Best Nightingale Poems
In the flickering light of the lamp,
Despite the chilly night, air so damp,
She surveyed books so avidly read,
Studied the guidelines now in her head.
Time came: she departed for the war,
Sure she'd care for all those wounded sore.
Many followed as she left her stamp,
At night she'd be the lady with the lamp.
Cobwebs of thoughts dangle in forlorn corner
Spun by emotions that surrendered long ago
Still hanging out, anguished, in grip of throes
Engrossed in silence while gazing night skies
Admiring how they once painted astral designs
Brush stroking delight by sheer hint of eyes
Until the silken threads of lives ripped apart,
Each filament eagerly tearing webs of hearts.
Regrets of passion buzzed roiling wistful lives
When placid frontiers encountered stormy tides
Sailing smooth surfs that callously turned wild
On oceans unfamiliar to the benevolent minds
Beckoned by allure of prairies shamrock green
Thinking out there grew a garden of paradise~~
Abundance of blossoms their lives couldn’t have,
Squandering foolishly bond of love they had.
Yet, the darkened nights they traversed all alone
Heard repertoire of enchanting mirthful tone
Wooing love, having crossed thousands of miles,
Reminding them~ you don’t just abandon life,
Trilling tunes of affection in imploring oratory
Teaching humans secrets of romantic allegory
When the dawning on horizon gleams lapis lazuli
And a doting nightingale sings of dawn’s glory.
Promise of hopeful day glimmered their insights
Spurring their spirits to revisit places of delight,
Those they painted once by sheer hint of eyes,
Reassembling the filaments torn apart by time
Proceeding soon mindfully to rebuild their nest
Excited once again to hear chirps of hatchlings
When the dawning on horizon gleams lapis lazuli
And a doting nightingale sings of dawn’s glory.
June 7, 2021
Placed 1st: This or that, vol 3 poetry contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: A nightingale sings of dawn’s glory
Oh, with great delight, from
out of the shadowy night, I hear
a loud, powerful melody drifting
such a mournful song
with a chant soul-stirring
a songster with whistles that crescendo
trills, chirping, twittering and gurgles, concerto lovely
that sends my own soul on a journy into the depths of my mind, for
beautiful memories
and faraway dreams yet to come . . .
_______________________________
February 23, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/Simple Mutterings/The Nightingale
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9967-55-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Express Through Compression Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
3/10/2026
Nightingale - Compression Poem
morning darkness
I hold her feather
in my city's dead breath
walking on muddy streets
her song heard somewhere
sweet where rain's left
Oh nightingale,
you rise like a small anointing in the dusk,
your voice a trilling psalm of love and lament.
You carry the mystique of prayer on your wings,
a feathered liturgy drifting toward the listening sky.
Oh nightingale,
you sing from the chalice of stillness where God whispers,
your syrinx a cipher of creation teaching silence to awaken.
You carry ancient wisdom in your throat,
a feathered oracle scripting prophecy on the wind.
THE NIGHTINGALE LOST HER LAMP
Anita’s eyes were brown.
She was the kindest of angels.
Her speech firm with authority
but reassuring with a glass- like
sensitivity; she seemed to know all.
Prompt as a rooster's first crow,
that's how she is.
She stands like a lioness
ever ready to act, a channel
to prolong the patient's life.
Her heart is a captive cog
of dedicated compassion:
as a wife, as a mother, as a Dean,
Professor, and as a nurse.
She stood always regal in white.
Bearing a sanction of life and death
with each shot made by her gentle hands.
She had Tiger eyes for signs and symptoms;
sponges to absorb order and pressures,
she was simply a lamp for a sick person.
Our batch, she handles with iron fist.
Labeled as "black sheep" – for some of us
are noisy cans but empty inside.
Black sheep but later turned into
the cream of the crop. She stood as
our Samson pillars then despite canyons of
doubts and critiques, our batch defies the odds.
Yet, one day a snapshot happened –
She fainted while teaching.
She was brought to the hospital,
scrutinized and observed like
the frog in my sophomore year.
I was one of the nurses who rendered care.
I watched, how the shining light in her eyes
turned to stormy sadness. I have heard
how her sturdy voice now sounded
a tattered tape only syllables and groans,
no more. Her before supple glowing skin
turned a wrinkled ash — all tautness gone.
Finally, she needs only bags of blood
in two days her life passed my Anita...
_______________________________________________________
Sponsor Thomas Martin
Contest Name Show but Don't Tell
Placed 3rd...
O.E. Guillermo
5:15 pm, May 19, 2015
A rhapsody of
rock and roll rain,
tango twisting winds,
samba snow flakes,
step, skip,
spin and swing.
So the subdued sun
remains solemnly shy
as its orchestra of rays
fail to compose.
Recalling
vivid verdant visions,
a promenade
of naked trees tremble,
serenading melancholic melodies.
On a bitter branch
a nightingale
sits in silence.
Nondescript brown bird of renown,
nightly you serenade me.
Golden dulcet tones flood the woods
and I am wafted far away,
off into a wondrous dream world
full of mystical creatures.
written 01/13/2015
Contest: Night Creatures
by Shadow950
5: Nightingale
Songs of the Nightingale
Joyous angelic arias,
raised in exuberant praise,
serenade and soothe restless souls;
moving matchless melodies,
nightingale’s mellifluous songs…
manifest Glory of God!
01-17-2015
It's another lonely night
shared with the glowing moon,
while listening to a Nightingale
continuously sing a sad tune.
What has a songbird
to be so sullen about?
Does it trill in anger?
Is its heart filled with doubt?
Some birds mate for life,
while all others they spurn.
That is a wise lesson
all humans should learn.
Are birds more capable
of being loyal to love?
There's a reason the symbol
of love is portrayed by a dove.
People are much too fickle
when they smile and say,
"I love you so very much,"
when it's just a game they play.
8/23/2016
Perched on a sturdy branch on yonder tree
Pouring out your heart in sweet melody
With a full throated birdsong rhapsody
Filling me with such joyful ecstasy
Do you sing sweetly to woo your lady
Who listens somewhere on a nearby tree
Her heart must surely melt at the beauty
Of the song you sing so effortlessly
Is your song a joyful testimony
To honour nature's musical bounty
Given to creatures from earth, sky and sea
Whose music blesses all abundantly
Or is it part of a profound mystery
Heralding a supreme divinity
Which pervades all silently and deeply
O bird, I'll ever be grateful to thee
Sing, my nightingale, sing for me again
Sing from your bramble tree
Sing, my nightingale, sing and it will rain
Earth is melancholy
And brown, brown, brown, the frost
Has burned everything down
Change comes so callously and cost
More than green or barren ground
Sing, my nightingale, sing
Do not ever fly away
I am only mortal clay
Sing, my nightingale, sing
Love is the only truth I trust
Nothing endures the spinning crust
Sing, my nightingale, sing
Drunk me with your delicious songs
For love alone my body longs
Sing, my nightingales, sing
The frost has left nothing green
But my faith keeps its silver sheen
Sing, O nightingale, sing
fly my little nightingale
and take this song i give
to the land where genies
and magic carpets live
hide yourself very well
and you will not be seen
but before the dawn becomes the day
proclaim my love with screems
fly my little nightingale
into her ear, into her heart
tell her i am always near
and will never ever depart
hide yourself within her dreams
and own from dusk till dawn
but when she leaves begin your screams
your mourning while she's gone
Three cheers for feisty Florence Nightingale
Who took under her wing the wounded and the frail.
'The lady with the lamp' lit up those soldiers' lives.
Old age snuffed out her candle but her nursing legacy survives.
23/01/19
Educate Me With Humor - Leader Clerihew Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich
Colours bounce in euphoric ecstasy
and another day is birthed, in melody,
as the dawn brings forth emerald reflection,
the sun playing on the looms of nature's glee
with the nightingale's whistle in a harmony.
Dull on it's perch,
determined in his search
for a jewel in creation's crown,
a partner for his song to emerge,
he prepares to lurch.
He spots her on a lake,
a white rose, a snowflake,
drifting on crystal serene,
a beautiful image to make,
her beauty in its surroundings partake.
This fragile goddess
with his best song he tries to caress
and the brooding bud,
a stunning glory ageless,
unfolds to his tune, guileless.
Yet when she tries,
her voice defies,
and he knows she will not sing.
A sudden sorrow in her eyes,
she bows her head and sighs.
But song, his voice like a lyre,
her beauty, her eyes of sapphire
make for a perfect match:
all creation they admire
together compensating for flaws like ice and fire.