Best Nests Poems
Those happy, golden years, the children growing up...
great days of joy, some tears, sweet nectar in our cup.
So blessed the three of them had come to fill our life;
each one a special gem...years spent with little strife.
Oh my, those years went fast...so soon an empty nest.
Can’t hold on to the past, for sure, those years were blessed.
The empty nest took hold, such quiet filled our days.
Kids followed dreams of gold...we lifted them in praise.
We filled our days with friends and came and went as pleased.
Life changes as it lends the time to feel appeased.
Few years went by, behold! A second chance to spend
our time again to hold small babes, with joy attend;
to love and cherish each, and watch them grow each day,
to play with them, and teach! What joy had come our way!
Time passed…grandkids of five, no longer babes for sure,
have learned their way to thrive, now grown up and mature.
Again, the years went fast...another time to test...
can’t hold on to the past. Oh my, those years were blessed!
Our empty nest, twofold! Such quiet fills our days!
They too chase dreams of gold...we lift them now in praise!
We celebrate with cheers the cherished life we spent...
two times of golden years...with young ones, heaven-sent.
March 31, 2014
~3rd Place~
Contest: Nostalgia
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 07/05/2019
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest: 2019 Marathon Mile #24
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 03/21/2019
~1st Place~
Contest: My Lovely Children
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 02/26/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: Golden Days
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 04/08/2015
Iambic Hexameter, Internal Rhyme, Couplet Rhyme
Tide out ...
Swells break far and creep slow,
sweeping tender 'cross washboard flats
where they used to dance -
where they lauded the ebullience of life
in purpose ... and pairs.
Beach ballerinas, flaunting perfect line ...
toothpick legs busy as Baryshnikov 'midst the billows,
leopard mantle still as stars
while they streaked and pattered forth-and-back,
never touching the hem of the combers.
Nature has no humor, they say ...
yet 'twas a game they played with the ocean's edge,
the sand they pranced was just as cold -
just as wet and wobbly and wild ...
it served no critical purpose to shun the wash in such diligence.
Yet they were masters of the art, and graceful,
as tho' it had been thus for eons ... and of course, it had.
That very game and dance is what I miss so dearly now,
tears disguised in the salt spray on my face,
as I pull another clump of plastic ...
From last year's nests.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Last Year's Nests" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
I viewed them the spring before – robins in our grass
and swallows flying circles around the front of the house.
Weeks later I spied their nests -
the swallows’ under an eave of our garage
and the robins’ hidden in a cluster
of our pear tree’s lovely green boughs.
I wish to have seen the eggs the robins surely laid,
but their nest was too high up.
The swallows’ nest intrigued me more,
for I was able to easily witness the hatchlings’ progress.
Periodically the parent birds came to feed them.
Eagerly I’d step off my porch when I saw the parents
swooping down and then soaring back to the sky.
Sometimes they whizzed close by my head as if to scold me
for my curiosity in their offspring; I was a trespasser on my own land.
Next year I will await them, but I think they will not return.
Always the robins return, but knowing swallows as I do. . .
their last year’s nest is sure to sit
lonely and unvisited.
Nov. 24, 2019 for Craig Cornish's "Last Year's Nests" Poetry Contest
(this actually happened several years ago, and the swallows never returned)
In the trees,
high up catching every breeze
small twigs, dry grass, and leaves form the large drey,
with stuffing from some cushioned chair pretended to be hay;
atop the forked trunks of mighty oaks
a perch of squirrels gather against wintry pokes.
Encircling the trees in playful chase
each independent life seek security and escape,
built-in a day, the nest is snug and tight
protecting the gray creature from windy flight,
fallen remnants of last year's nests
lay on the ground, a dispersed mess
as new ones soon replace
the error of past mistakes;
but now and then, a familiar little face peers in
the window at the wall seeking the warm within.
Craig Cornish Last Year's Nests
11/23/19
A nesting is but invaded
All nestlings abandoned
But ‘four’ eggs shelled?
Mother bird is gone
Many a tuft of feathers
Drying in the winds!
Broken twigs have bent
The nest will sit misshapen
Under treed branches above!
Mother overhead flees
Skyward tweeting call-back cries
A hungry snake waits!
Eagle nests lie high
Conceal young from other prey
Mercy should they fall
Winter branches reveal
Summer home of winged sprites
Bird architecture
Like little birds that at last leave the nest,
so too do our own little birds fly away.
When life’s lessons have barely begun to be learned,
they fly away to gain new experiences
and insights of their own.
Some will build very small nests
and remain there without partners for many years.
Most will mate and through procreation,
they will create even bigger nests.
These days, even our own birdlings may choose
to stay in our nests much longer
than we might ever have anticipated.
If our birdlings leave, we are simply living again
in nests less crowded, as we had done
when we built our nest in the beginning!
Take it as a time to rejoice
in new activities, and worry not!
Many of us will see our “empty” nests
fill up again
as children of our children
flock back to us for sweet reunions.
Nests, after all, rarely stay empty.
May 16, 2023
for Cooper Etheridge's Empty Nest Poetry Contest
empty nests
the cicada sounds
louder now
Birds are chirping and singing,
little ones in their nests are swinging.
Some are red and some just flew,
one went right by you.
Flowers are now awakening,
their pretty colors will be breathtaking.
Love them in colors of white~pink~yellow and blue,
a pretty site as we walk around the zoo.
Did you hear the big yellow bee?
His buzzing sound fills me with glee.
Is he after this fresh morning dew?
Will he drink it or will he chew?
Spring is saying be in love,
just like the loving turtle dove.
This time of the year brings all new,
from every point of view.
SLEEPY NESTS SILENT
crush of bones shadows
marsh quivering eyes burning
sleepy nests silent
Haiku chill: SLEEPY NESTS SILENT: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 2014 Nov 14
(a poem in 2 Senryus)
We carefully choose
bits of our lives that we then
weave into stories.
Like birds building nests,
making the safe places that
keep and define us.
Nests of weaver birds
hanging down from the palmyra palm
An example for community living ?
exclaimed my friend a realtor ;
his friend an architect said
it is all awesome my friend.....hm...
absolutely unbelievable, the
' handy' work of such tiny black-beaked
yellow-bellied ploceidae -the weaver birds !
I have no hesitation to call these sparrows
avian architects even human architects,
my clan may ever match in excellence !
and his friend who formed one among us
bird watchers.... a seasoned textile engineer
hath said this unhesitatingly, 'my God
what I am seeing on this palm ,,, these nests
of weaver birds.... can I call it the
'hanging textile work of avian genius!
absolutely beautiful and heavenly.....
I fail to describe any further....I am stunned 'he further said.
As we were thus watching these nests in awe
night's darkness came hanging... soon to be
driven by the rays of cool stunning silvery moonlight
the light focussed on these nests of weavers
transformed them at once into
heavenly nests of silver ....
with a hear unwilling to leave
we bid 'adieu.... to these birds of wonder
treading on the coastal silvery sands
like angels in a wonder land.
Siamese
F i g h t i n g
Fish,
Bettas
B l o w
Bubbles.
10-31.2020
IN Just A Few Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
empty nesters watch
leaves skating on frozen ponds…
a soft sun beckons
©12/15/2019
Writing Challenge, December – Winter Haiku or Senryu
Sponsor, Dear Heart – Wiishkobi Ode