Best Sparrows Poems
predictable pairing
like plans and lovers
two sparrows fly, flirt
wing beats hyped
to dull the scent of overcrowded news
in spring air, grinning
scrappy species
two birds that pitch and swoop
an operatic flow
their sheen of relatability
braided together
a courtship gallantry
in circled bolts
when two birds fly about you
suspenseful joy
like an untroubled sigh
re-directing thought
seasonal movement
a flight of promise
that opens to the sky
The last leaf did fall,
winter clouds bring the first storm.
Earth rest in slumber.
Most birds have gone south.
Cold winter winds staying now,
sparrows search for food.
Some have black and white
crowns, some just two tone brown.
They hide in the trees.
Sun is bright, cold day,
rest upon Earths frozen crust.
The water is frozen.
Birds seek human friends
to feed and keep fresh water,
with help they survive.
From my bus window-
in unison, all at once a g a n g of tiny brown sparrows
hovered, and then perched on BARE branches
of a small tree-
they hung on like t r e m b l i n g brown leaves,
in the WIND - exactly the same
then, the throng left-
winging in unison . . .
_____________________
April 7, 2017
Verse/A Gang Of Sparrows
Copyright Protected, ID 890586
Open Poetry Contest 2
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Sixth Place
You say hello in passing
and I come as promised
again and again, this poem
written with lines unsaid
sparrows gathered
outside the restaurant door
chattering among themselves
a December borne
the day fading, sky bleeding red.
We talk about seasons
brushing hands, and you say
the chicken tacos are good.
The patron next to me cheers
to the touchdown scored,
and a couple sits shoulder-to-shoulder
taking turns at a video game
while I look at you linger
growing more beautiful each day.
Yearning for the way to tell you more
I look for the right words
and as you walk back to the kitchen
we “high five” and smile.
The word friend’s not enough;
we've shared lives for two years
coming to each other in times of need.
Lights in the restaurant cast a neon glow
but I know somewhere stars explode.
Outside thick flakes drift and fall
and the parking lot glistens like a dream.
I linger for another moment, stay inside
where it’s warm, and look at your face.
You say, “See You next time, okay?”
Promises implied long for more.
It cocks an eye at me.
I recall, as a boy, I stood
by a window looking at a sparrow
just like this one.
Every feather could be the same,
even the mien and stance
of the bird – the same.
I had never thought of myself
as a tree,
yet all my life
I’ve been branching away
from first roots.
Now I’m gnarled, not the same,
and still changing,
but not this sparrow,
not any sparrow.
A hint of sparrows amid browning leaves
Faint shadows the conductor’s baton
A-dance beneath the now visible nests
A cold urgency whistles through the trees
Beauty will adapt in fashioned frolic
Dab colors in the corners of our minds
Memories more brilliant than their moment
Seen through time’s more melancholy eyes
Hands will touch life’s softly falling petals
Holding to the dreams they still possess
Listening as gentle breezes whisper
A hint of sparrows amid browning leaves
Outside my window I heard a chirping,
And on a tree was one little sparrow;
This bird had not a care for snow falling.
Often many perch on a branch narrow,
I find their nests in walls and in vines;
And on a tree was one little sparrow.
Even in light fixtures I find signs,
So closely entwined in my daily life;
I find their nests in walls and in vines.
These sparrows enjoy a city birdlife,
I love to watch them have a snow bath;
So closely entwined in my daily life.
They hop, hop on my icy garden path,
Sparrows will eat right out of my hand;
I love to watch them have a snow bath.
I find this little bird so delightfully grand,
Outside my window I heard a chirping;
Sparrows will eat right out of my hand.
This bird has not a care for snow falling
________________________
November 28, 2015
Poetry/Terzanelle/Winter Sparrows
Copyright Protected, ID 15-730-421-0
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance L France
Submitted to the contest, Strand Pick F
sponsor, Brian Strand
Third Place
________________________________
Written for the Open Poetry contest
sponsor, Charlotte Puddifoot
Fifth Place
Cobbled traces ankle-turn the December night,
hobbling church goer's on sleet-covered streets.
Lines of warblers rise at the sides,
confined side walkers avoid the car play.
Wet headed wanderers, at large in the dark,
set chill chapped hands to their wind-burned cheeks.
Off key, they carol from the quay to the close
Three Kings rings out joyous from post to lamp post.
Through honeyed light and the nave’s open door
to hear the Domspatzen, the church sparrows, sing.
Boys and young men porcelain in candlelight,
rois without queens, one race, one sex, employed.
Brilliant as finger rubbed glasses, they trill;
we're silent: in sound wrapped, close-eyed, waylaid.
Each dulcet tone blends with organ and bow
teaching church doctrine with tenor and alto.
Published by Page & Spine Winter 2016
The seasons passed beyond the glass doors
I could see in detail each of their days
As I wheeled my chair forward-
No one day remained the same
You can always find some difference
Mirrored by choice
Save for a sparrow
That began its visits
On that autumn morn
It perched itself on the handrail of the deck
And bathed in the warmth of the sun
Pruning its feathers as it looked toward
The distant mountains collage
Of copper, gold and brassy reds
And every year
on every season since
It did not fail to visit
Standing on the handrail of the deck
Outside the sliding glass doors
During winters I placed out seeds
And in the summers I gave water
And like this
nature chose a companion
And I named him
Then on a very hard winter
the wind blew
cascading landscapes
of deep snow fields
undulating as a tide
He came
Laying with a broken wing
That dotted red the snow
Instinctively I gathered him,
Brought him from the cold
Not knowing the choice
I had inspired
That had already been made
Sustained -
I set his wing
We spent our days together
Till the time came
to let him go
I put him out on the handrail
He stood there for a time
Pruning his feathers
In the warmth of the summers sun
And in the end never left
And there was not
that broken sparrow
That he gathered from the cold.
The Sparrows they dance
They dance to a music
Soaring in time to the conductors baton
Flitting, diving they follow his movements
The song they create is beyond words, beyond sound
The Sparrows they dance
They dance to a music
The wind is their partner
as they whirl with the breeze
Together as one they swoop and soar
Overhead a smiling sun looks down
The Sparrows sing a wordless song
Of the simple happiness they feel
The Sparrows they dance
They dance to a music
This is my favourite poem because it describes the amazing beauty of somthing as simple as the formation and synchronized movement of a flock of sparrows.
Sparrows bleed as trumpets scream
They fall to kiss the earth
Crimson proof it's not a dream
For death has given birth
Darkness smiles with broken wings
A feathered wake of sorts
When death is born no one sings
For joy somehow distorts
Devils dance and act a fool
Just barely out of sight
Shadows watch and start to drool
While laughing at the light
Empty tears, for no one cares
It happens every day
Far away an angel stares
There's nothing left to say
Twisted fate, we don't ask why
For death will come to all
When death is born, we must die
As sparrows start to fall
Do you ever watch little birds in a tree on your front lawn?
They rise early, stretching, shaking, chirping right at the break of dawn.
They are soon to be going out looking for their food for the day.
It’s like they gather to talk about day. Make a plan, and they are on their way.
I’ve watched those small fat sparrows, one male with red breasted colors, start their day.
Seeing that I’ve been awaken way before them I marvel at their precision time as they fly away.
They have their babies in the nest outside in the bush in my yard.
I realize their protection love and bondage their caring ways for their young, who they fiercely guard.
Special, yes, it’s truly sad that creatures that live in this tree live by instinct are smarter than men.
Men; where war is a happenstance for greed, maliciousness, man’s total misunderstanding this is a sin.
The fat bellied sparrows knows not nuclear bombs, knows not killing for gain; So it’s clear to me in then the birds will win.
As the horsemen are riding, here in the end is the end of an age the fat bellied sparrows live in the tree in harmony.
I look at this family this fat bellied sparrows community, and see God’s gift to them, they not man’s terrible destiny.
sharp chirping outside
sparrows hopping on the lawn
enjoying the day
Heidi Sands
8/15/17
You’re a peacock amongst sparrows
A swan amongst geese,
An aria amongst discourse,
A sleek schooner amongst a rag-tag fleet
You’re a mighty oak,
In a forest of trees.
You’re the most beautiful person,
That I ever did see.
sparrows pause in spring
walden pond on cabin's peak -
no epiphany