Best Canary Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Canary poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of canary poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Canary poems, articles about Canary poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Canary poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
View all new Canary Poems
The Best Canary Poems
Why does the voiceless canary stare so bleakly?
Why do the sullen grey clouds desert a sombre sky?
As the ugly black smog blots out the valiant sun’s rays
The honey less flowers kiss the dying bees’ goodbye
Blinded are the eyes to threatened extinctions
On deaf ears the warning of ‘Mankind Beware’
Lies and deceptive denial that our planet is dying
Inhale lightly ~ there’s carbon dioxide in the air
No ‘free life’ for marine life stressed and bewildered
Aghast with horror at garbage dotting our oceans
Growth - Expansion - Development - Decimate the forests
Strip and deprive us our oxygen with demonic notions
Vanishing breeds because of your avaricious greed
We hold our breath in Hopes for this planet to Hold
Like a thief the stars you pluck from the night sky
In illogical arrogance you build your towers of gold
Contaminating our soil with defective seeds of profit
The clock of fate ticks ~ ‘Choke these weeds of greed’
New oceans we form with teardrops that we shed
Over broken promises ~ that Man let fall ~ to succeed
No matter how dark the shadows
A ray of Light will always penetrate
Hong Kong -
Dedicated to Kinzie a friend of mine originally from Canada who is devoted to the campaign to clean up Hong Kong, and is succeeding.
‘HK heartbeat’ which was born on 21 October 2001 as a simple text email from Kinzie in response to requests from friends
Today, the HK heartbeat community is a dynamic network and home to thousands of individuals and organizations making a difference. They are making our world a better place today for future generations. www.heartbeat.com.hk
The Buddist monks, recognising the need to protect the islands staple food of fish, for years collect the empty plastic bottles – recycle them, making them into recyclable bottles that you see gracing the department store and supermarket shelves.
Have a strict recycling policy I’ve never seen anywhere else in my world travels. There are different bins for various categories of recyclable trash.
Are WE all doing enough?
Video Clip -
Loren Allred - Never Enough (Live Performance) - From the Greatest Showman
A very compelling song though not connected with this poem describes the sentiment perfectly.
I trust you will enjoy it.
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2018
I've never ever seen her face,
but in my mind, she's the color of love
strong like dark coffee
She wakes you up early in the morning,
gives you an energetic taste of loving
to get your day going
passionate fire flows in her veins
She's got crimson lips that blow words of desire,
to keep the flames rising higher and higher,
every time she speaks your name
smile is sunshine bright
She walk towards you in her canary-colored,
polka dot sun dress that accentuate her hips so well
Her graceful charm is so a-maize-ingly pastel
mood indigo can really touch you
She makes you want to love her always,
under ocean lit moonlight and clear cerulean skies
Embark on a passage of endless days
verdant valley of iris flower eyes
She's as a carpet of grass with enfolding arms,
wrapping you in her love
Bury your head in her bosom, safe from harm
sugar is the sweetest heart ever known
She has a boundless supply of caramel happiness,
taste the creamy richness of her sensuality
It's like roasted chestnuts offered to a welcomed guest
visions of a streaming, silky satin dress
She has a winter glow like pure virgin snow,
a gift waiting to be opened by a worthy beau
Beckons you into her ivory tower to rest
Forever gazing into her yet unseen face,
which in my mind is the color of love
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016
My parents said I could not keep the black, stray cat.
They explained our canary would not survive that.
Parents out, a sitter, and my four-year-old mind
Let the cat in and hoped for the best in due time.
I am ashamed to have plotted murder when four,
Sad an innocent bird died cause I liked cats more.
The whole family loved that sweet cat, “Little Bit”,
Plus, I promise, I have planned no other death hit.
... CayCay Jennings
February 24, 2016
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016
The warrior lays her weary head,
With heavy heart she cannot bear,
Burning tears stream down her face,
As whispered memories touch the ear.
Her armour tarnished by remorse,
Her battle-cry a wimpered row,
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude,
Will never know forgiveness now.
The song began two score ago,
When two came knocking at her door,
In need of refuge from the world,
Of that, and love, and little more.
Forced to fight for every smile,
Her only solace found in song,
She longed for love to rescue her,
And plant her where she could belong.
Jealous tongues are seldom kind,
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love,
The caged canary only sings,
When coaxed to praise from up above.
For the steely spine that now I own,
Forever shall I grateful be,
A gift from her, and from her own.
Courage mounted inwardly.
I'll not forget how I have loved thee,
And youthful memories I will prize,
Til on the shore of His forgiveness,
Whereto now, we both shall rise.
Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff | Year Posted 2011
"Love Me Or Hate Me" ~ Says the Limerick
I am only five lines written for fun
Mocking someone with foolish words of pun
Love 'em or hate 'em
You praise or condemn
A poetry form some call "hit and run"
Some think of me as inconsequential
To the haughty I am nonessential
It's a thought I refute
And would gladly dispute
Cuz nothing I say is confidential
I read Jan's limericks about Tess Tickle
But did you know Tess spent her last nickle
Buying new underwear
Cause she hadn't a spare
She kept leaking in some sort of trickle
Tess had a good friend with the name of Neve
Cheated by keeping aces up her sleeve
She thought she was smart
Until she got caught
That taught her it doesn't pay to decieve
And then there was the one they called Maisy
Made faces that caused her to look crazy
One day her eye got stuck
And she looked like a duck
So now everyone calls her Miss Daisy
There once was a gal whose name was Mary
Wore wings pretending she was a fairy
Then I swear on my word
She flapped 'em like a bird
And started singing like a canary
Heard them tell about a gal named Sally
Made money hanging out in the alley
But then she got greedy
With those who were seedy
It was curtains in her grand finale
I used to know a chesty lass named Pam
She had to tote them around in a pram
Then had an operation
A booby castration
I heard she now goes by the name of 'Sam'
Did you hear about the one called Yvette
She can't remember and started to fret
It made me want to cry
I can't figure out why
Umm.. umm.. I'm too old and tend to forget
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2018
Sometimes when matters are in the gray,
it ain’t always black and white
There are times when emotions are deep blue,
canary yellow thoughts can make us wanna fly, shy away
Then, bright orange glowing memories
bring gentle, evergreen smiles
As time’s seasonal change sunset down on us
Being lifelong lovers, we got
amethyst purple hearts of courage
that beats with
ruby red rhythms of loving perseverance
Here at this humble, brownstone garden abode,
two pink carnations have budded and bloomed
Now looking at the graying of the skies,
we can see the rainbows in each other’s eyes
Reflecting the soul spectrum of our love
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
Yellow spreads her flowered self all along my lane,
asking only for some warmth and a little rain.
She might pose as Daffodil or enjoy the fame
of the seeded beauty which bears our sun’s own name.
Yellow makes the perfect gift - roses for the friend
whom you know is sure to be faithful till the end.
Yellow has a smooth gold hue stirred into our tea
as the nectar made for us by the honey bee.
But she isn’t always sweet. Yellow is a tart
when she shows herself to us with a lemon’s heart.
But she tastes so wonderful even when not sweet,
buttering the popcorn that most folks love to eat.
Nature uses her to paint over leaves of fall.
Used by man, she covers curbs or a bedroom wall!
Yellow whizzes through the streets like the cabs downtown -
yet acts like a traffic light when we should slow down!
In the jungle Yellow moves lithely on the back
of a tiger, blending in with its stripes of black.
We can smell, taste and see her in so many things.
I can even hear her when my canary sings.
Yellow, keep on shining in wings of butterflies,
and keep looking down on us from your sunny skies.
Written Feb. 7, 2014
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
Her world is as radiant as the sun,
golden as dandelions that cover
the fields and hillsides in springtime,
or the sunny faced jonquils and daffodils
that turn winter white to yellow bright.
Her touch lingers in pools of golden carp,
in yellow bananas peeping out from
verdant large leaves in peaceful plantations,
and in succulent golden ripe pineapples.
Her beauty is embraced by the yellow feathered
warbler and canary who sing joyful tunes.
She resides in the golden fingers of
light that spill through clouds, and in amber
leaves that slowly morph to red in fall when
she colors chrysanthemums and marigolds.
Earth's gold veins call out her nurturing name.
She is a divine dame...she is Mother Nature!
March 26, 2016 (rev.)
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
Cuckoo clocks are quite ornate it is said
But those raucous squawks we suffer with dread
Why could not its designer
Have found a bird much finer
Like a sweet trilling canary instead
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in Brian Strand's "Five Lines Down" Contest - May 2011
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
Pardon ma'am, but I noticed you've been staring at this painting for a while
She is beautiful but has such a melancholy face, it's hard to look away
Her name is Veronique and that's me behind her, the little canary
She's been my sorrowful mistress now for almost two hundred years
When the artist painted her she was wearing a subtle smile but then
Gabriel told her he had to leave for a fortnight and promised to return
He vowed to finish this canvas, painting her smile back on again
but thousands of fortnights and volumes of her tears have come and gone
no sign of Gabriel, so my Lady sits and stares wistfully, remembering him
She touches the bow of her violin but hasn't played since the day he left
I hear her weep late at night when she reads the poem he left for her
The edges of the page are torn and tattered, tear stained parchment
but Veronique reads it night after night then holds it against her heart
He wrote in extravagant hand the words, now on yellowed page:
Thou fill'st my heart with love
More than any winged birds
Could fill the heavens above
Thou art the chalice of my soul
The cup from which I drink
My warmth when I grow cold
Thou art nectar of my desire
Thou art the spark of my fire
Those are words any fair maiden would swoon to have written for her
She still holds hope that her Gabriel will return but I worry about her
She keeps repeating the words he wrote on the back of this painting:
My Veronique ~
Goddess with cinnabar tresses in green velvet dresses
I've told you her name and mine is Cyros. May I ask yours?
A subtle smile crossed her lips, her skin pale and wrinkled with age
This lovely woman with touches of cinnabar in her grayed tresses
Stood with charm and grace. She curtsied in her green velvet dress
In whispered voice said, "Cyros, I am Madame Veronique Rossetti"
Painting: Veronica Veronese Artist: Dante Gabriel Rossetti
6th of May, 2016 Within A Gilded Frame Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016
The year is 2025
I have come back to my past
To witness the Mayans
Who said Earth would not last
Was the year they declared
That the planet we knew
Could never be spared
An Asteroid shower
We could never comprehend
Sends this heaven to hell
In catastrophic spend
The first to hit
Was the daddy of them all
Our axis twisted
The human race in fall
Just of Madagascar
In the Indian Ocean
It's where it all started
That set our demise in motion
Like giant tower blocks
As Polynesia rocked
The force of impact
On the Canary Islands
A dormant volcano so reft
It's massive mountain side
Into the Atlantic slipped
To the eastern seaboard
Of the United States it shipped
A second Tsunami
Half the world long
Would submerge the east
Taking the weak and the strong
The second to hit
Hit a place struck before
Tunguska in Russia
Receives another sore
Daylight turns to night
As earth meets our skies
Fallout from the reactors
In shattered demise
Eventually filter down
Leaving bleeding lacerations
As we humans death drown
Some just a few hundred feet
Around the world they were marvelled
Until they meet their greet
The place where I stand now
Was Yosemite National Park
Now dark ridges of black
So bare and stark
It's been many many years
Since the sun shone through the screen
When I close my eyes I remember
When the earth was lush and green
How many of us survived
Will we ever know
Was this in our destiny
I think all around me, now shows
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
Kaleidoscope of a rainbow's hope,
realizations of grandiosity from a splendorous mount-
A looking glass for a peace, alas,
crystallization of beauty from an azure fount.
Sunset hues of yellow and white,
with a splash of Prussian in rain's delight-
Contrasts of the day and night
with a flash of a lover's fantasy sight.
Spectrum dreams, not as it seems,
continuous light shines with fervor's gleam-
A rift of a cliff of a twilit stream,
clashes with reverie’s majestic supreme.
I've seen the beauty held in
a rainbow's desire, as the rain ends with sangria fire-
Releasing all the glow acquired with the flow,
glistened tints of pink sapphire.
Palatial sprays in canary ways are believed to
shower life with nectar,
my medallion stays on my porch
these days, and receive nourishment from a
Chartreuse and cobalt
with a splash of honeyed hazel shimmer,
brings abstruse beauty with a flash
of lovely palatial glimmer.
Date Written: February 13, 2017
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2017
Be still, Mother Nature...
Fill me with a breath of fresh air from your whispering breeze-
Thrill me with the scents of fresh pumpkin that put my senses at ease.
Be calm, Mother Nature...
Cover me in crimson leaflets as Autumn begins to arrive-
My beloved and I love our walks as this season does keep us alive.
I've traveled through Tuscany and landed on mounts with refreshing waters. Seen sights beyond comprehension and still, I am left breathless as I watch a
Canary flutter as it closes up its nest...for it is that time of year again-
The glowing embers ablaze in my back yard release me from the stress my day has brought. Mother Nature has birthed such beauty in the softness of twilight. Orange hues from the Harvest moon bring loveliness to the beautiful -vastness of creation.
Date Written: September 15, 2016
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2016
In the southern parts of Africa
You can hear me singing my song
A member of the finch family
Maybe the smallest one
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of the sun
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant yellow soul
With an attractive mellow hue
I’m a border fancy singing
Whistling these songs to you
We are the songbirds of America
Hey’ the special roller tours
The beautiful American songsters
The ones you cannot ignore
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of the grass
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant green soul
With plenty of attitude
I have a wide range of songs
Let me sing you the blues
Were a colourful chorus of birds
Competing in the shows to sing
But not during the molting period
In the summer just after the spring
Were the birds of Canary Islands
But took refuge on Spanish sails
The most famous finch in history
Singing beautiful as nightingales
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of a rose
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant redish soul
A brilliant little actor
Hear me bellow out
Have I got the Xfactor
We are popular cage birds
On both sides of the Atlantic
The hen she’s kind of cute
But the cock, now he’s romantic
© Copyright KC.Leake
27th November 2014
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © kevin leake | Year Posted 2014
Reflecting the world tiny one,
In what you see where you've landed.
Dancing, copying, becoming.
Now, a yellow wild canary.
Then, a dandelion puff.
Not pretending but reflecting,
Becoming, summed in soul.
In the mirror I see the wrinkles,
In the silver see your smile.
I see the outside in decline,
You only see inside, for awhile.
By Edlynn Nau
© May 11, 2016
Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016
I never got to really know you
for you were always busy doing things.
And I thought the stories I'd heard were true
you were a fledgling bird flexing her wings.
Not a caged canary that sweetly sings,
but a hawk, keen for the thrill the hunt brings.
You always looked feminine and pretty
I never believed that I stood a chance.
And when I heard you were also witty
I didn't think I would get a second glance.
Yet, it's as if you held me in a trance
and I just had to ask you to the dance.
At first, I thought you’d never go with me,
as I approached you with a doubtful heart.
And I was tempted to just leave you be
because I didn't even know how to start.
And my courage was fast falling apart
scared that you’d reject me as an upstart.
Instead, you smiled, looked deep into my eyes
and answered yes, to my complete surprise.
Jan. 21st., 2018
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018
Flaxen oars comb golden ripples as I set adrift into butterscotch fog-- my miracle has led me here
Alone, enchanted by soft canary light from a distant Tuscan sun I look to the honey glazed horizon
Leading me deeper into blonde bliss I follow the fire in my belly as it suffuses me with amber valor--
Neither dream nor destiny, as the wind carries the dandelions, soon reborn from a yellow chrysalis
March 3, 2016
Copyright © Sam Jameson | Year Posted 2016
I love to reminisce about great Aunt Mattie.
Her home perched atop of an old barber shop;
a barber pole below her apartment told my young eyes
that we’d arrived at her place.
Her tiny space, smelled of a million confections and
um, lilacs; house a plethora of oriental treasures;
stories fed my wild imagination.
She worked as a nurse but, she was born with a baker’s soul and
she should have had her own bakery.
The old candy cane pole was so appropriate;
revealed her subconscious desires.
I believed her canary sang so well;
of sweet scents wafting silently throughout the rooms;
he was so blessed to reside there inhaling the,
buttery chocolate and caramel bliss.
I was blessed to visit and savor them as
I perused her, “what knots”;
the Chinese dragons and lions who shared her home,
her brass dragon gong, now lives with me;
it still sings of her creations;
each time that I awaken it and my palate joins the song,
as I travel once again through, “what knot”, stories; breathing in butterscotch, cocoa and lilac memories.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2018
In one ghost whisper of a town,
the mourning sunset had bloodshot eyes
A tombstone place that was
past it’s boomtown prime
Withering eureka hope fills the short cups
of the abandoned mine folk
Whiskey tears takes a canary desperado gulp
Purgatory waiting ~ Gut rot
has all the suicidal time in the world
to stomach more wasted dreams
On this dying twilight night,
a bad moon is darkly rising ...
as the half-empty
During visitation of a short desert weep,
a 6-foot four
twin emerald glow mysteriously
steps out of the downpour
A black-cloaked man,
with twelve lead fingernails,
was tapping a cold metal dirge melody
as he walked in
Taking up space for two,
the raven-haired man said to no one in particular,
Death was his sidearm friend
After ordering the strongest bottle
from a shakily, weak-handed bartend ...
the tall, dark-clothed man
saw gambling courage slowly returning
in the pale faces of the paying patrons
Green hue greed shone in the mirror reflection —
his baleful, beryl stare saw that avarice look before
Plenty of bottom card dealt undertaker action
was coming ... coffin photos taken of a bloody floor
Midnight was always the best time
for quick draw ire killings
When drunken surfeit hearts had a belly full
of wanton violence feelings
Losing was the spark
that lit the firewater spillings
Scarlet darkness overshadowed
the cemetery sob kneelings
Cloaked in the mantle of a soul reaper,
the blackness of a red bullet hole
was a grim reminder
to those witnessing the terrifying departure
of slow hand ...
cheating, widow purse keepers —
That a dozen toasts for the living
always were closing-of-the-eye cheaper
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018
Discarded shoes are mysterious things
more than a deer, old tire or deep forest yetti
they come out of nowhere
one day they're here
the next day they're not
some hang around for months
others stay for just a day or two
like a wayward uncle leeching
a warm bed and cold brew.
Who owned them
why do they clog the road side
some looked like newborns
some look like death
were they victims of a prank
or are they lost homicide evidence.
I once saw two red sneakers
on the shoulder of the road
just a inches apart looking shiny and new
like dorothy's ruby studded shoes
they must of tapped their heels together
because by the next morning they vanished-
there's no place like home...
This year there are fewer than the year before
are roadside shoes the canary in the fiscal mine
measuring the sanity of our economy
are people hanging onto shoes for longer periods of time
holding tight to their money
building up the barter
another wave of depression is coming!
If the above has any truth
then in a high volume discarded shoe year
it means a boom period may be near
if a shoe has a minor scar just toss it out the car
wrap them around a telephone wire just for sport
buy a 100 pairs of nike shoes cause the money is loose
take a bite of gold chocolate-rent a tiffany room
wear a fur dipped in champagne and yell
Copyright © Anthony Slausin | Year Posted 2018
Happily the budgie chirps, his voice so clear and bright
And then canary voices join in, singing 'til day becomes night.
Robins pause outside our window to hear their harmony.
My birds sing with such happiness even though they are not free.
Outside, in trees, voices join in, a chorus of feathered friends.
Now and then they pause to rest as their harmonies reach an end.
Yes, these sounds, so beautiful, put a weary soul on the mend
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013
I once knew a sedate gent with class,
who would not drink red wine at church mass.
Would take a wee sip,
to wet his wee lip,
since red wine made him expel built gas.
Was time for his daughter to marry,
gentleman who liked to drink sherry.
Being a good dad,
I toasted the lad,
then prayed for fearless canary.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011
Pampero you rush across the pampa's of Argentina
blowing fast and strong bending all before you.
Mighty and powerful you make your presence known
as you travel o'er the pampas in triumphant passage.
Ah Simoom you shift around the sand dunes
sucking up all moisture as you journey the Sahara,
creating vast clouds of blinding sand. Stinging
sands that cut like knives tearing at clothes.
Tramontane you blow so cold as you traverse
the Alps bringing with you freezing ice and snow.
And flick over to the Pyrenees where you dance
in delight as you blow hard and strong whipping up snow.
Wreckhouse you blow down the slopes of the Range mountains
of Newfoundland. Cleansing and refreshing as you bring
life giving rains to their slopes. Vibrant greens left by your path
as you go on to who knows quite where
Fremantle Doctor you are an afternoon sea breeze
coming in from the Indian Ocean you bring
welcome coolness across Perth with a salty tang,
but only in the summer months do you work your charms.
Plough winds breezing along in straight furrows
preceding thunderstorms forming clusters of rain.
No deviation in your path straight as a arrow
you bring lightning flashes that lit the skies.
Calima the dread of housewives as you bring
dust laden clouds to the shores of the Canary Islands,
coming south to southeasterly carried by the
Saharan air layer. The sooner gone the better.
Abrosolhos with your frequent squalls that traverse
in the months of May through to August known in
Portuguese as open eyes you flow between
Cabo de San Tome and Cabo Frio causing chaos.
contest Wind sponsor Skat
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
There’s a J-Bird in my hand
Feels just like a gun
I might kill someone
Feathers come to dust
I walk sideways
Down the hall
And baby *****green
Nothing sane about me
Take your time
Before you speak
I’m on my way to jail
Blue Jays and colored grass
Is all I have left
And rabbit holes
Will have to hold you
Till the band comes home
A carnival dream
And a canary hat
My banjo on my knee
Look under the bed
And read the book
It tells the story
Of a man who’s dead
Never loved a single thing
But his death and clarinet dreams.
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013
They stand before me in uniform columns
A mixture of snapshots and Polaroids
As testimony to the time of us
Each is a witness to a moment that was
When I clicked you into permanence
And sanctified an instant never to be denied
There is the shaded image of you asleep
Your hand resting easily on the pillow
And I remember wondering where you had gone
In the passage through your dreaming
You are there with funny face and clownish pose
Sitting pensive and aloof beside the River Po
Lifting a toast, as if to us and all tomorrows
Somber and dejected on the day the canary died
You are there, made as forever as a statue
Immortal upon flexible plastic
And indelible upon my memories, you are there
Each photo a recollection, like ashes of reality
Engraved upon my soul in kisses and promises
You are there because I am your inheritance to you
Copyright © DAVID ELLSWORTH | Year Posted 2012