The danger zone gets broader
Within four walls I hide
Got window holes in order
From where I look outside
After the sun goes down
And green turns indigo
There’s nothing to be found
I haven’t seen before
But I can sense the air
It never smells the same
Since you’re no longer there
The air can’t call my name
Connection drops, then fits
To drop again too soon
The birdies treat the trees
With melodies of June..
all the colors, all the lights;
darkness conceals object
on wheels, long..long..long.
blinking in twilight, stretching
miles and miles - I exaggerate;
surely across the width of
across-street-neighbor’s yard.
my mind’s pondering what
was it for? and for that neighbor
or merely parked? now it’s eight
and a trumpet sounds out of gate.
the trumpet calling reveille,
as if I’m back in military; curious
day for a poet; and familiarity too
with cheep..cheep..cheep, etc
etcetera, etcetera (as the king
of Siam would twist his tongue
in emphasis and pride) today,
begins loudly…quietly…beautifully;
now a trill and more - call of forest,
as if the birdies know this poet
is transcribing and describing.
alive, like the sound of music.
alive, another day before the big day.
so begins the celebration; sisters
taking me, who knows where,
after this who-knows-what-compare.
today, I’m winging it…
O birdies tweeting,
singing faithful tunes.
There’s no way
to know if you saw
a sign, “Vacancy,”
or if you own a limb.
O birdies tweeting,
sweetly and completely
surrounded by Spring.
Matters not if it's hot,
no complaints of rain.
O birdies tweeting,
how many occupy
my backyard skies?
Do you dart from
oak to pine;
are the scents divine?
O birdies tweeting,
how is it I never feel
bored, but attuned
to your glorious chatter?
O birdies tweeting,
you shall never know
I’ve been singing
your song incessantly;
your every breath
completing me.
Birdies on a branch are cuddled up so fine
Bunched up closer than clothespins on a line
Snoring in sync, a luscious lullaby in a whispery way
The rest of the forest animals cannot look away
Their mama is gone, says one. Let’s help them to have lots of fun.
Nine birdies on a line going tweet tweet tweet
With communication skills that are way too sweet
Their wings flutter faster than their tiny hearts beat
We spy crackers on the ground, so good to eat!
Mr. Giraffe was as docile as a tall creature can be.
He hid among the leaves of a Cottonwood tree.
The birds discovered him and said “whee whee whee!”
He is our newest perch. They were happy as could be!
Born as bird is a boon
Board on bees and bugs
Birdies burble a tune
Budge all blooms and buds
Flick! Flip!! Flap!!!
Bathe in becks and brooks
Best buddy of a baby
Blowing beaks of rooks
Make little ones crazy
Chitter! Chirp!! Clap!!!
Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Date: 11-03-2021.
Placed : 1 st
A young golfer came down from Finghall
to play a complete round as a single.
Then at the Friar's Head
some tall tales he did spread
as there among friends he did mingle.
A veteran of the course at Akebar
believed that this story went too far.
To hole all those birdies
just sounded like porkies
to him and to all who propped up the bar.
During the Covid restrictions one of our poetry group members started writing Limericks for local villages. We are building a collection, so this is my contribution.
With all of life's many ups and downs
Looking outside can't help but frown
Wish I was as free
Like the birdies I see
Flying around making my poor heart pound
I have you near right here in my heart
I noticed the feeling from the start,
while that emotion is strong
another one is King Kong...
Not that! A partner for my golf cart!
With all of life's many ups and downs
I look outside and can't help but frown
Wish I was as free
As the birdies I see
Flying around naked making my poor heart pound
How come birds never run into things
Are they born with radar under their wings
Humans should take note
Strap a radar gun under our coat
Instead of ending up with our head in a sling
I wouldn't mind par
but I'd prefer a birdie
anything but one, double, or
triple bogey.
Eagles are too high for my aim
but I still love this game.
After the eighteenth I'll
have a drink at the bar
and let my mind soar.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.