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
Tiny little birds perched on cattail stems
Enjoy the swings gentle breeze brings them
I aim my phone for a picture
Off they fly, irked at the gesture
Pardon me birdies, for creating mayhem
Written : 07/17/2016
Contest:"One Stanza-One Only" by Broken Wings
Copyright © Sara Chansarkar | Year Posted 2016
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
…on a Sunday morn, against the ever watchful
and furtive glances of bird feeders, who enjoy
the occasional, yet so gentle breeze;
the vibrant façade of this kirk and voices of hummingbirds,
in the rays of my morning orb, you suddenly appear
before me, with echoes of our yesteryears;
your sad, sad face reminds me of happy, happy times
that you once etched in my heart; now you came, with desire
of wanting me back, I know, for I can feel it
as I listen to your whisper to the wind “I still love you!”
“Great, just great! You know I did love you,
but it is too late now Honey!” my eyes silently answer;
…the vibrant façade of this kirk and voices of hummingbirds
have already intertwined, with resounding wishes
and marching of bird feeders, to part our ways, for eternity.
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007