Best Rare Bird Poems
A rare bird.
A rare bird is he with feathers illuminous red and green;
a bird that only few will ever see and perhaps twas meant to have been.
This bird flies free over mountains and through the mind of a dream;
escaping all barriers and leaving only temperance in mean.
A breeze will lift him to the highest contemplation of being;
and the rain will make him cry for this means a heart is bleeding.
The whistle of this bird when heard flows gently and transcends feelings;
he sits on your shoulder sometimes just to see what books you are reading.
Don't be mistaken in thinking you'll ever actually be able to see him;
first you must close your eyes and let yourself believe anything.
Form:
RARE BIRD
Sitting outside my window
A Black throated finch is there
This little bird is on show
Seldom seen, could become rare.
A Black throated finch is there
Hoping he'll stay for some time
Seldom seen, could become rare
Pecks at a worm to dine.
Hoping he'll stay for some time
Content to continue grazing
Pecks at a worm to dine
This little bird is amazing.
Content to continue grazing
Each morsel chosen with care
This little bird is amazing
Of extinction he's unaware.
Each morsel chosen with care
Needs protection before decline
Of extinction he's unaware
His habitat men want to mine.
Needs protection before decline
Mining endangers we know
This Black-throated finch so fine
Sitting outside my window.
Copyright © Vivien Wade 2014
A Pantoum
In hindsight I can note a master stroke
A revelation from somebody out there
My soul’s salvation could have been a joke
A sad man’s joke, that anyone can share
That’s why it looks so truthful, this old tale
As if our lives were planned on reasonable grounds
But anyway, you see that luck prevails
And luck’s a rare bird, it never makes a sound
It flies whatever way it wants to fly
Lands down wherever it prefers to land
Once I have seen its gaudy plumage in the sky
I waved, and found a feather in my hand
I was so lucky for a period of time
Had no idea that its going to last one day
We laughed and sang, and everything was fine
Then colours faded since you've gone away
No wisdom brings a healing consolation
Perhaprs it shouldn’t for a pillock that I am
But didn’t we receive that revelation
To gain some luck, until the story had to end.
Out in this vain world, treading my lone trail,
I fall, find feet, firm up my feeble stake,
And try again a better me to make,
In marketplace but never once for sale.
With enough love in heart for all to draw,
An avid pond I am, no settled lake
Content with scarce, no world breeze can me shake--
A pond, never of a huge oceans’ awe.
In this world vying daily with new breeze,
I just try-- be a man made but by me--
A task no simple still to turn with ease,
So, it’s fair to feel way-lost in the sea,
Come forward then, wish wind-speed to my sail,
To help me sail to my least-trodden trail.
____________________________________
Sonnet | 03.12.2004, revised September 2024|self, world
'It takes one to know one', so they do state,
but that won't take you far,
as we're never told exactly who these 'they' are.
'It's not what you know, it's who you know',
so the saying goes,
but the devil is in the details,
and I say, 'It's what you know about whom you know,'
which really goes to show,
whomsoever holds the power prevails.
'You have to give them what they want', so it is said,
but that only adds to my pique,
as I know not those 'them' of whom they speak.
Some may say 'I have an axe to grind',
but that's neither here nor there,
as I take issue with; 'they', 'who' and 'them' unknown,
yes it's my cross to bear.