Best Feeding Poems
piercing swallow's wings
earth by heaven's mirror streaked
ripples between worlds
18.03.06
A mellow day it was in my city,
So I went outside to take a walk.
The river by my house was so pretty
I sat myself right down on a small dock.
I had with me a sandwich for my lunch.
Mom let me make it by myself, you see!
I took it out and had begun to munch,
While kicking at the water happily.
Then suddenly, I heard the quack quack quack
Of many ducklings I’d not even seen
Before that time! For speed they did not lack.
The first one had a neck and head dark green.
I tore in pieces all my sandwich bread
And tossed the bits to him and the others.
I think we all should share, though big “Green Head”
Tried to take the pieces from his brothers.
That big one and the others were so cute
My sandwich did not last more than a while.
Then Green Head fled; the others followed suit.
They left me with no lunch but with a smile!
Written May 19, 2016
It was there, just by chance, we were caught unprepared
Staring, surprised, into eyes of the past
I'd been watching the ducks as they circled the pond
It seems that the hands on a clock sweeping time
had circled around and like the ducks, without end
Today, on this bench, lost men will linger,
while waiting for nothing, and no place to go
Once we had claimed this 'our' place to hold hands,
planning a future that never began
Children we were with the world at command
I'm glad we aren't talking in circles, .. like then
Other children are playing in the rust afternoon,
zippered up tight, against winter wind
Talking of children..you tell me there's two
You show me a photo,…then, I share a few
I am all out of bread, as the sun starts to fade
taking away all the stains of the day
East of the bandstand shadows grow long,
falling in corners like memories do
We've learned to know twilight can be bittersweet
And taste what dim recall has only allowed
Goodbyes are said, and you then, kiss my cheek, ..
then you turn and you wave, as you are crossing the street
Left wondering now, where those lost men will go,
it worries my brow, what lost men will eat
A shadow of you, is still left in the park, …
of us holding hands, as it starts to get dark
I leave a few dollars here, on our bench
Checking my watch,… I will leave no regrets
________________________________________________________________
When Love Reckons For A Second Time Contest
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
She is a princess sitting on her throne;
her subjects down below now make their way
towards waiting hands, for only them alone
she holds a prize she wants to give away.
They paddle towards her through the river flow
to the reward she holds for them to share,
for she is here most every day to throw
this sustenance to them with gentle care.
She is their princess, and to her, they look
with eyes intent on gifts within her hand.
So cute they are, like in a story book,
the ducklings come; they seem to understand.
The sun is bright and water ripples dance
as these sweet creatures visit her today.
There is an air of symbiotic trance...
they come, she feeds...all share a 'love buffet'.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Feeding the Ducklings
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 05/30/2016
An only child on grandpa’s farm
I idly dream my days away
in hidden nooks or wooded glades
where elves and fairies go to play.
I race the wind in open fields
in shades of yellow and plush green;
supine I lie watching the clouds,
pick out blue patches in between.
I chase the pigeons, shout in glee
at lazy goats and grazing sheep.
Beside the lake I sail my boat
and in the water go knee deep.
Sometimes I fish with homemade rod;
that’s when the ducks come in a flash.
I give them bread out of my bag,
with cries of joy they quack and splash.
The ducks and I get on so well,
our days are spent without a care.
We have become the best of friends.
It’s love for nature that we share!
Cool water teases and tickles my toes
Whilst a warm summer breeze gently blows
I sit here silently on the sun kissed wooden pier
Somehow the ducklings know that I’m here!
Mummy always gives me a big bag of bread
So I make sure every duckling will get fed
They quack and splash in the water so blue
I love to watch them feeding, I really do!
The ducklings gather round me patiently waiting
Food in their tummies they are all anticipating
I try to throw the bread far out to sea
The ducklings quack ‘that piece is for me’
Soon the bread is gone, they have eaten every crumb
Still they gather round me, but now my task is done
It’s time for my dinner now, so I tell them I must go
But I will return again tomorrow, I hope the ducklings show.
Contest Feeding the Ducklings Sponsored by Eve Roper
05~04~16
Watch how easily souls are gathered
When words are falsely spent to mock
Unfettered as if hearts so mattered
Like tossing bread crumbs from a dock.
The least of ducklings are discerning
Fooled they're not by false repast
Paddling toward a chance of earning
While food through rippled currents last.
Fear rises from life's ledge
Only when you are looking down
Peering up from waters edge
Only warm sunlight can be found.
Trade only notes in eider down
And keep your carriage dry
Nary ye nest with unknown colors
And place not your fortune in a lie.
If it walks like a duck,
It could be a goose...
Feeding the Ducklings Contest
Judged 5/30/2016
He came each day, when the sun showed noon,
Two heels in a plastic bag-
Thermos of hot tea
To have lunch and
Read passages to the yellow birds-
Usually an hour, til they took flight.
But today the bench is unoccupied-
Empty, except for a plate of hardened ice,
Stuck smooth and tight on the iron,
and frozen sheets on the lath.
Yesterday his footprints showed-
They were longer than most,
From shuffling feet and a small round circle
At the side, from the walking stick...
But now they are gone-
Covered by snow on the path.
The ducks look, and for awhile they wait,
Funny squawks and squeaks in their throats,
Heads bobbing with each step of feet,
Perhaps the only ones to notice the empty bench.
Strange, they have not flown south yet,
As their pond is nothing but a white icedrome.
Perhaps they were waiting for their
Friend to go first, and now that
he has gone, they will soon take flight.
He walks spry in a gentler land,
Beard no longer gray,
Sitting warm- no aches or pains,
Face with no creased lines...
Feeding the yellow birds
on a silver pond each day at noon.
FEEDING HORSES
She was four years old
Apples in bulging pockets from garden trees
Cold day in autumn
Stroll down to Paddy Sands’s horse pasture
Stop at five-bar gate and lift her up
Call or whistle - they come from a half-kilometre
Black, brown mares, one gelding
Jealous one tries to bite the others
Jostling for position at the gate
All those soft soft noses.....
They will permit stroking
If fed enough handfuls of grass
Grass tastes better from our hands
Than when cropped by them,
(Especially with tiny flowers of blue vetch).
Their big brown eyes close up
So peaceful and trusting
Tempting furry ears just out of reach for her
Turning cold now after half an hour
Spoil them with our apples before we go home
Show her how to hold back her thumb
So it doesn’t get bitten.
Walk home through Sands’s cropped hayfield
To tea and biscuits.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Carol Brown's Contest "A Horse Story"
Feeding Mankind
We have to kill each other,
it's determined in our genes.
We have to maim and slaughter
to fulfil inherent dreams.
Fools believe man carries
a peaceful heart of sorts,
they look through rosy glasses
and never see the warts.
If everyone was equal
and needed nothing more
we'd still seek out a reason
to start a bloody war.
If nobody went hungry
had food for all their needs,
Mankind would go on killing
for on killing Mankind feeds.
Ivor G Davies
Since our life is but a grain of sand
Somewhere in the vastness of perpetuity
We may do well to reconsider
In the grandest scheme of things
The most precious skills to own
To be undoubtedly what helps us
Score high in the affairs of the soul
To live in harmony with karmic law
And at peace with the universe
In tune with mystical aura of eternity
As we search for the meaning of life
And spiritual success in afterlife
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on January 13, 2020 for contest FREE VERSE FEVER (AURA) sponsored by LU LOO - RANKED 2ND
Am I living a delusion, for I have
a mania, a verbo grapho obsession
oh yes, I have a fixation
for words and writing . . .
sometimes I am wrapped in melancholia
free-floating in strangeness
euphoria is when I am writing necro
unhinged, perhaps
maybe
I just have this urge to pen death
after all death has been my best friend
since forever it seems . . .
but in general
this writing madness is my daily thirst
I must feed my passion
my compulsion, my ravings
in nature I get lost in my mind
I have a fancy for flowing streams
and quiet forests
where birds sing insanity . . .
my ink must fall on white daily
or I am sure madness will invade
oh, lunacy may not be far off
oh, that is silly
these fits of mania are just
the hunger and need of
a writer . . .
___________________
October 20, 2017
Poetry/Free Verse/Feeding My Passion
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9511-76-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest , A Stunner 2017
Sponsor, Line Gauthier
Second Place
__________________________
Written for the contest, Mania
Sponsor Lewis Raynes
NA
I've spent sundials of time feeding ghosts,
teaspoons of fear
dollops of regret
pecks of what-ifs.
Just to keep them pacified
'til I could grow some balls and climb
the cold cliffs of courage.
but the truth is...
I'll never climb to higher realms
-don't have the gift.
though it took some time
I've accepted all of it.
I'm a creature born of the ground
made my nest in the good earth
I don't breathe stars
but I do inhale dirt...
I've grown up(somewhat) and tossed the ghosts
into a pit called self-forgiveness.
I still feed them scraps from time to time
but they'll never get what they desire,
the main dish with all the trimmings
silver-wonderful -shimmering.
Dove, dove, little dove,
What do you see in me -
A smiling man who seeks out birds
For his society?
Dove, dove, hungry dove,
What do you see today?
Old man with scraps of nuts and bread
He could have thrown away.
Dove, dove, with baby dove,
How do you treat your young?
You feed them well, as I once did
And teach them songs you've sung.
Dove, dove, turtle dove
You coo, "where is your love?"
She's gone to soar on higher breeze,
My lovely turtle dove
Dove, dove, little dove
What do you see in me?
A lonely man who seeks out birds
For his society.
written 1 Aug 2020
spring time morning sun
feeding robin on plum tree~
silence of strollers