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Bird January Poems | Bird Poems About January

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

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Details | Narrative |

Empty Feeders

The feeders were empty, dejected, forlorn.
The lady who filled them had suddenly gone.
Her time here now ended, she wakened no more:
Gone from her gardens, departed her door.
This little much mattered to birds on the wing,
With winter now over, well into the spring.
All busy with nesting, caught up in new life.
No hunger in summer, no cold, bitter strife.
New homes to be built: sturdy and staid.
Songs to be sung and eggs to be laid.
Sheltered and nurtured; the young ones appear.
A sure rite of passage in the spring of each year.
Fledglings near grown will be taught how to fly
And soar past the tree tops up into the sky.
They will learn of the hawk and its hunger for flesh:
Of wicked, sly felines that hide in the brush.
Then late summer grows weary and tired of play. 
It goes to bed earlier and earlier each day.
The fall time all golden and valued the more;
Birds sense coming peril past winter’s cold door.
Those who remain for new season’s sharp sting,
Grow restless, uneasy, not choosing to sing.
Old feeders hang empty, no seed to be found . . 
Below only barren, forbidding, cold ground.
Blue jays and the doves, all the species of finch,
Chickadees, titmice, now feel winter's pinch.
Woodpeckers, nuthatches, cardinals and crows,
Will all group together to face winter woes.
Then a morning arrives with white flakes in the air.
Frigid and stark; the day reeks of despair.
First jay to arrive at the earliest light,
Gives out a sharp cry to all others in flight.
There's someone out tending the feeders below,
Tamping the snow where the cracked corn will go.
And filling the hollow in that old rotten stump:
Sunflower, suet, dried fruit and some nuts.
Bleak landscape has kidnapped the scene down below,
But all’s right in the hemlock, as well as the snow.
New feeders abound, where old feeders once hung 
And with someone to fill them, let the new winter come.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

The Soft Feel Of Snowflakes

In winter I miss the soft feel of snowflakes,
not the frosted and leaf-covered meadows;   
and while green jays listen to the ravens' crow,
the angry wind whips trees with its hard blow! 

I feel sympathy for the lonely woodpeckers;
in winter I miss the feel of soft snowflakes...
how frightened is the tiny shivering lizard
that tries to shield himself from the cold!

The red-tailed blackbirds aren't too happy,
they soar into a sky so empty and gloomy;
in winter I miss the soft feel of snowflakes...
more than the smell of roasted chestnuts!  

I like to see snow fall, giggling under a hat;   
if none falls, think how depressed I will get!
Come snow, I am ready to get my kicks!   
In winter I miss the soft feel of snowflakes!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |

Winter Magic

Winter Magic

There I stood, quietly and still, with a frozen stare through my patio door.
The awesome portrait of life, so dominating most of the year, has lost its lure.
This time, it’s not the forest that I behold, but it’s the sleeping trees that I see.
Much of life’s greenery will rearrange, suffer pain, and change.  None would disagree.
In my back yard, there stands a fence laced and hidden in a fading sea of green.
Gone is the luster of summer and the colors of fall; but the season is subtle and serene.
Refusing to go unnoticed is a plant, clustered with tiny blossoms of purple flowers.  On this January morn, bright and beaming  yellow blossoms, undefeated and undisturbed, adorn a bush filled with life.  They blend cheerfully with nature’s orchestra.  The weather is gloomy and overcast, but no one bothered to tell my colorful backyard friends.

A tree, showing no resemblance to its surroundings, is bare, stripped, and naked.
She pleads for nothing, and does not appear to be wounded, sick, or diseased.
The once green foliage of summer that turned brown last fall was now gone.
It’s umbrella of shade baring leaves is now a haven of rest for the birds.
Come Spring, new life will upsurge , and green leaves of shade will emerge.
But for now, the full ensemble of life must await the new season.
01302011PS Contest, Winter Magic, Mystic Rose

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |

Chickadee -Airless Suburban Haiku-

Chickadee flies low looking for food he buried runs into a tree. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Jan.28/2013 I haven't penned one of these in a while.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | ABC |


Listen to the gossip of the rain,
dancing on my windows and jumping on the pavement,
thrumming  and battering on the roofs,
plays a little sleep-song on my roof at night,
when it hits the ground, becomes a rivulet. 

Listen to the rain falling from the sky,
tracks blending into the fresh sky-fallen trickles,
crackle dry verandah like an old walkie-talkie coming to life,
beat the panes like timorous wings,
and quench our endless thirst.

Listen to the pouring rain,
pouring from dark skies, 
crashed deafeningly on the corrugated metal roof,
fell down constantly like an endless bucket of water being 
poured down from the heaven,
sounds like the heavens are knocking on my door,
droplets thrashed at the ground, with ferocity matchless,
beat upon my heads with silver liquid drops.

Copyright © Yuhi Musinga | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Oh, Mr Cardinal -Rhyming Naani- -My Own Style-

Oh, Mr. Cardinal why do you tease me, sitting, with your belly full up there, in that tree? Copyright © Cynthia Jones Jan.21/2013 I have been waiting a long time, to get a picture of a male cardinal and I finally got one. I was hoping it was going to be a little better than what I got, but you can't move trees out of the way. LOL

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Winter Can't Stop It

Out of the corner of my eye through the livingroom window, were my eyes playing tricks on me? What was it? What did I see? Hopping across the snow and onto a patch a bare lawn, a chubby, red-breasted robin I think it may have yawned. With the chilly weather outside it should be hiding in the woods, playing hide and go seek with others covering its head with a hood. Winter may be already here but this robin braves the cold, looking for mounds of fresh food is like searching for a pot of gold. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Jan.6/2015 I was actually quite surprised to see a robin hopping around outside today. They usually don't get seen until Spring. Made me kinda wish Spring was already here.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015