. 
Every desire I'll break 
Weakness unknown 
My wings already mended I won't be overthrown. 
I am a Phoenix
And it's time I come home.

Copyright © Sybil Berry | Year Posted 2016