Little Blue Bird of rain.
Rain, rain go away
Little Blue Bird of Rain, needs to shine again
In her version the sun dried, up all her tears
Leaving hurtful rain inside the bird
Destructive past sudden cheers
Waking up to empty words
When abandoned by her peers
Just not knowing what had just occurred
Drowning herself in a life of Jane Doe.
Never know who she really is
When all she loves hanging her lowest moment
The rain brought out Mary-Jane.
As the bird lost its glow.
The rain tricked her once to use Cocaine.
As her feathers met that one Joe.
He broke her wing and brought more Rain.
Very young, very sweet.
Living her life in the fast lane.
Hard for her to stand on her feet.
Balanced her life on one leg, like the crane.
Curtains hang over her wings.
While she let no one near her domain.
While she flies through the heavy rain.
She finds her comfort with a pen.
Using the lords name in vain.
Cursing all her backstabbing friends
With no one around to explain?
All the sorrow left her on a railroad track.
Ending up like the runaway train.
Only she can get her life back.
If for myself I ever felt pain?
I felt more pain at what she wrote about.
In my face on my left side
Your poetry comes to life in my head.
Visions of her wanting to be dead.
Oh! How I wish this life she did not dread.
You hide the tears you shed so well.
A life with balls you cut the chains.
You diss, Your parents to go to hell.
Little Blue Bird of Rain, don't let them fools drive you insane.
Little Blue Bird of Rain.
If a sparrow could show you,
There is more to life than pain.
Under the umbrella, the sparrow would cover you.
No one wants to see her colors drain.
What a world to master her feathers into art.
The gift of words runs through her vein
The paintings on her wall.
A dream of a bad seed of grain.
One day our Little Blue Bird will stand tall.
To free herself from all the Rain.
To: Rain aka- Joy Loveless
Our sweet 16-year-old
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
When I was young and life was easy
I never thought but of the next day.
For the young, things can be so breezy
It is the child's way.
I never thought but of the next day
Until that day came upon me.
It is the child's way
And I did not want to see.
Until that day came upon me
I was carefree like the bird on high.
And I did not want to see
The dark adult horizons that would make me cry.
I was carefree like the bird on high
Only to be trapped by love
The dark adult horizons that would make me cry
Crushing me down from above.
Only to be trapped by love
For the young, things can be so breezy
Crushing me down from above
When I was young and life was easy.
Dan Cwiak ... written for:
Paula Swanson's Pantoum contest
Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010
I hear the night bird lift his soft lament to the clouded sky
When next the rays of sun warm his bower hidden in the thorn bush
He must live his day and keep his sad song for the shadows
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2011
Dear freedom, your sweet innocent voice seems
Now like a distant echo, lost in the wind.
Hopes lost in a set of broken dreams,
With heavy chains, to your heart of stone pinned.
Day by day, night by night, without an end in sight,
Tortured by the ravaging beak of time, flying
With wings of solit'de, displaying its might,
And hatred-filled eyes, watching me dying.
These chains around my heart like a vicious snake
Poisoning my soul with darkness and despair.
A dreadful nightmare from which I will wake
And look into destiny's most wicked glare.
I stand under shadows cast by heaven's light,
And into sleep I fade, witho't a fight.
Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2014
A little bird
Dropped a little turd
Upon my clean windshield
I pushed the button but no fluid did it yield
My wipers swiped and smeared a stripe
And now I'm mad enough to fight
I grabbed a bottle to sprinkle the stain
But the wind took it from me to my disdain
Cursing the bird
With a dirty word
I hear a dreadful sound
I then pull over and receive a fine for throwing litter on the ground
So if a bird drops you a turd and the fluid is all dry
Don't fret don't curse don't even cry
Just pull over and clean the spot
And save yourself alot
Copyright © Bobb Marly | Year Posted 2014
As I hear clinks of your cups
I can listen to orange sounds in your ample eyes
I can hear your obvious highs as if nearing a sea
Morning in a humming bee
You are busy at the mild harsh and tasty sound
The butter knife spreading butter on the dark dense toast
For the person you love the most
Eloquent silence all around
Soft munching sound from inside our mouth
Mingles with the wind from south
The door bell chimes its beautiful tune
Like the monsoon
Then comes the rustling of newspaper pages
The train crossing so many bridges
Combines with the rhythmic drumming of the woodpecker
The sound of your stirring sugar
Bubbling of boiled water in the kettle
In a silent sound of a loud red lily in bloom at the window
As rain falls in a crescendo
The flip flop of your sandals
Passing into your bangles clinking together
Culminating in the slurp as we sip tea
Real moments of pure glee
A great strength
Against the various wavelengths
Of the bang bark bray
Throughout the day
June 19, 2016
Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016
Gazing, at its own reflection is the Magpie.
A magic bird, a mystical creature, with a soul
and the power to see things, the power of scrying.
It sees a tomb in ancient Egypt. It sees death.
A soul locked within a glorious bronze mirror,
Cleopatra and her Maid in a bond unbroken.
Time passes in silence as deep as the unbroken
promise of endless wisdom, gifted by the Magpie.
whose caws the Maid hears, within the depths of the mirror,
calls to the Queen, her Cleopatra, to her soul.
Magpie speaks to She on the Eastern Barge in the afterlife of death,
and to her Maid entombed. The sacred bird so near scrys.
The Magpie sits within oasis staring into the pool. It scrys
for all this time, its vigil, its protection, never broken.
Even when the sarcophagus is carried to the necropolis of the dead,
without, unknown, the bird speaks wisely through reflection, her Magpie.
Entombed, his Queen and her Maid, their bodies but not their souls,
Queen, Maid and Magpie, each cast a last gaze, alive within the mirror.
The Vows of Innocence, the Maid bespeaks the mirror.
Pleas to the Swallower of Shades, both Queen and Maid have scried
to The Burning One, and claim no lie, upon their soul.
As the light dims within the Maids eyes, in tomb unbroken,
she sees the life of her Queen and their Magpie
pass fast upon the brass, last breath of life and dying.
Oh, too soon the end, moans the Maid, I am dying.
Her life's reflection moves bronzed upon the mirror.
She screams, "My Queen," but hears only the caw of Magpie.
All around her other servants succumb and cry, whilst she sits scrying,
and the Magpie flies above in life entombed, eternity, unbroken.
As she beseeches all the Gods to save her soul.
The Magpie's spirit self moves within the mirror's soul.
He swoops gathering Cleopatra's essence, past the dying,
and brings her to the Maids side unbroken.
In afterlife upon the Eastern Barge they join the mirrored
whole, for he, the bird of magic, Magpie, has called and scried
it so. Part light of life, part dark of death, the Magpie.
The essence of each entwine united within this eternal mirror
for the Magpie cannot bear their deaths. He will protect and forever scry
in life the mirror sits unbroken a stolen bauble, and in it they dwell with the Magpie.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
The Tao stares at its reflection on a lake as two birds.
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016
Looking all around me and becoming more aware,
Of the people and surroundings at which many children stare.
I come to terms and realize the acts of hate I see,
And now I fear that this same scene will soon envelope me.
Walking on a lonesome road, though crowded it may seem,
I pass through silent hordes of people hushing silent screams.
Beside me standing hand-in-hand, an older man and wife,
I wonder if they thought like me, what happened to their life.
I reminisce now further back before these broken days,
A time of wasting food and drink and dressing different ways.
But now we all look just alike in tattered grays and browns,
Drifting through these damaged streets and sporting matching frowns.
I thought we'd left the two world wars and poverty behind,
To linger in our broken books and fill an older time.
A time where death would cloud the world with sorrow and disease,
And fear would plant itself within the innocent with ease.
This made me think and look around for Noah and his arc,
And for the first time since the night I heard a flustered lark.
I quickly turned around to spot within a child's hands,
An injured bird whose time had brought it here from other lands.
The child stole a piece of thread from a redbreast robin's nest,
And wrapped around the ailing bird a splint so it could rest.
An hour past the lark took flight and answered to the wild;
The only resting place of hope is in the bright eyes of a child.
Copyright © Elaine Ho | Year Posted 2007
I do not know?
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!
Why Do I Write?
You ask me why I sing?
You ask me why I write?
You ask me why I bleed?
What choice have I besides?
I long to fly, to run away
To some safe haven just to play
To see the light of blessed day
And give my longing heart full sway
I want to grasp the star and moon
And live my life; t'will end too soon
And kiss the clouds up in the sky
But here am I, what choice have I?
Why do I sing?
Why do I cry?
Why write of pain
What choice have I?
I want with zeal to be adored
And I want Fame there at my door
I want IT ALL and so much more
Tell me, is anything for sure?
Why so I beat my wing?
I was born to soar…
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Wondering At Life
As I sit here by my window
And I see the suns dull glow
Peeping through the clouds above
I wonder at the depth of love
That comes to me through everything
The trees that dance. The birds that sing
The rain that pours down through the clouds
Hiding trees within it's shroud
As my heart opens to it all
This blessed scene so beautiful
I wonder what life gave to me
To make me so alive and free
Why give me this? I sit and wonder
The rain pours down. I hear the thunder
As Joy comes flowing into me
I sit here just content to be
I used to dream of life like this
A world all filled with love and bliss
And yet it would not come to me
Until I found simplicity
I sit and let these words flow out
Wondering what life's all about
That touches me with morning charm
Filling me with peaceful calm
Copyright © Lazy dog Smith | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
While the wind blew swiftly.
The bird flew thrifty.
Flapping its wings.
Faster and harder.
Against the wind.
The bird flew like it was blind.
Swirling all around the skyline.
All at once the wind calmed down.
The bird came through town.
Soaring its wings.
As it roared right past me.
To find rest upon a clothes line.
Copyright © Patrica Bowen Salyers | Year Posted 2005
Very Welcome Neighbors II
The Reticulated Woodpecker mates, made it through the winter……
…..offspring, one of each gender arrive with fanfare!
About one quarter the size of each parent, of course the female is the smaller bird…..Ohh, the splendor of the male sibling born with a complete fiery red-
A set of a mini-mom and dad complete. Their parents hangout with them for weeks y
While they learn to f
And become self- sufficient.
The cozy nest they pecked open wide and filled with natures comforts the parents had prepared in the Winter atop a dying palm.
The lovely carved out safe-haven survived through the Spring…..compelled by instinct, the two Adult love-peckers go their own way…
…leaving their children behind in a familiar Patch of the woods with their home. p
The siblings have yet to stray too far. Gazing at the female as she searches A
what is left of the dead palm after the nest segment fell to the
off from all the soaking rains…
palm now three quarters of its original height and rimmed with a rigid new opening.
I have my eyes on you two!
Copyright © jill spagnola | Year Posted 2016
Thump and flutter, scared me at first you see.
Again a flutter, flapping, what could it be,
Then as I peered at window above me,
What did my eyes look upon, oh golly gee?
Red bird upon the screen, was it a he or a she.
No matter of fact makes any difference to thee.
I grabbed my camera quick, before it could flee.
Zooming in with the lens, capturing it free,
Flittering, now still its tail spread outwardly.
Upon the flash, the red bird flew into a tree.
I quickly pressed buttons almost every key.
Hoping, I captured the red bird frantically.
I captured this redbird upon the screen easily.
Now I had proof of my midnight visit, truly.
This night, a beautiful red bird, visited quickly.
What purpose or sign did it have any physically?
No idea, maybe just a crazy red bird’s decree,
No matter what, it is a proven, real live story.
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
Mocking bird sitting on a twig
Filling his craw with those ripe figs
Babies are grown flown from home
All that responsiblity long gone, gone
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
Nature be my religion;
Prayer be my dominion.
Words felt but unwritten;
In fields of green and crimson.
I am a dreamer and a drifter;
A non–conformist, resister.
The wind is my whisper;
And the moonlight my sister.
I wear flowers in my hair;
Quote Shakespeare and Voltaire.
Have no qualms to swear;
Can make peace or warfare.
I prefer the solitude;
Depending on my mood.
But if a smile be the prelude;
Another may intrude.
The songs I sing are old;
The stories all foretold.
In tradition I enfold;
My blessings, manifold.
Two worlds, present and past;
Dwelling within the contrast.
Enigma or social miscast;
Artistry of life enthusiast.
Born to late;
To change the world's fate.
Too early to liberate;
Just in time to celebrate.
As storm clouds appear;
Between two world's frontier.
I look to those I most revere;
The prophet and the seer.
As we enter the eye of the storm;
The birds of prey become worn.
But in the early hours of the morn;
Sparrow's and crow's flight is born.
Center in the midst;
Find your balance to persist.
Take a hand, release a fist;
We're right on time to co–exist.
Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2017
Birds of the same feather always flock together
A fool fools those who can be fooled
A thief roams the streets with his fellow thieves
The miserable saddens those who allow themselves to be miserable
The naive are played by those who are naive of karma
The materialism catches those who are materialistic
The disrespectful hurt those who have no self respect
The aggressively insecure intimidate those who are submissively insecure
The fake trick those who are inexperience of faking
The dumb roll with the most dumbest
If you are either happy, successful, humble, educated or anything positive; make sure you flock with the feather that's most positive and important to you.
KNOW YOUR WORTH; You cannot exchange gold for stones, that's making a foolish loss. Positivity is always an addition(+) not a subtraction (-). If you are subtracting, don't be suprised if your life turns out to be mostly negative.
IMPATIENCE is the mother of all COMPROMISE, that's why people flock with the wrong people, don't let it catch you..
THE EYEZ are easily fooled, all that glitters isn't gold (things can be gold plated too), so carefully check things. As They say "FOOLS RUSH IN WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD."
NOTHING IS CONSTANT; Money comes and goes, the famous become infamous, friendships ends, beauty fades, people pass away etc. Do not rely on external things to make you happy, once they are gone you will awaken from your dream. Internal happiness is constant; the externall should just make you happiER. Humble yourself and know reality.
INEXPERIENCE is the mother of all REGRET. Life is a journey of experience, never make the same mistake twice. At best surround yourself with the most wise (listen and consider their counsel) so not to make mistakes at all.
THE GUT INSTINCT, if it doesn't feel right it probably isn't. You have either compromised too much for to little or you are blinded or you put ur happiness on external forces which are not constant or you are inexperienced in the ways of life.
ITS ALL IN THE MIND, remember to CONTROL IT, TRAIN IT and to ACT IT OUT and watch yourself rise to a different level in your life.
WAKE UP; a bird who flocks with the wrong birds wakes up sooner than later and flies to his kind of feather.
THE MESSAGE; a bird that flocks to you with patience, sincerity, passion and unconditional love is definitely for keeps because they are worth more than gold.
BY HUSSEIN FARAH
Copyright © Hussein Farah | Year Posted 2012
In the morning sun
When a bird flies gracefully
Of life's simple things
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014
Little bird in the sky
Come sit with me
So I can tell you why
Little bird in the sky
Please teach me how to fly
So I can set myself free
Little bird in the sky
Come sit with me
Copyright © Cheryl Glans | Year Posted 2012
A Christmas walk in soft sun of winter
Across crisp fields of umber and green,
A sharp breeze blowing with freedom
On their faces, aglow with the hope
Of seeing one again – a bird; their bird,
Soaring and diving defiantly so.
The eagle. Powerful, swift and so
Free. Wings outstretched on currents of winter
Warmth, rising higher than any other bird.
It’s golden feathers shimmering over green
Hills and clear blue skies, in the hope
Of spying prey, running in a last bid for freedom.
They looked and walked and talked in freedom,
Enjoying the country lanes and paths in so
Carefree a manner; such a rich land of hope,
Bursting with creatures alive in the winter
Meadows: robins, rabbits, hares, a green
Woodpecker, and many a chattering bird.
They paused to rest and listen to bird
Song and breeze, relishing in the freedom
At the heart of nature, so fresh and green;
When suddenly, they saw a bush shaking so
Violently. They stopped and stared, the winter
Wind? Too strong. They watched in hope
Of seeing something curious, or in the hope
Of discovering if this at last was their bird,
Hunting untamed in the wilds of winter.
They approached, careful not to intrude on the freedom
Of the wild, but all they could see was a fluttering so
Urgent, flapping wings, a rubbed-raw leg, a thread of green.
A blackbird was trapped on a branch by green
String; frantic, desperate panic, yet hope
Shone in its eyes, pleadingly so.
They spoke softly, carefully untying the bird,
Which flew off to the wind in a cry of freedom.
They felt proud, liberated, in a wonderland of winter.
They ran home for dinner of green sprouts and festive roast bird;
Bred in darkness and stench, no hope of daylight or freedom.
Incarcerated, deformed, wounded so bad, in a long-hardened winter.
Spare a thought for your turkey this Christmas…
Copyright © Charlotte Kingsfield-Blake | Year Posted 2014
I am trapped in a dimension
Where only repetition exists,
That reoccurs the colour theme of black.
But the windows are very visible from the doom,
Delineating bright sunlight and pavement colour of the moon.
Best of all, I can see the birds flapping their mighty wings.
I unfold my arms with barely any strength,
And reach for them,
Hoping to become one of them.
Every night and morning when the outside of the windows,
Is beautifully shaded with calming grey that mellows.
And when it is painted in soft blended colour of thick orange and light yellow,
Birds fly between South and North through the colour of fallow.
I can tell very easily without effort,
Each of them holds great stories
Because I was like them once,
Who also held great stories.
Yes, I was one of those birds,
With pride and strength,
That glided through the treasure sites,
And enjoyed when the warm breeze kissed my cheeks
Over golden sparkling oceans.
But now my wings are broken,
Memories and valuables torn apart in ashes,
In to pieces that cannot be glued back.
So I always whisper to myself,
With solemn remorse,
I sure do miss those days.
Copyright © Andrew Park | Year Posted 2014
Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.
Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.
Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass
Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws
Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.
Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
Kneeling, Earth bound he sees only walking
He has a bird head, the beak facing right
No wing can spread enough by one’s gawking
Bird makes man unique, he becomes a sight
Copyright © Russell Sivey | Year Posted 2014
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
There is a barn on this farm;
Personally, I think that it has character and charm.
Other people’s opinions may differ from mine,
But I won't allow them to waste my good time.
This time is mine to waste away,
So who are you to blemish this beautiful day?
Song birds sing as morning breaks in two;
Split the night apart and let the sunlight shine through.
If time is all we have, then we can be poor and in love.
We may not have any money,
But we can still enjoy the country.
The cows are grazing and the farmer is blazing,
The hay in the fields, he no longer needs to ball.
I ask him why he came here
And he tells me it is because he heard the call.
The call of nature; the sheep are saying baa.
He doesn't predict the future, but we both know that one day,
This place of tranquility will be overtaken by a city full of cars.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © Aa Harvey | Year Posted 2016
In the beginning the Lord created a great deep,
So deep that no eye saw anything but obscurity.
This deep we now by name call the heavens,
Accompanied by the creation of great vacancy-
A formless void that is uninterrupted by shapes.
It is the undefinable foundation for that yet to form,
A place we now think of as the planet earth,
Which passed the tests of the primeval, perfect storm.
Now with this creation comes the beginning of time,
And for measurement a transparent hourglass,
With an exact amount of sand enclosed within,
Which has until this moment been at an impasse.
Not a grain has been able to pass the constriction,
Until the Creator has commanded it to go.
As the primal beauty comes into existence,
Change enacts sand to fall in the chamber below.
With the passage of time within the hourglass
The Lord’s creation enlarges and expands;
It becomes the abode for another creation –
The harvest of the Lord’s desires becomes Man.
To Man the hourglass is a no longer fashionable,
And it may even seem to be ruling his day.
So he looks to the Lord for a savior—
For someone who-win or lose-will want to play.
The solution from the LORD is Woman,
A helpmate fashioned of Man’s own bone.
His dream has become his reward,
And She seems even better than homegrown.
Her figure is the perfect hourglass,
And her countenance is a bonny display.
Plainly It seems Man never saw the lady coming,
Since his plain morning bird became his bird of prey.
Copyright © Albert Price | Year Posted 2011
Basking in moonlight,
Old birds remember the nest.
Ruffles my feathers.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
I fly in the sky
I swim in the sea
I sleep in the night
And in the trees I live
The forest once was my home
That I always cherished
For me and every one
Who lived on this beautiful heaven?
Coming into the flame of fire
Together with my family
Helps me to remember and tell to all
That has caused the dead of all?
Came five days ago
Three to four men
With something in there mind known as the plan
To destroy what was known as our home
Came few men
After few days
To destroy us all together with the forest
To clear the land
They lighted the fire
They parked some big bulldozers
To clear the trees and removes the stones
After everything is burnt by the flames of the fire
Together with my family
Praying to the god as one
To forgive our sin
And tell the reason for this everything
Nothing I heard from up
But something from down
As few men said
For the development, let happen this destruction
Copyright © B S Sky | Year Posted 2013
In his wisdom God
Created all creatures with
Deep love and purpose
Beautiful bird perched
on tree limb under moon's glow
Clouds rest on tree tops
lumpy feather beds billow
horses graze in snow
Jan. 24, 2007
Proud bird perched so high
silently viewing the world
We await his song
Dec. 23, 2007
I BEHOLD A RAINBOW
Sun and humming birds
mingle while rainbows arch high
drawing eyes skyward
Tiger baths his wounds
cold water soothes like medicine
he will fight again
October 1, 2007
In him peace abides
Little fellow young and free
God's true gift to me
Dec. 19, 2007
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2012
Ones who wage,
Ones who rage,
Ones who take,
Ones who pay,
Ones who craze,
Ones who rave,
Ones who crave…
Ones who fear,
Ones who breathe,
Ones who give,
Ones who need,
Ones who will,
Ones who weave…
Ones who plead,
Ones who beg,
Ones who beseech,
Ones who entreat,
Ones who appeal,
Ones who volunteer,
Ones who disappear…
The ones who follow,
The ones that don’t know about tomorrow,
The ones who don’t deserve the morrow…
The ones who sleep,
The ones who cry,
The ones who live,
The ones who die…
The ones who proclaim,
Those who say they create,
The ones who ache,
The ones who don’t wait,
The ones who hesitate,
The ones who don’t concentrate,
The ones who fornicate,
The ones who procrastinate…
Those who fall in temptation,
Those who get in frustration,
Those who sometimes feel desperation,
Those who keep going without caution,
Those in motion,
Those in tension,
Those losing notion,
Those being poisoned,
Those getting in distortion,
Those following the broken diction,
Those dying like the billions,
Those without unction,
Those washed in the oceans…
I might seem cold,
But it is you who is bold.
I might not express,
But it is you who doesn’t let me progress.
I might not seem like I seek,
But it is you who doesn’t know me…
I might seem like I need,
But it is you who might always be begging on your knees.
I might seem dull,
But it is the one that is fool.
I might not be alight,
But it is you who isn’t truly alive…
I will remain neutral,
I will remain silver,
I will remain gray,
I feel darkness,
I feel light,
I will remain hallowed…,
After all, it is you who deserves no life…
I am a metal hawk,
I am a mountain goat,
I am a silver bird,
I am a gray wolf,
I am a white tiger,
I am a mystic rose…,
I am I…
And I survive,
You are here,
However, it is you who deserves no life…
Being human does not imply that you have humanity…
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013