Best Eagle Poems | Poetry
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New Eagle Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Eagle poems are below this new poems list.
by Warren, Paul
An Eagle- Because of Them
by Heart, Dear
Mission Incomplete Eagle Failure
by Krutsinger, Caren
like an eagle
by Ricci, Lisa
by Ibeh, Edward
EAGLE SAYS THANKS
by MAKHAKHA, MOSES KISIANG'ANI
The amorous eagle
by Pett, Roy
Flying Wedge-tail Eagle
by Warren, Paul
The fish eagle call
by Richards, Suzette
As The Eagle, Came The Wind
by Stebbings, Barry
View all new Eagle Poems
The Best Eagle Poems
Never ever shame a woman
for the fire in her soul
still your fear that you're unable
to give that which makes her whole
Never ever shame a woman
for the fierceness of her love
when she wants to subjugate you
she's an eagle, not your dove
Never ever shame a woman
for her raging burning need
to take in that which inflames her
bond and let her soul be freed
Never ever shame a woman
for insatiable desire
use your all to give and please her
be a man and stoke her fire
Never ever shame a woman
for her sensual appetite
primal cravings that possess her
give her reign at day or night
Never ever shame a woman
when she moans in ecstasy
do not force her into silence
let her voice her fantasy
Never ever shame a woman
for her wanton sultry way
thank the heavens that she's able
to bring passion into play
Never ever shame a woman
for the pleasure that she craves
be a man and strive to sate her
for this act her honor saves
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2017
When Wishes were made on a shooting star
The Heavens looked down and smiled
With sprinkles of stardust on a whisper of moonbeams
They created for us a child
Soothed you were by twinkling stars
In a crib that faced a velvet sky
Did Queen Cassiopeia sing you a sweet lullaby
As she heard your cries from ever so high
In the years that followed you blossomed
Joy abounded at the Wondrous You
A rare jewel that we could hardly believe was ours
A beacon lighting a path so True
We named you Vincent - Our shooting Star
We felt with the artist you identified
a gifted creativity - an affinity with stars
Sharing a world of art personified
The ‘Via Lactea’ expanded into names defined
Elliptical galaxies pondered while star gazing
Sirius the Dog Star the brightest of all
Followed by Canopus and Arcturus - Amazing
Vega - Alpha Lyrae - the Soaring Eagle
You dragged us into your nightly game
Willing participants we soared with Him
Our mundane lives now never the same
Tents were pitched on ink black nights
Constellations on high seriously contemplated
Of Draconis, Capricornus, Gemini and Aries
The Heavenly hand that had so skilfully created
You captured the Milky Way in oils and canvas
In a fashion shared with artists of old
Your palette made up of hues and shades
With flaming strokes of colors so bold
And then it all Changed
Why did it all change? You drew within
Shutting us out despite our pleas
Your palette changed to blacks and greys
A boat rocking on emotional seas
We begged and pleaded - you shut the door
Leaving us baffled at what was wrong
Your light grew dimmer by the day
Our sorrow sang its own woeful song
And then on one starry starry night
The final flame - extinguished by you
Leaving utter devastation - bereft in its wake
Your parents’ hearts broken in two
Time heals all wounds so they say
Your farewell note being read and reread
Through tears of sadness, the hurt replaced
With acceptance and forgiveness instead.
And now as we sit years later on our porch
Staring at one star that sparkles so Bright
The words of Don McLean’s echoes in our minds
Of Vincent and his Starry Starry Night
‘For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that Starry Starry night
You took your life
Like sometimes lovers do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you’
Though fictitious, this is a story that truly represents teenage Cyber bullying suicides all over the world including Asia today. The innocent victims fear blackmail and repercussions refusing to talk it over with parents or mentors.
The parents are not even aware sometimes of the dark void of despair their child is facing and trying to address by themselves of which they have no experience and sometimes think the only way out is to end it all.
In this cyber age, these cowardly bullies hide behind anonymity, targeting their innocent victims, spreading and sharing lies and venom.
Hat’s off to my friend Kate Pennington of ‘Beyond a Joke’ Anti-Bullying Centre, in Sydney Australia, an amazing lady dedicated to helping the youth.
No real names of victims have been used in this piece of poetry and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
POTW 23rd April 2017
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017
I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)
Leaving under a blood moon
in a jet plane rising
los angeles falls behind me
to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I
...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.
I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.
you can't roll a seven with one die.
Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.
I eight...ate...need to eat.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.
A stitch in time beats nine.
Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down
an overwhelming thunderhead.
I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.
...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.
i think of you.
You are living art.
What I perceive
is what I live.
I perceive us.
I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
A form of plagiarism
I didn't borrow.
Inhaled you but
...i think of you.
March 11 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.
The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation”
are left behind on pock-marked walls.
High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.
"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it’s possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion
of maintaining our national security.
It isn’t even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!
Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-
I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.
The dream had felt so real.
I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.
Everything appears normal here
on 4th Reichstag Blvd.
2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2016
Many eons passed on Earth, who only saw your face
Untouched your virgin body, floating there in space
Waxing, waning, gibbous, crescent, quarter, full and new
Selene the Greeks would call you; Diana, Caesar knew
Who would brave the ether, who would cross the void
To agitate the tranquil sea you had so long enjoyed
To softly kiss your ravaged face and return to tell the tale
Of Luna's hidden secrets beneath her powdered veil?
Three heroes took the final quest aboard their fiery steed
In Apollo's silver chariot proceeding with godspeed
Three days and nights they voyaged to their opalescent goal
On Earth they watched and worried in the halls of ground control
One held the craft outside the reach of Luna's jealous grip
While Eagle's talons cradled two who risked the final trip
They timidly approached her through the shadowy abyss
Luna waited patiently and received the Eagle's kiss
Nations watched and cheered on Terra's distant shore
As one man finally took a step no one ever took before
In our hearts and in our minds his words will be enshrined
"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012
Last POTD for the year - 31st Dec 2017
An eagle spirit conquers storms of adversity,
like a silent soul floats amongst the sky's artistry.
Soaring higher, ascending further from perception,
free from judgemental realities of deception.
Through silver rippled clouds glimpses of sun’s projection,
people - hills and streams merely blurred hued perfection.
Cocooned in tranquillity - brightly scintillating,
Elevated flow of peace astral souls stimulating.
Drifting like peaceful streams, formless in spirituality,
floating nonchalantly lured by the moon's hospitality.
Stars illuminate creating the path's foundations,
soul ascends carefree from a life of tribulations
Swathe in crystalline warmth of a galactic revelation,
merging with the Universe in its empyrean constellation.
Released from worldly strife in its final aspirations,
soul reaches joyous heights in its heavenly inspirations
A Maria Williams and Silent One collaboration
29 December 2017
Last POTD for the year - 31st Dec 2017
Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017
He lies, warm and straight; unmoving.
Free from pain in his transitionary world;
safe within a love that shared his body and mind.
Without her altruistic and unyielding care
he'd float through the eternal abyss
of clouds and endless memories.
Images of her weeping pervade.
Her tears flow in viscous streams,
like lava flows that wrap him in
a final expression of love.
Hands, once inseparable, are slipping apart;
yielding to a final, fingertip touch of goodbye.
As they catch a rising breeze,
closed curtains stroke a stirring caress
like the delicate sway of a grass skirt.
Tiny, impish faces appear then disappear
among the pattern, playing peep
then hiding in their secret, fantasy woodland.
The paintings on the walls become animated,
zooming and retreating like a camera lens.
Their inhabitants: alive and busy
like tiny repertory companies
in their framed microcosm,
creating scenes of a recognisable past.
Strange, vague faces of yesterday
hover in subjective silence as they
claim the gloomy corners of the room.
Some smiling, some scowling;
some turning away without reason.
Why would they turn away?
What secrets do they refuse to share?
Endless conversations with the dead,
yet only one audible participant.
Passed relatives visiting incessantly,
in forms that bring most comfort.
The vertical finger of silence touches the lips
when the living enter the room.
A shuushhh.....and they leave.
Returning to the mysteries
that exist beyond this 'mortal coil.'
But always they reappear:
a night-and-day procession
until exhaustion overwhelms.
Distant voices of children
travel the sky, certain to be heard.
That playground cacophany
amalgamated to a luring hubbub
of childhood communication.
The mind floats back with
the eye of a soaring eagle.
Back through the forest of life,
scanning images of existence past,
to a clearing where children
dance in happy, skipping circles.
Suddenly, the sky turns dark,
as leaves swirl in rustling tornadoes.
Ominous, churning clouds tumble
and roll in a thundering menace.
The children run, drenched,
in an expanding ripple of screams,
for the safety of the trees.
Then, a flash of lightning ignites
a wondrous, refulgent dawn.
He steps forward into the glow,
without fear, as he hears
the cry of a newborn baby,
held within its mother's arms.
He looks up into the eyes of the mother,
and then.......all memories die.
A rising breeze blows the curtains open.
They unfurl: banners of respect, fluttering
in unison for his last, whispered words.
On whose release, a wistful wind
carries them to an infinite silence:
'I'm tired, my love, I'm so very, very tired.'
Copyright © Jonathan French | Year Posted 2018
listen to the drum,
talking to the dance
listen to the elders,
whispering their chants
listen to the hooves, pounding on the plain
listen to the birds, prophesying rain
listen to the moon, time to plant the grain
listen to the tales, told around the fire
listen to the breeze, and the clouds conspire
listen for the buffalo, warn of dreadful days
listen, The Great Spirit speaks in many ways
listen for the eagle,
calling from the sky
for the drum,
a mournful sigh
Contest: Tribute to Native Culture
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Copyright © P.S. AWTRY | Year Posted 2018
I Death Wood
My skeleton, the trembling tree,
hit by the axes of ambulances
due to the decay of disease.
My muscles languish as wilted leaves.
My organs are rotting red apples.
My soul is the searing wind, while
my thoughts tick like termites.
The ivy of MS illness wraps with
waste around my twisted trunk.
Suddenly, spiders of suicide
descend onto my branches.
They crawl across my broken bark,
crackling my rustic eyesight.
The sun, a golden unicorn, gone
into the forest of healthy laughter.
My wilted wood wanes in a cloud coma
with no moon, stars or watercolor sky.
Where are my wildflowers?
Where is my green gleam?
I wait and wish for black lighting.
II Birth Wood
My family, the fog where most
float in the underworld as veiled
ghosts along the grassy grounds.
My thirsty roots reach for them
like wild hands hungry in ebony soil.
Sometimes their memory perfumes
and pollinates my heart with prayers.
My friends are a flock of birds that
become singing bracelets upon my bark.
Their feathers grace me like silk hope.
Their beaks devour the suicide spiders
on my weak wood, and their cheerful
songs encourage me to bloom once again.
Full moon flashes as a white wizard,
wearing a cloak of competitive clouds,
while moody night smolders as his black hat.
Spirals of opal light make my bark bright.
Spirit moonbeams weave within my wood,
healing hollow shadows, and allowing me to
taste the monthly midnight milk of magic.
III Rain Wood
Spring steams with saturating rainfall,
sealing my splinters, washing away webs,
and the dirt of daily depression.
My sap slides like a slow moving sea.
My tree bends and bows in all
directions, sprouting with joy.
Jade fire erupts along my branches.
Raindrops beat like crystal hearts
upon my boughs and my blossoms.
These clear spheres of nature inspire
rebirth and germination of all life.
My apples sing as flutes, my leaves
clap hands, and my trunk plays harp.
My lover, the lone eagle, appears and flaps
his feathered wings upon my wooden nest.
Our love is best lived in traveling weather.
My limbs taste the last drops of dissipating dew
as the crocheting clouds release final rivers.
Deer court in the fermenting forest,
while golden unicorn grazes upon me.
February 7th 2008
Sponsor: A Poet Destroyer
Contest: 100 in a ROW contest--3
Copyright © Chantelle Anne Cooke | Year Posted 2015
She longs to take possession of her heart, but she quickly forgets.
He used his flattering power to gleam the pages and feast.
Like the wind tossing the spider holding tight on a single web.
She retraces the steps in her mind, her soul dares not sleep
to be shattered by silence. She wonders if it will work,
are they destined to reach for spring sunshine, a bouquet of wondrous
beauty and sweetness. Like an eagle caged, she stumbles
and thought about the man in her heart. Her spirit calms a heavenly trust.
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2018
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
Copyright © Canny Amah | Year Posted 2009
An eagle finds the highest mountain to build its nest
And lays the first layer of nest with sharp objects
Such as thorns and stones for the unborn with zest
And next, covering that layer with soft targets,
Such as wood, feathers and the animal fur.
So as the baby birds are hatched, gets protection.
As they grew a bit, the mother eagle takes
The nest materials and mixes them up.
The jumbled mass is now a mix of sharp and soft
And sometimes sharp edges may cut babies’ skin.
And next, the mother stops putting food
From her mouth to the mouths of the babies.
Making their comfortable world into painful one.
The discomfort becomes so great for the babies
They begin to fly away to get out of the nest.
This analogy of God explains the value of pains.
We don’t seek god when happy and comfortable
We turn to him only in times of troubles.
God does whatever it takes help eagles fly
It’s a wake-up call to teach every one of us
Not too much indulge in physical comforts.
God removes the soft coverings to remind us
That this life is painful and full of sufferings
And its solution is to soar in spiritual realms.
September 25, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place Win
Contest: God's kind of poetry by BriAN Johnston
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014
You possess me with those eyes of pyromania
a tidal wave of temptation thrashing into my need for euphoria
romanticized on appetite for agile reckoning of kiss ravishing, harnessing my hysteria,
plumed with lashes lent from love's wings, curling wet wishing
brows preened sexy mean, fur strip stiring me,
hypnotized by your hot umber rings
I learn how suspense stings
circles of crave unbuckling my brazen brandishing,
deep set on my desire I'm unraveling for the vixen fire, heart sweating,
born from the brown of beauty's sweetest warmth
eyes that bite and suck the stress
right out of my soul's duress,
for you I go forth...
You possess me with those eyes of eagle blue
you use a single glance my hesitancy to unglue
soaring in the sky of my sweetened fantasy
these blue crystal orbs foretell of ecstasy
But first...the hunt...looking for prey - it's true
it's you - the Eagle
brutally brave and fiercely famished
you glide on the wind of my desire
your wings ablaze with fire
your eyes fierce, Oh, how they pierce
again and again
my inner sanctum deep
their hue puts the sky to shame
demanding passion and cravings untame
they bore deep into me
slashing bonds of inhibition free
Our eyes speak
Brown and Blue
Me and You...
in your eyes the need to seize
in mine, the need to please
your eyes speak...
mine respond...Bonded, we belong
Eagle and Dove
Our eyes speak...
A Collaboration Made From The Quills Of Justin & Eileen
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
The Celtic dreams come forth through auric visions of an all-seeing eye.
An ancient calling where the mystic rivers flow down a rugged mountain
while Angels bathe in the springs of an everlasting and radiant beauty.
The Soul grasps at memories enfolding within fields of emerald green,
where the sun kisses the golden barley as it dances softly to a warm,
I see my blessed star once more awaiting me upon the great golden plain,
enchanting the beautiful songbirds’ sweet melodies, and holding the air
one breathes. I come on the breath of a sigh, as the haunting Celtic pipes
are calling breathlessly to your adoring beauty, with true angelic music
playing wondrous tunes to you over the mountains forever more.
From the Kingdom of Arrach, I stand looking out over a magical mountain
river from which mighty waters roar, and find deep ethereal senses pure
where the inner eye sees through murky depths, on the edge of a dark
mysterious voyage toward the dreams of my past. Stars twinkle in an
azure sky, and within these stars my Diamond Queen is shining, as liquid
gold melts blending gently with radiant colors of a misted celestial light.
I stand as the true power of an ancient time, and the past lives live on
within my warrior heart. High above the mountain an eagle spreads its
wings, evoking the horizon, and sounding soft echoes as an affectionate
calling. My beloved, this Celtic heart beats only for you. Come to me from
your star, and we shall join once more, uniting dreams under the sleeping
eyelids, and later awaken the whispers in the seed and pollen floating in
the enchanted night air.
The eagle circling ever so slowly in descending circles, with a halo vision,
falling to the spirit of Celtic beauty. A flaming heart burns once more, you
come as promised, eclipsing upon this earth. I kneel before you my gracious
one to softly kiss your breathless petals. A thousand dreams take flight. The
lonely wolf on the highest pinnacle of Arrach awaits his love as the eagle flies
in search of a new Celtic dream to be reborn into this life.
Lighting moonbeams dance with the shadows of sparkling starlight glistening
silver, born into an existence from a black void of nothingness. The wolf and
the eagle shall now join as one in human shape and form. It’s at this moment
that new legends arise in the sunsets, holding your slender fingers to my heart
with a deepest joy that skips inside a chain that kisses your every command.
And now behold the glory of the coming, as light explodes in such colored hues.
If I could blow onto your hair a gentle whisper where a Soul floats, breathing
warm treasure sparkles, with one very special gleam. Once more King Aird Righ
and his Diamond Queen come forth to redeem again the mantle of Celtic glory
and storied greatness.
A gift gem of a thousand lifetimes, beyond dreams of sweet honey, awakening
in the morning I bask in your very light and mythical presence. On the breath
of a sigh you come from your peaceful sleep, called by our Love speaking from
our ancient time, and with each passing moon, I sense while gazing at the stars
ineluctable feelings and emotions as the divine dewdrops of the morning speak.
You are the greatest jewel these blue eyes shall ever see—a diamond shining
bright in my darkest hours—you are my love Supreme. This Soul calls over the
ocean waves, as each echo in your voice ripples like a tiny humming bird with
its heart beating so rapidly and flowering kisses on your soft and sweet dreams.
Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (August 25, 2015) (Free Verse)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
MEMO for Destroyer Poet A Linda: 3. 20 p.m., 23rd April 2013 – Paris, France
If you are Red I am Brown
If you’re not
Then as one concrete painter using phonemes
Now we speak in the common-denominator tongue
Of those who went across oceans
Yours you took across the Bering
From the frozen solid roof of the world
The common step-mothering-tongue
And the common heel-bone
Take this memo down I tell myself
For my long-lost sister
Now weary with chilblains
And walnut warts from the long trek
Tell her you’re sorry
You took so long
Tell her you read excerpts of her outpouring
In a lone-lost cave overgrown with moss
lost without cause
Mixed with the growls and coughs of shaggy beasts
And the lone mountain lioness’ scowling howl at the stars
In a dry season
Tell her you’re sorry not to have returned the compliment
For this’s the Way of the Community
That each rushes to fulfill a sacrosanct duty
I read your spiraling lyrical threnody
of the Soul’s age-old Odyssey
through the bony interstices of breast-beating moans
Right there where it hurts most
in the guts
I saw how your people lifted themselves
on their fists
after their arms and knuckles looked gnarled
I saw the claws of the lone eagle clutch your soul
in one fell swoop
down concertina centuries
And make you swallow your tongue
wailing in cloistered valleys of lilacs and magnolias
to the rhythm of crescendo stamping feet
and besetting winds
cacophonous through wildly flapping wigwams
I felt the ancient beat of your pulse
in the huskily refined whisper of your verse
come seething harpies
unleashed at my throat
I saw wild stallions
sleek and shoddy manes aloft
come steaming and fuming down mountain sides
your fathers tamed
I saw generations of silent sturdy women
kindle fierce fires
while brawny braves rode away on bare-backs
to bring the venison back
I now hear your gentle voice
in dulcet drops tinkle down waterfalls
of your manifold genres
Yet I do not hear you cry
Nor do I wonder why
You are made of that stuff of breed
That can traverse ice without steed
And scale Himalayas down continents
To reach the other side of impediments
And lest I forget let me tell you this
Your lyrical voice will linger long in bliss.
Every good wish.
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2013
It took place shortly after and the stage was set
before words before ink before heavenly breath
There was a rain on the parade
of eternal monotony
and the angels were elated
In the Beginning God created... the verse everyone knows
tantalizing phrasing that leaves you on your tip-toes
before grass before plants before earthly foes
And the earth was without form... (and talk about void!)
It was there when it was all lightning and storm:
chaos untamed in watery upheaval,
though the celestial walls were impermeable
Enough disarray to make a grown man weep
And darkness was over the surface of the deep...
It was there before it was given the title: Sea
Before light was birthed with a "Let there be"
Blanketing the earth with cerulean comfort
in preparation for ethereal tickles,
despair happy to take her wings
And the Spirit of God was hovering...
Like a golden eagle dipping down
into azure pools
knowing mountains will soon rise from your depths
... but LOVE is the requisite
... and HOPE is the heart of it
Just like the weather that's about to hit the scene,
before Pangaea performs in emerald green
... and there was morning the Second Day
Can you not hear your doubts just wash away?
---remember what happened on the Third?
I'm sure you do---
As you see Him reaching down with liquid love for you,
longing to invigorate your being
He wants to split you in half
as the Rod of Moshe
made watery walls of crystallization
He longs to enter into your towering trust
(and not just on occasion)
For sometimes the Water of Life is dramatic
Sometimes it's not
And sometimes your fears could use a little irrigation
(right now your eyes could use
a bit of prayerful precipitation)
Remember the ruby water that dripped down
the Face of the Son
that fateful day
Drink it in Become full
Indulge in humble hydration
Your heart will tell you what you should
And behold it was very good...
NOTE: Moshe is the Hebrew rendering of the name Moses.
Written April 2nd, 2016
For the Element Water Contest Hosted by Brian Davey
Six Words Used: Impermeable, Requisite, Invigorate, Crystallization, Precipitation, Hydration
Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016
In the midst of great turmoil and strife,
There is a force manifestly to be heard…seen….touched
A voice—ever so soft… yet loud enough to break mountains at their base
It can make a grown man cry—can distort the finest face
Lead the mother eagle back to its nest…
Run its hands against a tumultuous sea to rest…
Shedding tears of empathy when the woman,
With child, is seen- alone…sore. . . distressed
With mind enduring beyond mortal endurance
With arms stretching across the universe of opportunities and darkness
With eyes blossoming like those crazy sunflowers reaching to the sky…
Suddenly… you will feel its yellow fires
It is the very storm that knocks us down
To the depths of humility...patiently waiting for the perfect time to strike,
It comes like an earthquake and tremors the very soul into action...
It is the war of mercy that will devour to create and rejuvenate!
It tells the geese to fly south, whispering them in the right direction...
It is the soft growl of the lion that wakes its babe to safety...
Like music, it can soothe, or agitate,
Its rhythms changeable…forgivable…
When you take a wrong turn, a dissonant chord harsh as lightning will expel
Suspended in the air—colors more mysterious than hell
And when you love—oh how sweet love carries cherished lips cosmically….
A smile of the most precious melodies ring
New colors—see it, new colors shall spring
What this light truly means is to be revealed
Only for the precious few who listen and truly feel
Wrapped in the soft ribbons of love beyond all mortality
Beyond space and reality
Beyond the very tip of the mountain,
That never had to be touched to be brought to its knees…..
Not once did this force ever have to take the woman by the hand
And say with conviction… “everything will be okay….”
Because phenomenally… she would simply hear it in melody,
Inspired by the blazing sun of a newly dawned day-
Freshly caught tears of joy priding the lonely spider’s web
For Justin Bordner’s Divine Intervention Contest
Thank you, with love,
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
With just one of your smiles
I’m reborn to fly ~ higher than an eagle
Totally mesmerized ~ An instant attraction
A perfectly natural reaction
Sail away ~ Sail away ~ Sail away
A warm sun’s rising ~ Refreshing me while you’re smiling
Blowing winds of change
Telling me ~ don’t worry ‘bout a thing ~ it’s time to love again
With just one of your smiles
I go falling
Falling in love ~ It’s crazy
Maybe it's the sound of your sweetheart smiling
Playing music to my ears ~ sending kisses through my body
Every time that you walk by
You take my breath away
With the things your smiles are saying
A drumbeat starts pounding fast and wild
Whether love-struck ~ bewitched or hypnotized
I'm completely captured by your Smiles
Copyright © Arturo Michael | Year Posted 2017
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
"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
This enlisted soul
At eighteen years old
Barely a man
Not even street wise told
From the proms, to the camp
He kits out tomorrow
His future he stamps
Never knowing bloodied sorrow
In just under a year
He's older and wiser
To a theatre so different
Says his military adviser
Overseas he heads
Thoughts of back home
What goes through his mind
In eighteen years old roam
Where could he have been
In so short a time
Making joining words rhyme
As he looks to his background
What does he see
An eagle soaring
In the land of the free
The statue of liberty
And the bill of rights
With the thirteen stripes
And the stars to delight
He is just a boy
In grown up clothes
Another one lost
To a cause we will loathe
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
“Within Night’s Dreams.”
Michael P Clarke.
My “Star Maiden,” In your nightly dreams I live,
I come as a wolf all my love to give.
Hear my melancholy cry as I call to the moon,
Close your eyes and fall asleep, you lie in sweet repose,
Soon together once again my melancholy rose.
Screaming eagle high above, he shall lead you to my heart,
Through the wonder of this night our love shall never part.
Spirit wolf I shall be no more, for you I am a man,
I shall love you gently as only I can.
“Running Wolf” does call you to the heart of forest glade,
We shall spend the night together within the night trees shade.
As lover’s tears are falling a somewhat joyful rain,
These shall be the moments to alleviate your pain.
Now I chase the wind towards the forest deep,
For my spirit knows that you are fast asleep.
I hear my friend “Screaming Eagle” call in the night sky,
Above you he circles, flying so high.
Here in night’s dreams, once more together,
Within my spirit heart she shall stand forever.
In night sublime we shall share our desires,
Each of our dreams shall again light love’s fires.
“Star Maiden” through your stars you shall walk,
When life is done you shall hear the stars talk.
You shall fly higher than us all,
Yet you shall always answer my call.
To the stars above this wolf you shall raise,
Before your beauty I shall give my praise.
For now come and meet me our love shall flow,
Forever our spirit power shall grow.
Ever I am held in passion's heart,
“Star Maiden” and “Running Wolf” shall never part.
Within the forest we both shall sing,
Passion and desire to the forest we bring.
My “Star Maiden” how your beauty does shine,
Our love it shall ever be divine.
(Love Sings Its Song Series.)
Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2017
Armstrong, Collins and Aldrin
were the three that made up the crew
to be the first men to set foot on the moon
was what they were determined to do.
1969 was the year that it happened
16 July was the day
early that morning the blast- off took place
Apollo 11 was sent on its way.
They went over their plans for 3 or 4 days
on their way as they traveled through space
then it was time to descend to the moon
and gently land on its face.
On 20 July they made their descent
in the lunar module they commanded
History was made when we heard these words
"Houston, the Eagle has landed."
Neil Armstrong stepped out of the Eagle
and uttered these words so defined
"One small step for man
one giant leap for mankind."
An American flag was left on the moon
as a reminder of what they had done
they returned to Earth on July 24
their success was second to none.
This event went down in History
its success helped us to learn
that though other planets are quite far away
we can go there and safely return.
Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2011
The last gold leaf hangs on the bough;
summer is just a memory now.
You, too, have gone, my golden friend;
our summer days came to an end.
We said goodbye; our chapter closed.
How I will miss you no one knows.
On eagle wings you split the skies;
your spirit soared. You had to fly.
My earthbound soul will bear its grief
severed from you on mortal reef;
but returning from yonder shore,
your love in waves will wash me o'er.
You've gone before, my trusted love;
I wait behind, your mourning dove;
yet, from across the great divide
your voice to me in dreams confides.
No, I think not that dreams they are;
but communion of the near with far.
On such sweet songs I stake my claim
to know and love you once again.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
From my window lofty high
I sit and watch the passersby
Safely from within the womb
Of this quiet and private room
That's my asylum in the sky
And, I imagine...
From the safety of my perch
Above the elm, the oak, and birch
Alone, I slowly drift through life
Exempt from conflict, chance, or strife
Away from any harmful search
And, I imagine...
From my pinnacle of peace
Much like the eagle, lark, and geese
I wrap myself in solitude
Safely from the multitudes
And their evils that never cease
And, I imagine...
I imagine a world doing good
With folks behaving like they should
A world glowing with brotherly love
That's flowing down from God above
With all faiths lovingly understood
From this prison lofty high
I'm left alone to wonder why
Why the world became so cold
And, why compassion can't unfold
Out there perhaps a soul could try
But here alone,
...I can only imagine.
Timothy I. Brumley
Copyright © Timothy Brumley | Year Posted 2011