Best Robin Poems
Oh if I were a true poet
one that could write a good rhyme
I would compose a few ones
and earn myself a dime.
Why, I'd write about man's folly,
as the robin said to the sparrow:
"Why are men so stupid
their minds so clouded and narrow?"
The sparrow cocking his head replied:
"They accumulate facts and lies,
Little caring about their true intent,
Alas, they are not really very wise."
The robin looked at his red breast,
remembering a Man on a cross,
how He bled, and sighed and suffered
all because of man's grace loss.
The sparrow nodded and smiled.
"Wisdom is not acquired by knowledge, my friend.
It comes when in our lives we've failed
and when we truly try to comprehend."
Musing on this life of mine
Alone I wonder if it's time?
Robin sings in my heart
Fluttering wings like cupid's dart.
Have been hurt, no doubt caused pain
Hearing robin's song again
Before I journey who knows where?
Know angelic wings will take me there.
The time has come and gone again
I'm stoic now what's left to gain
The universe will keep me here
Perhaps a day, perhaps a year.
A harbinger called to seal my fate
My gentle songbird set no date
Listen carefully you might hear
Angelic music have no fear.
Oh, holly tree, friend to me,
with scarlet berries to see
that delight my eyes to feast
as winter’s dearth so released.
To rest my head upon leaves
of evergreen, glossy sleeves -
spiny foliage shall seek
to hide ruddy breast and beak.
Melody of song I call
for you with snow’s silent fall,
and I, messenger of hope,
shall brighten days of white scope.
Sacred for peace and goodwill,
bringing warmth to season’s chill,
forever so shall you be -
Oh, holly tree, friend to me!
You left me so sad today
I needed you to make me smile
I wanted to see you laugh
And forget my burdens awhile
Robin, you left me sad today
My heart is pained even more
That you're the one who took your life
Was there nothing worth fighting for?
Robin, what do you leave for us?
Who have struggled down this path?
What do you leave for us to think
If you couldn’t make it last?
You had it all, you had the fame
You had the glory too
But Robin, where was the love?
Where was the love for YOU?
Those who laugh the hardest
And make the tears come down
Are those with pain too great to bear
So they play the part of clown
I’ve also played that part, my dear
I laugh to hide the tears
I giggle and I joke around
But I’m consumed by fears
Oh Robin, I will miss you so
We’ve never even met
But I feel I know you well
No one sweeter than you yet
So like a robin, you flew away
Took your life to be free
Oh Robin, I’m left here to think
What will become of me?
Eileen Manassian
To Robin Williams, one of my absolute favorite actors. I adored that man.
Media vita in morte sumus – in the midst of life we are in death (Wolfgang
Grassl).
Depression claims another soul. Only those who deal with it know the dark
places that it can lead...yes, even to the valley of the shadow of death.
North of Nottingham, there lies a wood
Clothed with fern in Dartmouth green
A barefoot Beauty, There she stood
The likes of which, the worlds not seen
A man observes, but undetected
Concealed up in The Major Oak
She drops her hood, quiet unexpected
Gently slipping off her cloak
This man, a thief, price on his head
Cannot resist his captive heart
In great danger, he gladly sheds
The massive tree's concealing art
You might conceive, this shocked the maiden
Confronted by a rogue so bold
But his eyes were so love laden
She touched his hand, he touched her soul
He leads her to his camp in secret
On the ground lie jewels and gold
But his eyes could never leave her
The greatest prize he ever stole
Robin treated his men down at the inn
To sexy wenches, food, mead and some gin
All got drunk on the mead
Then got high on the weed
Friar Tuck said “it’s not right it’s a sin.”
Robin’s outlaws were enjoying the night
And with the sheriffs men started a fight
The men ran for their lives
There was lots of high fives
The peasants cheered at this comical sight.
Written 31st January 2019
For limerick 3 contest
Sponsored by Joseph May.
The robin redbreast is hardly afraid,
He is not afraid of cemeteries,
Seeing me, he lands on the grave of the Bouvier family,
Looks at me, then flies on that of Cécile Kerneis,
Since he is Breton, the bird waits for me a little,
And flies again to the tomb in black marble of a man named Brélivet,
The robin redbreast is not afraid of graves, nor of me,
All the dead are his friends, like saints,
He flies again and lands on the stone of François Le Gall,
Then happily jumps on the gray tomb of Alexis Kerbaol.
He watches me, like a small soldier with medals,
He prays religiously on the white stele of Madame Coat,
The little robin is not afraid of cemeteries, nor of me,
On the tomb of Hervé Jaouen, he finds his pride,
In the cemetery, all the dead are his friends.
NB names are from Brittany
Spin off Happy Days
Na-Nu Na-Nu Shaz-Bot man
Planet Ork Mork fly!
© PoeTTreeZ Publishing
A good man's gone, loved by us all
on the screen both big and small.
The fire is cold, the lights are out.
His soul's moved on, without a doubt.
The laughter's gone that masked the pain.
The house is still and peace does reign.
He fought his battles on life's wild ride,
but lost his war with the demons inside.
How can one thrive on acclaim and wealth
without the love of one's own self?
I hope you found the peace you sought.
The life you lived won't be forgot.
July 5, 2015
‘Come bring my bow of English yew and raise me from this bed
And let me look upon the wood where once I lay my head’
With fading sight and wearied limb through window rose he gazed
With summoned strength and trembling arm his mighty bow was raised
Sinews drawn to fullest test he let the arrow fly
And sinking back upon his bed he breathed a heavy sigh
‘Follow yonder willow shaft through forests darkened keep
For flighted by the angels, twill appoint where I shall sleep’
The stalwart oak tree caught the shaft, appointed by Gods grace
Beside a brook, in bluebell’d wood, there marked his resting place
In tunic Gold and Lincoln green, his sword upon his breast
Beneath the trees of Sherwood green was Robyn laid to rest
That mighty heart, its labour done, when stilled its Valliant quest
All England mourned its stalwart son who bore the Locksley crest
And through the silent forest, soft April showers wept
To wash that place from hearts and minds, a secret ever kept
One maid, one Friar, with little John, in sombre vigil stood
In silent witness mourning, the passing of the Hood
On England’s green and pleasant land was played a Hero’s part
And Never more on sceptre’d isle will beat a truer heart
On the wing in the dawning light,
Spring's new growth comes into sight.
Flowers, berries, nuts and seeds,
a smorgasbord to meet my needs.
I am a robin in grey-brown attire,
with my orange-red vest adding some fire.
A harbinger of Spring am I,
give ear to my joyous cry:
Spring! Spring!
Wonderful, marvelous, glorious Spring!
Oh look! A fat juicy worm.
Don't you just love how he wiggles and squirms?
Gulp...down the hatch! Wow! What a treat!
Now to my roost I must retreat.
My mate and I must build a nest,
a comfy home where our young can rest.
Robin means new growth
5/14/15
"Picture yourself as a bird"
Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.
No1.
Robin’s Thick Member
We wuz out huntin that day
Ah remembers as plain as can be
When a ansome buck came us way
Fust to shoot was me mate Unlucky
Now that buck he just looked in us faces
With an air of his royal decree
Displayin his arrogunt graces
At the arra there stuck in the tree
Ah says, “Robin, he won’t be best pleased
At missin his dinner agen
Your damn good at arrain trees
An pissin off his merry men”
If we goes back to camp with no meal
That maid, she will giv us sum stick
She’ll shove us sum manky old veal
An the merry men will all be sick”
Then Unlucky he says that he saw
Over there be-ind the rockery
A big ol boy of a boar
But his arra, yes, it foun a tree
Stood Marion with expectation
The night would be one great party
But after me grand explanation
We was whipped a foot up from the knee
Then Robin “Unlucky”, he says
“You’s a poor shot as all us can see
If that buck agen inter view strays
Just bloomin well aims fer the tree.
Coz averages seem to dictate
You could bag that buck if you tried
If only you’d concentrate
An wern’t so bloody cross eyed”
So Unlucky he thinks to his sen
I’ll show them a thing or two
That big head an his stinky men
Will be dinin on best red deer stew
Once more he foun his sen afore
That deer who was showin no fear
He watched as his arra did soar
Past that grinnin bucks twitchin left ear
But wait, that buck he was down
His hooves in the air on his back
The arra that just missed his crown
Had given him sheer heart attack
He was cheered when he got back to camp
An the night became one great party
With a bow he was proclaimed a champ
An no longer known as Unlucky.
red robin artist
paints the yard...
spring's pallet follows
~
There once was a young Brit, Robin Hood,
Plundered bad folks and gave to the good,
He loved armor and knights,
But was quite fond of tights,
And decided to wear them for good ...
Now, sweet Nottingham, taken aback,
For his pantyhose took too much flak,
Thus dressed like a fairy,
With men, far too merry,
And not near enough gold ... in his sack.
~
~ 5th Place ~ in the "A Limerick, Old Or New: Your Personal Favorite" Poetry Contest, Andrea Dietrich, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Limerick 3" Poetry Contest, Joseph May, Judge & Sponsor.
(Syllable count = 9,9,6,6,9 x 2, counted @ HowManySyllables.com)
the nesting robin
while kneeling in my garden. . .
sowing baby's breath
March 1, 2019 for Tania Kitchin's Spring Haiku Contest