Best Nesting Poems
the nesting robin
while kneeling in my garden. . .
sowing baby's breath
March 1, 2019 for Tania Kitchin's Spring Haiku Contest
nesting birds flutter
a birdbath is safe haven…
tabby cat sleeping
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kigo: Birds nesting/spring
JM freeman
10/30/2011
For Charles Henderson
Contest Haiku
two busy blackbirds
gather twigs, moss and dry leaves …
cat sits on the fence
Bird Haiku Poetry Contest
sponsored by Tania Kitchin
03/15/22
Small
Joyful
Laughter
Delicate
Beautiful
Loving
Tender
A salty tear
A hurtful word
Add an encasing layer
Cautious
Observant
Apprehensive
Forgiving
Forgetful
Curious
Loving
A loud rip
Another piece gone
Add another hard layer
Ignorance
Dumbfounded
Crying
Sadness
Wounded
Forgiving
Loving
A twinkle is gone
A star falls
Add a fortified layer
Unbreakable
Black
Insignificant
Ugly
Hollowness
Desolation
Resilience
Layer after layer
Wondering where’s the beginning
Of this Russian nesting doll
Built by life
You lay in the wooden cot,
a broken sparrow,
Crushed. Bony. Frail.
Hair once plumed gold,
greyed to clumped feathers
like ragged trampled wings,
strawed out on the dank pillow.
Face once blushed pink plump,
Jolly kind of soft with life,
Sucked to bone. Nose to Beak.
Echoes of the mask it will soon become.
I stroked this woman
now bent back to foetus pose.
Once sworled to shell,
wrapped inside myself,
Safe.
Now boned to carcass stick.
I wanted to hold one more time,
my child,
frightened the last air would puff to nought from its hollowed breast.
But my sparrow turned and smiled,
a grimace to crack open any gates of envisaged hell.
Macabre teeth, once glowing love and laughter to the skies,
Now pecked to ochre stalks.
The pitiful bird pained to move.
Mucous mouth clacked open wide
To receive some lasting morsel of life.
Only its beady blue gaze
flashed a soul of its former self,
eyes to haunt the sea.
I swallowed back my tide of tears,
waves of memory flooding sands of life we’d shared,
from fledgling dawn cry to this,
the final nesting box.
I wanted to stuff this cot with down
of a million eider.
To cosset and hold soft this scrawn, gnawed through.
Pluck teal, goose, swan.
‘Who would have thought it would come to this?’ it croaked a laugh.
I matched smile with smile.
I held the tiny claw.
Desperate not to cling too much to pain,
too much to past.
I wanted to wrap up this dying bird
Limp, in my hanky.
White folded white, fold on fold.
Run through the streets
shouting at the world, at some unseen power.
NO.
She’s mine. She’s safe. Take me.
What cruelty did I do?
What evil must be stuffed in this maternal breast
To hold this daughter dust in my arms?
Bluebird nesting box,
built with love. Toils to survive
cold spring nights, unforgiving.
Toiling, foraging
Worms, insects make a nice meal
Insatiable mouths
Come here, nest, my little poem,
Rest inside my head
Where vision, thought, and clarity
Blooms the way I’m led.
Come here, nest, my little poem,
Best inside my heart
Where with your sage and tender light
The seeds of sun will start.
The horrid hollowness of the empty nest,
viewed without a redress, empty nest.
Years of doting, uplifting, caring
bring forth a man of kindness, empty nest.
The sun which rose with his laughter
sets with a mother’s loneliness, empty nest.
Let my heart sing with each memory
of cuddled child breathless, empty nest.
Remembering you, longing for your smile,
brings meaning home, fullness to empty nest.
They move, quick and sure,
In a line, they cross the road
Like short, grey gentlemen
The noise that protests
Screeching vigilantly, violently
Like a relentless cough
Echoes on the edges of fences
That edge the pastures
They savor the ticks and mosquitoes
Lingering a little at the puddle
Caused by a hard rain just yesterday
The candor that gives them
Almost a enchanted demeanor
Causes the turkeys and chickens to flush
Bright rose, like the musical feel
That appeals to the senses
Who listen quietly to their screaming
They hunt for nests in the woods
Searching forest floor for green grass
That will hold the hard shells of their babies
The miracle isn’t in the way they play
A melody of ear-piercing music
But in the way they seem to share
Their moments of wisdom
With fowl, both hen and turkey
Their prudence is more clever
Than they are aware of
They are speedy, wise birds
Who know their place on the farm
Fill the silence with shrieks of merriment
The guineas are both fast and full
Of musical laughter that color the fields
In pale gold with emerald edges
Softening the breath of those who know
These wise hens cast a shadow
Of pure peace with their charmed cries
They are the life of the farm
A piece of poetry on the grange
Welcoming guests to feel their grace
diligent digging
squirrel’s nesting for Winter
determined breakthrough
but the squatter’s unwanted
chased out…sealed up crasher’s digs
1/18/2022
*digs - accommodation for living
November skies bare all
Perched precociously
Up stark naked branches
The old abandoned nest
Hatchlings of yesteryear
Outgrow familial nest
Leaving warm comfort behind
To spread their wings
Freely roam expanse of sky
Set forth on their adventures
Explore and forge new nests
Procreating the cycle of life
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 15, 2020 for contest STRAND PICK A sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
and on November 9, 2019 for contest LAST YEAR’S NESTS sponsored by CRAIG CORNISH - RANKED 10TH
Every thing was fine.
No one complained, and then
one fated day the Kooka burra's came..
People who never learned to keep in their own lane.
They never read our regs., which is very plain,
at first they claimed one half the parking in their own name..
Mr. Kook's crochety, petty, and a bully.
Mrs. Kook's gossipy and engages in tom foolery..
The kooka burra's are nesting here in our condo tree,
taking over as if they were the only owner family.
"Stop Kooka burra's"
"Stop Kooka burra's"
Start consulting the other three!!
**********
hidden nest… feeding
collecting food… not insects
bad summer weather
***********
After winged flight at dusk the swallows rest
I hear their chirping inside my tallest chimney
Where they have found their perfect nest.
The swallows of late do not think me friendly
For chilly air has prompted the fireplace lighted
Without intention to treat the nesting birds unkindly.
Held off as long I could to keep the swallows unindicted
Even while the family felt, oh, so very, very slighted.
Now the time to roost has come
and bones must lay to rest
we find a place to settle on
to shape our final nest
.
As grasp on what was real evades
our fading earthly sight
we rise above the shadow realms
of lifetime’s final night.
Awakening from mystic dream
returned to spirit’s source
welcomed back within the whole
now life has run its course.
Merging living’s lessons learned
back into ethereal plane
now conscious if our lifetime’s span
has harvested true gain.
There’s many mansions we may find
in every place we dwell
and many destinies to tread
through heaven and through hell.
But purpose drives the inner soul
its resting place to find
and each and every pathway there
is nesting in our mind.
Is this our final nesting place
was lifelong meaning won
or will the cycle start again
until our work is done?
Ivor G Davies