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Best Hawk Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Hawk poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of hawk poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Hawk poems are below this new poems list.

Sparrow Hawk - Newsflash by Keady, Damian
The Hawk by Krutsinger, Caren
THE HAWK by Gauthier, Line
Hawk by Sands, Heidi
Mystical Lore of the Twilight Hawk by Ashley, Susan
The Hawk by Lou, Kitty
Hawk by Berggren, Alfred
A Hawk Etheree by Capitano, Phil
Soaring Hawk - A Haiku Series by Williams, Maria
Black hawk downed by Beam, John

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The Best Hawk Poems

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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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Life and Death Across the Sky

   Life and death across the sky
some must live and some
must die
   Broken wings and slivers
   Shredded hopes the
wind is blowing
   Feathers flying, hear the
   Of the Night Hawk
through it all
   Terror blotting out
the stars
   Talons leaving
battle scars
   Life and death across the
sky some will live and some will die.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2005

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My Five Senses

The pitch the peak of senses piqued
each completely

Let me see

searching my memory 
biking down Laurier
locking eyes with a hawk flying in the opposite lane
is probably my most memorable favourite sight seen

Epitome of sound

if I went bird I couldn't pick only one
so another favourite song
the resting heartbeat
of a well loved machine
that deep rolling hum
felt before seen

the sound of love
so not that different from a bird


another hard sense to pin down
puppy breath is one that'll have me rolling on the ground

Can't touch this

dancing rapt wrapped in a python
feeling the weight of it's smooth cool mass
feeling me

never more embraced

And then there's taste

this one's the most fun
Ripe Organic BC Bing Cherries
shared with a girlfriend over Scrabble
we lost track of each other
the game

taking tiny little bites
enthralled with the pop of the skin
the sweet swollen flesh 
scarlet oozing streaming down our...

I looked at her
and said what we both were thinking 

"I feel like a dirty old man."

We finally got the cherry thing!


Viv Wigley's 
Five Senses Poetry Contest

Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2018

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Lost in The Desert

Sand dunes, nothing but sand dunes,
Some large, some small.
And the sun burning over the terrain.
No oasis, not even a mirage of one.
Last drop would not quench the thirst
He felt in his soul.  For now 
She was dead and buried
And his soul was barren like the desert.
He would die, lost among the dunes
With no water for survival.
Fool.  He could make it.
He was like an eagle.
Eagles never drink water really.
Yet he was no eagle and soon fell
Sand clinging to his face covered with sweat.
Opening his eyes he saw the viper.
All would be lost now.
A swish as a hawk picked the viper away.
He fainted and opened his eyes in a tent.
He was safe at last except for his silent soul.

Not for any contest.

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2018

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Ghosts of the Sun Dance-Part 2

8. Transformation

Yielding to those who have mastered the art
Of grasping one's place in existence's grand scheme
Life’s constant challenges never depart
But humble diligence will grow the dream

In passing from childhood to adulthood
Innocence to responsibility
Firm new role can be grasped and understood
In life, pain’s inevitability

A mother birthing new life through the pain
Dad slowly works his fingers to the bone
Soldiers trudging all night though frigid rain
Bearing remarkable burdens alone

Accomplishing in life what must be done
In this day’s heat or ere the morning run

9. Volta: Race Day

In the day’s heat or ere the morning run
Resolve has hardened in preparation
For this sacred journey under the sun
Through the land of the Navajo nation

Race morning is upon us, we prepare
Patient dawn waits below sharp horizon
Last meals and supplies, shoes and garb we wear
Gather together, our spirits rising

A convocation and tribal blessing
In the solemn shadows of the mesas
Final rituals, tying and dressing
Spirit warriors in garb of racers

The starter’s gun sends our bodies lurching
Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching

10. Inward Journey Begins

Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching
A harmonious quest will not fail
Meeting the spirit hawk inside perching
Melding feet to the undulating trail

Smooth hand circles driving arms swinging free,
Shoulders relaxed, rotate forward and back,
Trace three-dimensional infinity.
Every sinew not involved, loose and slack.

Countertwist rotation, thrust straight behind 
Muscle springs compress, explode, power grows
Whipcrack diamondback wriggles down my spine
Through my circling legs, last snap through the toes.

With focus on moment in longest run 
Our life’s greatest challenges can be won

11. Meditation

Our life’s greatest challenges will be won
With the spirit and not by the sinews
At times next to you the Dance’s ghosts run
Other times they can be found within you

Smooth, rolling strides become my rhythm and rhymes
Subtly pick open my heart and mind’s locks
At peace, I'm inured to passage of time 
A slack-jawed Buddha floats between the rocks

Sun-baked vermillion cliff, eternity 
Spirit of the wild, you are the portal 
Stretching out to you, encompassing me 
Melt, intertwine, these moments immortal 

Fallen angels, my soul is expurging
When the body, mind, and soul are merging

12. Crucible

When the body, mind, and soul are merging 
Million drops of agony are the test
Pail overflows, vitality purging
Time spans both horizons, forgotten rest

Flesh hooks of my own Sun Dance dig deeper
Through muscle and bone, draining resistance
Standing face to face with soul’s gatekeeper
Grasping the barest threads of existence

Inside, my withering heart starts to burn
Black crucible over the white-hot flame
Ethereal hands grant me their return
By my side, shadows dance, whisper my name

Body aflame, yet not longer burning
Through sacred quests, our spirits returning

13. Resolution

Through sacred quests, our spirits returning
Wan smile as I reach the final milestone
The line is crossed, strangely without yearning
From the summit, we always return home

The Spirits have won, silently rejoice
Spasming leg muscles announce their first clue
Weary soul may have found its deepest voice
But penitent’s flesh will yet have its due

Dusty column of exhausted racers
Shuffling past hallowed final marker
Sun Dancers’ ghosts fade into the mesas
To echoed drumbeats our spirits harken

Our guides to the Spirit World returning
This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning

14. Aftermath

This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning
With Spirits’ help, my soul has passed this test
Feet caressed the trail while muscles burning
My abiding need, this challenging quest

This long day ends without ceremony
Racers festooned in laurels internal
The trail run’s own spirituality
Modern Sun Dancers’ reward eternal

While the roads to the summit are many
One means up the mountain for those who seek
Life’s spiritual rigors aplenty
A runner’s path may also find the peak

Deep within us, we need this victory
A quest dating back through our history

15. Ghosts of the Sun Dance

A quest dating back through our history
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul is reborn

Our modern world lacks initiations
With substance to satisfy questing hearts
Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Yielding to those who have mastered the art

In this day’s heat or ere the morning run
Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching
Our life’s greatest challenges can be won
When the body, mind, and soul are merging

Through sacred quests, our spirits returning
This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning

Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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The Perfect Day

Mist rises from the valley floor Sunshine peeks over the mountain top silhouetting the Coopers Hawk soaring in the southern breeze I sit in my old oak rocking chair drinking my dark black coffee taking it all in. Mornings don't get any finer I am one one with nature. The smell of flapjacks fill the air Then out walks you my heart skips a beat as you smile brighter than the clear blue stream blending in beautifully with the azure sky your caramelized eyes glisten each time you glance my way I can't help but smile for this is the perfect day

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015

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Owl Parliament, Eagle Owl Presiding

Owl Parliament is now in session, so be quiet please.
All whistles, hoots, growls, grunts and screeches need to cease.

As the largest of you all, I’m in charge, you see.
Not to mention, I have killed four warthogs and a monkey!

Sir Snowy thinks we need to show a more united front
to stand against our predators when they are on the hunt.

Why are we killing one another? We’re a dying breed!
There are other birds out there on which we all could feed.

Let’s get to know each other and what makes us so unique.
Miss Elf, our very smallest, I invite you first to speak.

Hello, my fellow owls. As some of you may know,
five inches is about as tall as my kind ever grow.

I’d like to teach you something so you won’t be so inclined
to kill each other or to come after my own kind!

I’ve learned, besides small animals, there’s other stuff to eat.
Fruit, especially prickly pear, can make a yummy treat.

I hope you’ll try to eat some fruit. Seeds are so good too.
And now, my dear friend Pygmy, can we hear from you?

Thank you, Elf. I represent the owl who likes to toot.
And I am not ashamed to say that I don’t give a hoot!

I’ve been asked by Eagle Owl to warn you of some dangers.
Guard your talons and your feathers from some human strangers.

There are some so ignorant, they’ll want to take your eyes
or make of you a broth because your vision they so prize!

We’ve got depth perception, but myths we must dispel.
Since our eyes are tubular, up close we don’t see well.

For our enemies, this can make us easy prey.
But our hearing is so good, it can save the day.

What we hear is magnified times ten. My fellow owls,
I have to say we are the best compared to other fowls.

But beware. We’re also seen as bad luck. Simply for
misconceptions (all man-made), they’d nail us to their door.

I give the floor to Eagle now. A mighty owl is he.
As cunning as a hawk, he shows us all how we can be.

Thank you, Pygmy. I now have a few more parting words.
Barn owls, true owls, all of you are such fantastic birds.

Please realize that other owls are not your enemies,
but rather fences, pesticides, and tearing down of trees.

The humans have endangered us, yet still they find us cute.
Be wise. If caught by one of them, just give a tiny hoot.

I’ve seen the humans ooh and ah just to hear our sound.
We’re a bird that most of them would like to have around.

So never fear. With your big eyes, just sweetly blink and coo.
Then do that swivel with your neck that we all like to do.

They’ll be like putty in your talons. I am sure of that.
I bet we could become the pet to supersede the cat!

This meeting is adjourned. I hope that all owls will unite
to truly be what we are known for; wise ones of the night.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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I stand at the front of the exam hall, which is in total silence. Grey desks stretch out in neat rows - they remind me of gravestones in the local cemetery, with white faced students their unwilling occupants. The only sounds that can be heard are the pages being turned over and the scrawling of pens on the paper. Exam invigilators creep around the room like mice, their hawk like eyes ensure no one is cheating. Suddenly a booming fart breaks the silence - it sounds like a machine gun that has been fired in short staccato blasts. We can clearly see the perpetrator as his face is as red as a raspberry! Muffled giggles are stifled and silence is once again restored. A true story! Noise Contest Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton 03~09~17

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017

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Dancing Bird - with video link   Dancing Bird

Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window, 
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion 
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him. 
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.  

Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.  
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony. 
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before.  I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin 
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons. 

Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.

Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2010

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Sunrise on the Living Desert

Streaks of pink 'cross morning skies.
Land shaded lemon; last star dies…
Lightening blue spreads far and wide,
a half red sun. New dawn’s arrived.	

This living desert yawns and wakes.
A foreign sparrow flits and takes
what morsel that darkness denied
to night feeders who now hide.

The sun begins its golden rise.
Shadows bear before my eyes.
Range of mountains now in view
look purple hazed and crumpled too.

A gentle breeze blows cool and soft.
A drifting hawk soars past aloft.
A static call echo's the morning.
Somewhere close, the first days warning.

There's golden bloom on mulga's face,
saltbush combines in shadow space,
a  rabbit warren mounds the sand!
Three's company seems hand in hand.

The rugged hillside carved away,	
gorged and furrowed brown and gray.
Eroded sand displays the shale,
where layered seams look to impale.

Tufted grasses dry and withered,
amongst that broken shale that slivered.
Stand out quartz already bright;
The rising sun turns glistening white.

A different swallow, black and white;
blue backed wrens dart out of sight.
Sunning now on walking tracks,
lay together; shingle backs.

And now the scene spreads far and wide,
to struggling wattle; sheer cliff side.
On closer look near at the base,
three kangaroos take a two-step pace.

Stillness lingers, there's an unknown call,
what bird is that? I love them all!
And the red plain grows beneath blue skies,
as the living desert welcomes sunrise.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster

Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.

I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.

He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.

The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.

He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.

With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.

But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon… 
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!

Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

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I flew once in a field, full of flowers,
a field that was kissed by April showers.
I tasted all the jasmines, as sweet as new,
I did bathe on a leaf in a little dew. 
I was busy playing till the midnight,
I woke up and I was not sure of my sight.
I was a bird soaring as high as a hawk. 
Flying like a wind, with wind had a talk.
I turned into a wind, and then to a cloud, 
A dark and dim cloud that thundering loud.
I turned into the rain, after being cloud,
quenching the deserts with silvery shroud.
I turned into river, and then to a sea,
although, I was water, I learned how to see. 
I turned into a fish perfectly aware,     
knowing that my lover is surely out there. 
Swimming like a fish, my world became cold,
I lost my will to live, too soon grown old.
I heard a nightingale calling me at night, 
telling me, being a man, it could be alright.
I turned into a man, in search of wisdom, 
hoping that love and peace, ruling the kingdom. 
A lot of years have passed, with a broken heart, 
I could not find the peace, I need a new start. 
I will change back again, to look for my love;
maybe a lamb or sheep, maybe a white dove. 
I will look everywhere, until it is found. 
I know it’s there for me, if I look around. 
Until then I’ll become laughter to a child, 
or maybe dandelion who grow wild.


Copyright © Pashang Salehi | Year Posted 2016

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Eagle and the Dove

Gather around the sacred fire, my children
Let the embers' glow spark your curiosity
as we begin on this journey together;
to the time of how things once were,
to the time of how things came to be
In the beginning,
there was no war, only peace
There was no hate, only love
Harmony existed between all things,
it was the age when the eagle flew alongside the dove
Now the eagle lived high in the cliff of a great mountain,
and the dove lived in the lush valley below
And the seasons continued unabated,
from the summer's heat to the winter's snow
Then one day as the eagle sat, perched high atop his domain,
an evil thought entered his heart,
that only he alone over everything should reign
He felt because he was the most powerful bird,
his voice should always have the final word
So he gathered the other birds together,
to have them agree to make him their chief
The falcon and the hawk said they liked the idea
The raven and the owl said lets not be so hasty
The debate went on for days,
and the eagle grew restless with each passing hour
Until the stork delivered him a message,
during one spring early morning shower
The message said that the dove and the swan,
never came to a meeting, no not once
Thus, the eagle flew down to the edge of the pond,
and asked the swan about his absence
The swan said such matters concern him not,
let he who rule, let him rule just
As for the whereabouts of the dove, the swan said
he was in a cove by the big tree with the chestnuts
The eagle went and confronted the dove,
and accused him of stalling his coronation oblation
The dove replied with a gentle reproof,
saying to go down this wicked path will divide the earth into two nations
One will love war, and the other will love peace
One will hate killing, and the other will hate mercy
One will love freedom, and the other will love slavery
One will hate healing the pain, the other will hate causing hurt and misery
The eagle got angry at what the dove had to say,
and they no longer flew together after that day
So now you know, children, the story of the eagle and the dove
Which will you choose?
Will you choose to love hate,
or choose to live the peaceful way
Will you choose to hate love,
or choose to possess the spirit of a dove

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

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A Hunger

To wander in drab gloomy streets.
Sleepy eyes, red cold nose,
darkened cheekbones,
a rumbling stomach.
A nightmare condensed,
no way out.  
How many tears must he shed?

High on a building a large bird sat,
black as dusk, eyes searching for prey.
Was it a hawk or a crow?
His eyes could barely see,
but he could smell
the coffee being prepared,
the toast being burned.

All in vain, the bird was better than him.
He swallowed his pride
and slowly trudged
towards a day shelter.
At least there he could eat.
Then back again
in the dark streets
where he could hide
from foreshadows of death.

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

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Mystical Lore of the Twilight Hawk

Aloft, with keen eyes in sorbet skies’ raspberry half-light, does visceral vibrations of vitality await. Soaring in a hush, with plumage plush, a silent stealth kite, he glissades on ghostly winds with mystical wings of fate. Poised to plummet from his summit of purple sundown spread with wingspan wide, wreathed gradual glide, hunts a twilight hawk. Floating form causes flocks to brainstorm on life or death dread, those flying forlorn, late to roost, are reduced by his stalk. Aerodynamic, his dramatic dive deals destiny, raptor raptly pursues passerine through air’s plum-bruised dim. Whispering wings whisk to live and not die desperately, over the arborvitaes the future for one is grim. If it’s true that energy never dies; its cries transform, then songbird's notes will ascend on hunter's wings in reform. December 3, 2017 ------------------------------ ~ First Place ~ Contest: Your Best Poem In The Last Year Sponsor: Silent One ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~ Seventh Place ~ Contest: Best Rhyming Poem October - December 2017 Sponsor: John Hamilton

Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2017

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My Fallen Fay

Twas’ by a waterfall quite late,
Beneath the stars, full moon awake,
I saw my tiny love, my Fay,
Upon a mossy bank, she lay;

At first glance, I thought a dragonfly,
Poor thing had died whilst on the fly,
Fell there dead on that cold wet ground,
Until a closer look, bent down;

What I thought a mosquito hawk,
Sent me shivers whilst I gawked,
Arms, two legs, such delicate wings,
With Violet gown laid my undine;

I dare not touch her least she break,
Then realized it was my fate,
To take her home, to mend her there,
My little Fay with golden hair;

I placed her in a matchbox bed,
A cotton ball beneath her head,
Cut blankets from a silken scarf,
And tucked her in with weeping heart;

The days that passed where dreary ones,
For I was worse than faerie dumb,
And cursed myself each pacing night,
Inept to help my fading sprite;

With drooping eyes, and quite depressed,
I felt my heart sink in my chest,
My dear sweet Fay was turning blue,
And there was nothing I could do;

My shoulders shook, my tears were rain,
My love for Fay an aching pain,
I prayed take me, take me instead, 
Then little Fay moved in her bed;

Into the air, a dart she flew,
Her wings a blur, no longer blue,
Around my head, she circled twice,
Then out the window, lost to night;
My heart became an empty thing,
Until I heard the buzz of wings,
And saw sweet Fay had spun around
With wand in hand, she shrunk me down;

My clothes are piled on the floor,
Gargantuan garb, which I once wore,
Dear Fay prefers my naked skin,
And woods have spider webs to spin.

Copyright © Claire de la Grange | Year Posted 2006

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Sitting on the Fence at Twilight

Sitting on the Fence at Twilight

When the sun waved good-bye in the afternoon,
I’d say hello to the smiling Man in the Moon. 
Perching on our gray concrete fence,
I’d swing my brown legs to a happy cadence.
From my solid fortress, I could see
a daily circus of human activity.

On a single bicycle rode the Fabros, a family of four;
how they all fit, it was a mystery to be sure.
The street vendor, old Papito, would hawk his treats;
oh! those warm, sticky, honey buns and tamarind sweets.

Sashaying in her tight-fitting skirt of tomato-red,
Cousin Clarita balanced a green basket on her turbaned head.
Then came buxom Aunt Alfreda huffing and puffing by,
to give me a piping hot, home-made, savory meat pie. 
I’d blow on it to cool it off first, just
before biting into the flaky, buttery crust. 
As day soon faded into hues of twilight,
I’d spy the occasional shiny satellite,
a tiny, silver snail slowly revolving in the sky,
moving so silently above, way up high.

For a child of seven, this was such a wondrous time…
right until the old town clock chimed nine.
Then Mama would ring her bell calling me inside,
and I’d leave the stars still twinkling outside.


Contest:       An Early Childhood Memory
Sponsor:      Line Gauthier
Placement:   3rd 

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2018

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Fred Junior

Fred The Hawk and his wife were most frightening to behold.
No one got away from them; they were in a class so very bold.
They had Fred Junior, most frightening, first time he was around.
But he was something quite unique, it was soon abruptly found.

With one hundred fifty birds to choose, he couldn’t snag even one.
The Ballad of Fred Junior, was soon sung by each and everyone.
His Mom and Dad worked daily to bring him up to his best speed.
But even they had to eventually, concede to their ultimate defeat.

Junior wasn’t like his Papa, and not like his Mama, regretfully, too. 
So they eventually left him at our bird feeder, and waved a fond adieu.
Sink or swim little fellow, would become his motto, in the terrible end.
For after missing everything, he saw a nasty squirrel, chattering at him.

By now he was getting very hungry, and a tasty birdie would be nice.
But he set sail, and grabbed that squirrel, and man was there was a fight.
Unfortunately, Fred Junior was finally both: out manned, and out clawed.
Later he was found, soaking his bum, in the birdbath, feeling flawed.

True, he was not like his mama or his papa too, in what he could do.
But he was someone very special, I will say, most assuredly, as I tell you!
For there in my wood pile, he spied a little mouse, and with one pounce…
He had his dinner at last! He became a great mouser… imagine that…

The moral to my story is: We can’t always be…what we want to be… 
And you may not find it, on the very first try. But YOU each must…
Find the special someone that… only YOU can be.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

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Purple Horizon Proud

The sun rose bright red not a dark cloud in sight
           Few whispy cotton clouds spread around blue sky
Redtail Hawk in sky left nest for morning flight
          On those cold air currents he did swiftly fly

Door was opened by east north easterly wind
           Letting out illness, death, want_then in comes health
The sun set covered in dense clouds_cold its shroud
           Will it rise in morn purple horizon proud

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011

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Summer's Grief

An Autumn sunrise lights a maple tree
October’s hues are edged with olive green
The vibrant background cheers the season’s glee	
The mountain ridges back the misty scene

Big bears are searching after mountain caves 
While mallards fly before the snow begins
The ridges form astounding leafy waves 
Where folks are cutting fully-grown pumpkins

The red hawk soars beyond the dew drenched morn 
hence he denies to perch and lifts above 
his flight creates designs the skies adorn 
and dogs pursue raccoons around foxglove. 

A lively squirrel scampers to and fro 
Gray rabbits bounce amid the splendid leaves 
And sparkling streams outrace the brownish doe 
With the adieu of summer as she grieves. 

Iambic Pentameter
August 8th, 2014
©2014 by Regina Riddle

Copyright © Regina Riddle | Year Posted 2014

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Spirits Soar

Listening peacefully to Bach I soar,
Above the clouds as a hawk I soar.

Lying on forests mossy floor,
Listening to natures talk I soar.

Watching geese fly south, encore,
Majestically beautiful flock I soar.

Knowing life has so much in store,
Answering its every knock I soar.

At times life is like a lions roar,
Standing as a solid rock I soar.

I shall hear natures call, and open its door,
Making sure that with every breath I soar.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
November 2012

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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Sound of Silence - Lady Hawke - with Darren White

The lovely Lady Isabeau and her lover, medieval French Knight Etienne escape to flee the lustful advances of wicked Bishop of Aquila causing them to run afoul of him. The evil-bishop places them under a curse preventing the lovers being together in their mortal form except in the fleeting moments of twilight and again at dawn. At dusk, she transforms from hawk back to woman but alas he changes into a wolf. At first light of dawn she transmutes back to hawk as he reverts to his mortal knightly form. Through the daylight hours, she sadly rides untethered on his arm In - The Sound - Of Silence.
                 Yesterday’s love with evocative thoughts 
                 She watches for change in horizons light
                 Her coal black eyes and hawk like stare
                 Peers anxiously for her loved ones sight

                 Her clarion call as he comes in view
                 In mortal form he does appear
                 Her amplified thoughts for avian release
                 To grasp what little time - for fear
                 The darkness that will steal from them
                 Time so precious they hold so dear

                                                         'So vague I know her yet so well
                                                         The sight of her makes my heart sing
                                                         I wish to hold her I wish to tell
                                                         Her all the love that I will bring'

                A fleeting state of obscurity
                Is twilight time between Sun and Moon
                A cursory moment for Loves Embrace
                As darkening sky arrives too soon

                She must flee her lover’s jaws
                As mortal state is cast aside
                And primal instinct takes predatory form
                To darkened woods she runs to hide

                                                         'I growl, I run, I chase her, need
                                                         To catch her, capture, not let go 
                                                         My teeth, my claws, I need to feed
                                                         But who am I, what changed me so'

                In dawn’s first rays comes transformation
                Mortal to Hawk she must keep this alliance
                Then swoop to her loves outstretched arm
                To travel by day in the Sound of Silence

                 And thus they live a Jealous one’s Curse
                 Denied the love that was once so pure
                 Bestowed by a man from Hells own gates
                 In vain her love he tried to procure

                                                      'Je suis Etienne - I am Etienne
                                                      Remember me here - in this cage
                                                      Don’t hurt her or kill her, I’m a man
                                                      A wolf I hurt, inside I rage'

                   So Evil does what Evil wilt
                   Her love for this bishop will never be
                   He portrays a picture of what he’s not
                   From his evil curse they must break free          

'Etienne mon amour - I know thee well 
In my malaise, I fall, I cry
Je t'aime for a moment more
With broken heart - I change - I fly'

                    Unwavering credence in good endures
                    Shackled even in their depths of sorrow
                    Questing release from their dastardly doom
                    Yearning the twilight hour - tomorrow

                                                         'Isabeau mon amour, we will survive
                                                         This evil curse will not prevail
                                                         On wings of love we’ll soar so high 
                                                         Je t'aime we won they failed'

To my good friend Darren White for collaborating with me on this melancholy story. 
My deepest appreciation to the master of languages for adding a romantic French touch.

Critical on transformation to mortal, unprotected and naked she speeds away on Etienne’s horse to escape the slashing jaws of the wolf.  A cowardly plot undoubtedly designed by the evil bishop to meet her end, in her avian form or as a mortal, at the predatory jaws of her star crossed lover.

A solution to their quandary may manifest in the person of an escaped thief who serendipitously befriends Etienne - But that’s another story…

Lady Isabeau’s voice can be envisaged in the plaintive, haunting strains of the lead Violin. The resonant tone of the Wolf, Etienne, can almost be heard in the rich sonorous timber of the bass Cello - brought to us by - THE MUSES rendition of - Sound of Silence 

Copyright © Maria Williams & Darren White | 19 June 2017

Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017

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Tried and True

This is a myth
About the Hobabobaknox
A fiery dreadful creature 
That was never seen or caught
So how is it I know?
Is it true or just a thought
If it was never seen 
How can this story be bought...?

Unlike the Jabberwocky, the Hobabobaknox 
Was very good at staying hidden
You see, it understood a lot
Human races where forbidden
And it knew if it was caught
It would be killed and ridden
So it just stayed still in its spot

However, the creature had to eat
So it planned its hunt with caution
In the still of the night
It would lurk out of its common
Waiting for one to view him
Then it would throw them in its cauldron

It was spineless like a snake
Winged like the hawk
Eyes in front and back
And tails, long like bean-stalks
Its color was quite a marvel
When you see it, you will shock
It will fill you up with terror
It can cause your legs to lock

Only one can tell the tale
Only one was tried and true
One night while fast asleep
I saw its color Ru
I survived the Hobabobaknox
In a dream I shared with you

-Miranda Lambert-

Copyright © Wandering Butterfly | Year Posted 2011

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Butterflies and Moonbeams - Duo rhyme in Honor of Mary Ports

(Duo rhyme in Honor of Mary Ports)

Butterflies & Moonbeams 

Of things that inspire I will write 
Whether things of day or by night 
    Butterflies and silver moonbeams 
    Upon the quiet water gleams 
    Azure heavens where a hawk screams 
    Sunsets repainting awesome themes 
    Trees shade meandering cool streams 
    Yellow Stone where old faithful steams 
    Fireflies & double rainbow dreams 
    All made of magic so it seems 
Enchantments entice my delight 
With wonder I will dream tonight 

©Diana Dalton 15 July 12 


Copyright © Diana Dalton | Year Posted 2012

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In Honor Of You -

Invited into Her circle
of five points,one for each
of the qualities She crystallizes,
truth as fire, earth as nourishment,
body in water, lights in air, and ether as love,
in Her center a sacred thought having origin in primal purpose,

we embraced as immortals do,
mouth to ear and song to song,
mind to memory and wish to wisdom,
connecting with the ease of melody on morning's hope,

frollicing within the gamble of a galaxy grown mad from curiosity,
the path of the Prime Mover performs a pounce along our venerable vertebrae,
She widens a door which illuminates a portico,columns white marble and red veins,
tempered flames in low tremble make vigil to the death bed masks of ancestors,
who made glory a partner against multitudes of dangers,such as living without loyalty,
encouraged by Her gravitas,Her need for a hero,I stared into those vacant eyes
on the pedestals held upright by iron frames,and I heard them chant I must for Her,

made so lovely with a crown of moon glow,
I kissed this Woman's hand,heaven in my sight,
my oath to vindicate Her from profane might,
I awoke facing a mirror,believing in Her dearly,
my headgear fastened and plumed,
feathers of a hawk and eagle divinely sprout atop,
from then I only knew Her words,and a dreamy picture,
however,I trusted Her affection,I could live on Her meaning -


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2012