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The Best Bird Poems

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The Guise Of The Blue Jay Skies




F l y i n g a sailing tailwind in cerulean streams through beams colored creamsicle - are wings reflective of turquoise truth and the white purity of Autumn’s ether - he aviates a clear troposphere riding an unbridled capricious and combative boreas on the cusp of a new season ~ with a plumage infusion of shifting Cape Cod skies the blue jay mixes hues with the Northern azure - that fades to shades of turmoil to the South and East - becoming lost in its milky breadth its lilting light its dimming depths where the edge of rustic rural meets the ridge of conifers crooked twisted and back-bent from gales of salt-sprayed sorcery bold bluster - leading the charge of a cold sapphire crest - is bedeviled by the raw tongue-lashing spin of a brooding onshore flow twirling a brewing brawl whirling in slate pearlescent space s w i r l i n g with the dusky feistiness of stormy petrels - mobs of darkening fog fatten on summer’s fainty surrender ...leftover tints of tender cornflower and hints of dainty dove.. there’s a sparkle in the eye of the storm - as his mischievous black gaze mirrors the harsh harbinger of commotion clash and change - his piercing ‘jay-jays’ jab at the maddening mayhem of menacing air with the emerald-needled sharpness of wind-weary pitch pines anchoring the beige of coastal dunes - - where his refractive blues take cover in colorful contrast ahead of the bruising October nor’easter Susan Ashley November 2, 2018 _________________________ Poem Of The Day November 4, 2018


Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018


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BLACKBIRD HAIKU

beautiful blackbird chirruping the sweetest songs morning has broken Poem inspired by this wonderful Beatles song sung in Scottish Gaelic by Julie Fowlis https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0MzetQfKwbE 05~20~17


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017


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Odd Od Dodo

                                         Idyllically Odylically Odd I Be
                                   Such  is  my nature
                               It is who I be
                            In an unnatural world
                                   Flapping upstream
                                              I am ruled by the Ods
                                                    Not this man made dream
                                 Not a slave to the sway of         society
  Long labelled weird but      "in a nice way"
                                                                      I am apparently odd
         And so odd  I  will stay
                                                        As  I find more in common
               With birds and  trees  anyway
                               For like feathers and leaves I am
                                        Swayed  by the  breeze
                                       Roots   in the  earth
                             Love of nature my wings
                      Beauty surrounds me
             I live it every day
                       Yes idyllic
                             And odd
                                    Like a 
                                           Dodo
                                                I be
                                 Being an Od bird is okay with me




                                                           (even if that means going extinct)


17.05.12

Composed for Broken Wings' 
 Form O-Only One Contest


Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017


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Whispers In The Morning

Whispers in the morning
trying to find your way
listen to the bluebird
and what she has to say

The notes are soft and gentle
every one is played for you
the sounds of sweet ambrosia
her feelings ringing true

On painted limbs of sage brush
there's a stillness in the air
love beads are melting
and the bluebird disappear

Whispers in the morning
what once was there is gone
empty is the meadow
off has flown her song


Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017


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Whilst walking through the woods

Whilst walking through the woods one day
A crystal brook there, shone so gay
The sun was shining oh' so bright
As brook reflected all it's light

Buzzing insects all around
Oh' they made a delightful sound
Birds flew upwards to the sky
These parrots made a hue and cry

Carpet of flowers with lovely scent
It seemed this morn way heaven sent
The flowers opened to the sun
This walk for me was so much fun

Sheep bleated from far away
Oh it was such a lovely day


Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014


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The tawny Throstle

Trudging under frozen starlit skies
Against stiff Winters bitter blowes...
When ambling up past frosted trees
From the wooded valley down below.

As stepping into a clearing glade,
Surround ragged drifts of thinning snow,
Once Summers haze - long since forbade,
Now pale Moon beams all aglow.

For within this realm of Twilight,
Perched high up in a bush,
Snugly within his feathered form
Roosts a warbled Darkling Thrush.

Stirred from his ruffled thoughts...
Dulcet voice lifts upon still night:
With euphonious notes so sweetly sung -
Poured forth in harmonious delight!

Oh tawny Throstle, nemesis of
Nightingales, 
Did Heavens Choirs ever sound so sweet?
Your scrawny throat of melodious rails -
That kept my lover from her feet!


Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2015


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Beak to beak

A tiny yellow bird, tiny beak,
Sits on a tiny branch
Of a big green tree,
Taps its feet, chirps, hops,
joyful, playful, circles around,
Lands on the deck post,
Agitated, loud and louder,
Aiming to snap the piece of bread
I tossed on the deck.
A big yellow bird 
On the big green tree roars:
beware of humans;
Zooming in,
Grabbing the piece of bread.
I get angry at the big bird
Until I see them together
On the big green tree
Sharing their love
Beak to beak.

August  2017


Copyright © Vijay Pandit | Year Posted 2017


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Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013


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The Moon, The Swan, The Rose

The Moon, The Swan, The Rose


I see an enchanted image that you’ve never dreamed of
With reflections twinkling while dancing on wave drops
Of a dreamy blue lake that is a mirror of one white swan

A dancing beauty with a pureness that blesses this water
She floats like a princess with such an elegance and grace
As splendor ripples through a lens of her divine existence

A canvas painting as one masterpiece beyond compare
As the moonlight manifests a sweet rose in my dreams
Beautiful to desire now that nothing shall be disturbed

Within a frozen memory a brilliant diamond illuminates
As the full moon’s image enters the depths of her soul
And a sad, certain loneliness leaves her spirit exhausted

Arising before my eyes on the wings of angels I see all
Clearly now with an excited, fluttering magical heartbeat
Believe me—that this eternal blue sky is incredibly real

With a golden orb of light colors reflecting so exquisitely
Now as majestic images of God’s Heaven appear above
I see His very image of the Moon, the Swan, and the Rose





Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 2, 2015 (Unrhymed Tercet)


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015


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The Flight of Bebo

Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings 
'cause he knew he must try

There were two other birds 
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb

It must be so hard 
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me

I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?

Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor 
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever

He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings

Bebo worked hard all week 
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair

With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?

The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high

Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight 
just get up there, you'll see

Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see

The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly

From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight 
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight


Copyright © Roger Horsch | Year Posted 2013


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The Butterflies Dance - Whitney

 
~The Butterflies Dance~ (A Double Whitney) The sun is so warm and nice there is cheer everywhere cause spring has sprung one more time and winter so cold is now gone. The robins have returned and the hibiscus and the roses bloom again to my delight Now I see butterflies dance. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2012 January.27.2015


Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2015


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A Bedtime Story

Once, a long ways away, and a long time ago
Lived a wee little man with his silly pet crow;
And once every day, as the sun went to bed
The wee little man and the crow he called Ted
Would go through the woods on a nice little walk;
And while they walked through the woods, his pet crow would talk.
Now, if saying, “Pet crow Ted could talk” twists your tongue,
Just wait till I’m through, and the story is done,
Because Ted tied the twigs of two tall apple trees
To the tips of his toes, and his knobby old knees,
And these twigs made him bounce as he walked ‘round and ‘round,
And he talked really loud while he walked on the ground,
Saying, “Twiddle my fiddles, and tie me a pie,
‘Cause a silly old crow couldn’t fly high as I.”
Then the wee little man said, “You silly old bird,
Just the way that you talk takes the sense from a word;
For if fiddles could twiddle, and pies had a string,
Then ants would walk backwards, and old crows would sing.”
Replied Ted the crow to the wee wizened man,
“Perhaps ants can’t do it, but old crows sure can.”
Then he puffed out his chest, and he cawed cockaroo,
And he sang an old song titled, “How Do You Do?”
“How do you do, little maid, Liddy Lee
When the crows come by twos, and they perch on the tree?
What do you see, little maid, Liddy Lee
When the crows throw the cockleshells out on the sea?
Where do you go, little maid, Liddy Lee
When the snow drives the crows from the mulberry tree?
And what do you hear, little maid, Liddy Lee
When the crows throw the snow on the cockleshell sea?”
But the old man just laughed and said, “Such silly songs
Never croaked such a crow as he hopped right along,
Because ants can’t walk backwards, and crows cannot sing,
Just like horses can’t fly, nor do turtles have wings.”
Now the crow wasn’t happy with what had been said
So he said, “I will sing you another instead,”
Then he puffed out his chest, and he cawed cockaree,
And he sang him a song called, “When Two Turned to Three.”
“When two turned to three, and when five turned to four
Things got much stranger than ever before.
There were two little pigs, and but two blinded mice,
And the two musketeers played with three little dice.
There were five and twenty blackbirds flying in the sky;
And four the little famous boy who never told a lie.
When six turned to seven, and eight turned to ten,
Snow White had six little dwarves with her then.
All the town clocks struck first ten, nine, then eight;
And people were always too early or late,
So they turned it all back to six, seven, eight, nine,
That way we could always keep track of the time.
Now the three pigs are three, and there’s three blinded mice,
And the three musketeers play with two little dice,
And the wee little dwarves number seven in all,
And the clock strikes from one up to twelve down the hall.”
But the old man just laughed and said, “Such silly songs
Never croaked such a crow as he hopped right along,
Because ants can’t walk backwards, and crows cannot sing,
Just like snakes don’t have legs, nor do bunnies have wings.
And with that, the old man put his pet crow to bed;
And till early next morning not a sentence was said.


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015


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Death Tolls

The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls
of the plover flock, long before they are spotted.
The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky.
Markings of white and coal black weave,
wing-stitched, a blanket maker’s dream.

Sigh makers 	they close on the beach 
at high tide, the horizon shivers      the
sand blanches. These ravishing scavengers
light on the tattered edge of wet to dry,
dawdling with the dead.

Plovers are diminutive scroungers, one-legged
dancers, hopping to the pull of tide, dining on
crab-eggs in black-tie and feathered tails, their
gray skull caps lined with a black brow. 
Sparrow-small birds dress to the nines. 
 
A feast for the birds, fall crisps, crab moltings,
go on for endless miles. September is beginning
and soon winged ones will fly to sunny shores.
The cold Atlantic will moan for the loss of music,
the unstitched sky will part. The avian choir is off 
to the mud flats of Carolina. 


First Published Eunoia Review January 2015


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015


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Soaring Hawk - A Haiku Series

Soaring Hawk poised high Back drop a deep sapphire sky Winds in attendance Mighty wings unfold Caressing the Wind Spirits They lift and support Circling Hawk perceives Rainbow circle on a cloud Framed is his shadow On oceans of blue Snow hills of clouds seem to float On silvered ripples Waves swell as they curl White manes gracefully flow Rolling to the shore Higher still soars Hawk Wind Spirits on either side Carry him upwards Land and mountains meld Lofty mountains crown the land Great aspirations Hawk gracefully glides Towards the shore he observes His island in bloom Festooned in colour Hibiscus - Red, Gold and Pink In leafy bouquets Flowers - Pale yellow Their sweet perfume exuding Riding on the Winds Romance in the air Couples hold hands and frolic An Island in love Hawaiian Hawk proud Sees everything - land and sea Paradise Island Wind voices whisper Of Rebirth, Growth and Culture Hawaii has heard
Footnote: We recently visited Hawaii, one of our favorite holiday destinations, once again we were carried away with the ambience and peacefulness of this Island Paradise. The inspiration came while viewing the breath taking panorama from the 16th floor of the Hilton Hawaiian Village Waikiki Beach Resort. The Waikiki beach, the beautiful gardens and the mountains all formed the picture. But we needed a story and the Spirit legends supplied the theme. All this came together and composed on the aircraft on our way back home to Australia. I have tried to capture and share some of the essence which is the Spirit of this beautiful island, its rebirth of culture that’s embroidered in the legends of a traditional Hula dance. The Red Hibiscus (koki'o'ula) is the flower of the big island, while the Gold flower mentioned - The vibrant, sunshine-hued Yellow Hibiscus (ma'o hau hele) is Hawaii's official National flower. In Hawaiian culture, Hibiscus is a symbol of old royalty & communicates power and respect. The Hawk Kaha Ka ‘lo - the highest Chiefs where often called ‘lo – ‘Hawk with eyes that can see everywhere’ Ku Makani ‘Rising Wind’ has a position of power grace and motion. Ka Leo O Haukine ‘The voice of the Wind’, is so named. The two Winds according to the legend, are the voices of ancestors who listen and speak through the winds. Together they are the Spirits that uplift the mighty ‘Lo – The Hawaiian hawk. Some of the imagery described is seen from the aircraft as it would be seen through the eyes of the Hawaiian Hawk. The circular rainbow, for those who have not been fortunate to have witnessed this rare phenomenon, it actually does exist. POTD 14th April 2017


Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017


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Silent Hunter

Perched from approaching danger quite at home high up on the tree gazing encompassing the full view of everything around me Listening to the whispers of the breeze flowing through the forest trees Autumn leaves gracefully waltz downward on the woodland floor sea Movement sounds of rustling leaves beneath the canopy of trees Silently I fly spreading my wings striking with my talons wide Down into the world with impact force I snatch my prey with pride 3/17/2016


Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016


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Cry For Wind

Fly so fast, cry for wind
Carry me between your wings
Me, me, tiny, olive skinned
Blood of beggars, blood of kings

Lost forever, never found
Roar your cry across the land
Where the road once walked and wound
Stranded in mountains of sand

Clamp your claws around my waist
‘till my harness groans and falls
You will hold my torso raised
You, impenetrable wall

No giant strong enough to win
Or to grab us from the sky
No demon vile, no sinner's skin
No Cyclops to burn us with his eye

Fly my Harpy, take our dreams 
Kill the bad, the hurt, the sad
Cherish fragile shining beams 
Screech seductively and glad

Fly so fast, cry for wind
Carry me, my love, your wings
Me, me, tiny, olive skinned
You and me are blood of kings

***

March 23, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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White Wolf And The Raven

Rest yourself, my white wolf friend
Take your time, until we hunt again

You've filled you belly, as I have mine
We have much time, until next we dine

Then tis I, who will take to the skies
Yes once more, I will be your eye's

I'll spy a creature, then lead you there
Where you'll snarl, white teeth you'll bare

You'll fight our foe, to provide our need
Fresh dead carcass, from which we feed

When seen together, it seems so rare
But that makes us,such an odd pair

So rest yourself my wolf, of fur so white
Soon my black feathers, will again take flight

10/18/17

contest;Could you please
sponsor;Broken Wings


Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017


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Chimney Swift

Chimney Swift

My precious chimney swift
Envy alone
Has named you so mundane
Tethered to the slightest pause
Amid your life upon the wing
Describing you as drab
Cigar shaped
And flying like a bat
While within me 
Your beauty burns
And I thank you so for that
For from my human complications
The conditions of my sin
You do so delightfully
Delightfully distract.


Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017


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Just A Small Poem For A Friend

         Little blue bird
                         without a name
                                It's you I heard
                                    I play your game
                                       High in that tree
                                    You sing a song
                            And you want me
                  To fly along
             The beach is near
              But stars are far
                  A sky so clear
               And then we are
        Above the clouds
      The clear blue sea
       We sing out loud
           Just you and me

***

May 30, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017


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In The Name Of Dove -With Ram R V

                  



                  

                  little Rock
               Doves at my feet
             Imploring eyes watch
  as I eat and I    will share my 
                lunch with you not
                   shoo you away
                 like others do
              for I recognize
           your tam'ed nature
        Am greatly pained by your
       fallen stature Dovecotes kept since
        Ancient times Now you're persecuted 
    for our crimes Considered dirty flying vermin  
Might I suggest a different sermon  Giving  Praise
To Thee Dear Dove our oldest symbol of Peace and Love
 in times of war you have served us well For our men you flew 
    and fell Honored couriers meritorious saving lives on wings glorious 
           not just for your flight to flourish   But  by your  eggs and meat to       
                    nourish Been kept for sport and even pet Pigeons are Doves we do
                                 forget sporting the same flute like coo            and 
                                       head bobbing meet-cute "How do you            do?"
************************ One and    The same as famed in fable ********
                                                          Ordained therein by King Eagle
                                                    "...your name shall be used, dear Dove
                                                   as long as the world shall last, for Love" Of
                                                course of course we are all mortal yet you are 
                                              birds above and moral Models of monogamy and
                                           doting parents Bonded family and lucky for us City 
                                        dwellers amid the chaos you little fellers happily our
                                         Birds of Peace break bread with us on our streets
                                   
                                                        In The Name Of Dove!




















Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017


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The Wren

"A little bird told me..."
Of all the birds revered by the Celts, the Wren was considered the most sacred. In Ireland, it was called the Drui-en, or Druid bird; in Welsh the word Dryw signifies both a druid and a Wren. Why is it that the Druid is pictured as an apparently nondescript little bird and not as an obviously powerful bird like the eagle? An answer can be found in a story from the western highlands of Scotland. In a great assembly of all the birds of the air, it was decided that the sovereignty of the feathered tribe should be given to the bird who could fly the highest. The favourite was naturally the eagle, who immediately began his flight toward the sun - fully confident in his ability to win the title of King of the Birds. When he found himself soaring high above all his competitors, he proclaimed in a mighty voice his monarchy over all creatures who had wings. But suddenly, from out of his wings popped the wren, who had hidden under the eagle's feathers. He flew a few inches higher and chirped out loudly, "Birds, look up and behold your king!" This story shows the wren as a cunning bird, prepared to build on the achievements of others and to mock their pride by outwitting them at the final moment. The Druid was known as the 'cunning man' - the man who can become invisible like the wren, who can travel on the back of the noble eagle to reach his destination, saving himself energy in the process. Being small he is unobtrusive and being small he can enter worlds that bigger people cannot. Being proud makes one unwieldy; being small and humble enables one to slip through the eye of a needle or down the root of a tree. The Breton Celts go even further in according the wren a key role in their bird lore: they say that it was the wren who brought fire from heaven, but that as she flew back down to earth her wings began to burn and she had to pass her gift to the robin, whose plumage also burst into flames. The lark then came to the rescue, finally bringing the gift of fire to the world. The Druid's house is the wren's nest - a place of comfort and safety, for another important symbol in Druidry, is the egg. The Druid's Egg, made famous by Pliny's remarks, articulates the idea that in order to grow and change there is required periods of incubation - withdrawing from the world to allow the opportunity to reform in the womb of time. The wren's nest was said to be protected by lightning. Whoever tried to steal wren's eggs or baby wrens would find their house struck by lightning and their hands would shrivel up. On the Isle of Man, a story is told of a fairy-girl or mermaid who lured youths into the sea. One of them threw a spear at her and to avoid it she turned herself into a wren, but she was obliged to assume her own shape on each New Year's Day. On that day she was at the mercy of her hunters who, if they were able, could kill her. A wren's feather became a lucky charm to preserve sailors from drowning and no Manxman would go to sea without one. The tradition of wren hunting took place on New Year's Day until the Feast of the Wren was transferred to St. Stephen's Day on Dec 26th. With this tradition the wren has become a god or king rather than a mermaid - for the wren was hunted and killed in a ritualistic way, enacting the idea that the death of a god bestows strength on his killer, a variant of the belief that in the killing of the old king, his powers will be passed on to his successor. The wren symbolised wisdom and divinity. It is difficult to actually see a wren. At New Year the apprentice Druid would go out by himself into the countryside in search of hidden wisdom. If he found a wren he would take that as a sign that he would be blessed with inner knowledge in the coming year. Finding a creature small and elusive to the point of invisibility was a metaphor for finding the elusive divinity within all life


Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017


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Not The Bird

I can see myself
Outside my window
I'm not the bird on the wire
But the pole on which the wire is strung
With a hundred other cables cut and hung
Limp and spent
Outdated and irrelevant


Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017


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Myna Bird Solace


There they were, in the center of
our asphalt cul-de-sac street
circled around their dead companion,
four common myna birds, holding
their own semblance of a funeral.
I slowly backed out of my driveway
and passed by them in quiet reverie.
They didn't attempt to fly away or
even move as I passed by them.
Tears flooded my eyes as I realized
how much they were deeply grieving.
Their friend was truly loved and grieved
as we'd grieve the loss of a loved one.
Later on when I returned home the 
dead bird was gone, and so were they.

© Connie Marcum Wong


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017


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Told The Raven To Hush

Two have a secret , of touchy and feel
Hearing about it, and how it was surreal 

Two people who spent grown up time
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb

Telling the Raven, she's afraid it won't last
Saying don't worrry, dont live in the past

Strangers became friends, in a grown way
Will it now continue , or just be for that day

Telling the Raven , no lover could compare
And no one needs know, of the sultry affair

Time continues as always, only time will tell
As it did then igniting ,every last nerve cell

Said it was hours , well into that night
To wake and continue, again was just right

Stories told the Raven, had me even blush
And their secret is safe, the Raven says hush

Safe it will remain , but I just had to write
What i as the Raven had seen, while in flight





Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017


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feeding over water




                                piercing swallow's wings
                     
                         earth by heaven's mirror streaked

                                 ripples between worlds









18.03.06




Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2018