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Bird Science Poems | Bird Poems About Science

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

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Details | Verse |

A Plane and The Eagle

O'er tempest,soars the 
eagle with wings 
stretching towards the 
smiling sun.
    Up the sky,a figure 
with outstretched wings 
battling the turbulent 
wind and frowning sun.
      Soaring like an eagle-
Never an eagle.
      Gliding like an eagle-
Never an eagle.
      Mistaken for an eagle 
in the sky-never an eagle.
      Utter's sound as the 
eagle-never an eagle.
    This man-made 
under a stormy wind.
    For paid price-loss of 
    The works of mother-
nature can never be out-
dated or equalled.
    Frog-men under sea 
and frogs in the waters 
can bear witness.

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

The Scientific Way To Do Mathematics

As air and leaf litter are substrate for the bird.
And what makes a human. Separation from the substrate.
Believing the substrate and the subject are separately defined.

Whatever gives the poem form - three lines - is the substrate.
Things will be said. The signer and the seer must supply the words
Which are the substrate of the mind. A beautiful week ahead.

No hundred year storms, normal summer warming.
Yr bones are white as lightning and strong as sticks and stones.
At Pat's 80th b'day party most of us are old and jolly.

250,000 port-o-potties. There's a way to wash one out
And a way not to. Arctic ice melt. Slushies. One can count
Past one or nine by inserting zero to keep the rows.

Implied is an order beyond the small order we impose.
Goes to greatness human and divine. The two white wines
Death brings to the garden are the love between good friends -

Abstract. Suppose there is no afterlife, to understand the end
Imagine the beginning - no brain, no mind, no name, no I. Zero
Had already been inflated and the rose was in the garden.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |

Rabbits and Frogs

I believe
In dark matter
Nuns in robes
Making their habits
Deep with in the earth
Running rabbits
Singing of the end
Eat all you can
Matter it will not
Expansion till fully bloated
There will be a resurrection
We all shall become frogs
Making quantum leaps
Until nothing matters
The big bang
Warped inside my mind
I believe
In rabbits and frogs

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Acrostic |

Your Eyes

 (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

Details | Heroic Couplets |

Keats Nightingale

Keats’ Nightingale

The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism, 
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.

Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active, 
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth, 
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth. 

Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure, 
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure, 
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm. 

When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn, 
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety, 
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity. 

Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.

He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement; 
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles, 
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.

His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.

Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects, 
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects; 
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Bird Is The Word

<                   encircling mountain's crest... the mighty eagle .. soars

                     amidst wetlands standing erect the blue huron
                     toppling muskrat homes waiting for mice and shrews
                     colonies emerge shrub trees and lagoons to bond
                     butterflies flutter medows of greenish hues
                     snaphots taken afar this is all I could do

                     catails ~ sway ~ sounds ~  thunder
                     pheasants fly off in frenzy
                     braided and despaired
                     yet forges right on ahead
                     they live see another day

                     night ~ time's ~ calling ~ for ~ the ~ wise ~ old ~ owl
                     bidding feathered friends well ado's

A combination of Monoku, Quintain {English }
Tanka & Crystalline For
Constance LaFrance's For {Four } Beautiful Birds Contest
Written by Katherine Stella




Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |

Friday Morning

The sun dialed up another day on Friday
You could feel the corn and grass that rises in the field
Highways saw the first rays of day from the horizon
Black asphalt laid a path just right on either side             
Other life forms roll on by

Trucks drive down the dawn toward blinding light
Sun glasses perched on solid noses as they squint
Strong men behind the wheels of tractor trailers grimace
Begin the work of dragging loads too heavy for the road
Streaming down the highway without a word

Blue birds avoided close collisions with the speeding demons
Larger than them but not as agile
Wings take to places they have never been
Naturally the bodies of the birds follow with them in the wind

Their guidance systems are down to a science we call time
For them it is simply the way they feel and they feel fine
Flying in the fields of green and yellow magic
Disappearing at the speed of morning light

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

The First Fable of CharlaX

 The First Fable of CharlaX 
The First Fable of CharlaX 
A Falcon Cry 
The Falcon Cries: 
 He spreads his wings in vain attempts to dry 
He tells me once in a whistle WHY? 
Why cannot we fly? When will the rain let up and let me in the air? 
When will the water stop to drop on feathers so wet there? 
The Falcon Cries: 
A mournful sound so loud in quiet of early morn 
His claws dug deeper in the branch to keep from being torn 
Away from perching in the storm 
His sharpened beak at work to smooth his feathers 
He was using extra care no longer talking just to me his only whistle 
Told me many things 

The Falcon Cries: 
We disagreed with all the rain both the Falcon and the eye. 
Why can't we fly? 
Eye could clasp the bird to bosom and dry his feathers there 
A bird so wild and wonderful so hurt 
With all my tears for the Falcon Cry. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rhyme |

A Naked Bird

The feathers aid any bird’s flight. The owl at night. The hawk in day. They fly away. With feathers, they can reach great heights in awesome flights. Up in the air without much care. What good would be a naked bird? Something absurd. Defective genes may cause these scenes. Robert Pettit For Nette’s “Just a Minute!” contest. October 9, 2012

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |

Unconditional Love

(Unconditional* Love)

I will love you forever
Because I’ve said it
Makes it so

There is nothing
That can change this
If spacetime doesn’t flow

It feels like a reality
But might be
In my mind

To your faults
I am accepting
Occasionally blind

If my thoughts
Have strayed
It has only been an inch

Love’s happier
In cages
Like a heart or nervous finch

Copyright © andy thomson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Concrete |

The Bird

            The Bird
 is a miracle creature. 
          It swoops around the sky.
              It has beutiful feathers and wings.
                    How can it fly? Some say hollow
                               bones.        I say...


Copyright © Josh Halff | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse |

Lizards or Birds

Lizards or Birds 

What difference would it make to the humans in the mezoic age if the dinosaur 
was made of leather or just skin with wings or without a giant bird or reptile if 
your hanging in it is mouth a morsel for the smorgasbord of love without a doubt 
just making meat for something else to eat and hanging out. Let us ask the 
paleontologist the good Dr. Hice sir in laymen's terms please tell us all you knoe 
about the dinosaurs. The eye once saw a giant condor face to beak without a 
doubt the ugliest of creeps the bird was ugly you had to be there sort of thing. And 
Stinks. In my humble opinion the dinosaurs were never lizards but most all of 
them was birds at least the condor were. 
 Lizards or Birds     

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |

The Sandpiper

The sandpiper seemed innocent enough,
as it trailed the water’s edge.
She followed, keeping her distance.

It was a beautiful day in April,
when the unspeakable happened.
A warm sun and gentle breeze
comforted her busy mind. 

Patiently, she followed the bird,
feeling the mixture of sand, pebbles, 
and broken shells beneath her feet.

As a flock of seagulls lifted in flight,
Her eyes returned to the sandpiper.
It had stopped, so she did the same.

She noticed that the bird had frozen in mid-step.
How cute, she thought.
Then a strange feeling passed over her. 
A deep, mindless fear crept into her mind.

She slowly turned her head, 
her eyes leaving the sandpiper
and looking back up the beach.

She immediately noticed
people frozen in place.


Two men and a woman behind her
frozen in time, arms in mid-stride, mouths open,
as if forever in speech, eyes staring into nothing.

She looked back to the sandpiper.
She felt compelled to walk toward it.
Standing, looking down at the lifeless form,
she reached and picked it up.

The feathers were soft,
but, the bird felt hard and solid. 
Turning it over, her long nail
clicked on the metal patch beneath.

She turned quickly and faced the figures behind her.
She threw the fake sandpiper at the woman,
it clanged off her still head.

She turned and ran, tears flowing from her eyes.
She began to scream.
At that moment, a dark shadow appeared over the beach.

Copyright © Gary Jones | Year Posted 2007

Details | Verse |

Bird Dung of Doom

The prophets forewarned us in ancient words
Of monstrous, metallic, reptilian birds
Igniting skies with a flight of fire:
Below them the smoke of charred Earth will spire.

These death-pterodactyls are coming true:
Their pilots turn bleak the horizons of blue,
Sleek avian avatars, spilling down
Their droppings that cinder the field and town.

The creatures themselves are consumed in flame,
And man is a dinosaur, obsolete-name,
Forgotten as prophesied, slain by sleek
Low-swooping pteranodons, bones-in-beak.

Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2009