The Robin sits on her shoulder
She thinks of her husband
He is near to her
As the robin cheeps away
She can work out what it's trying to say
Don't worry my loved one
I am still here
I still love you dear
I miss you now I am gone
Just listen out for the Robins song
She puts out a finger and the Robin jumps on
It cheeps and chipes it's song
A chorus so sweet
A memory so dear
She knows her loved one is here
The Robin flies away
The lady says I'll see you again on another day
She picks up her things
And walks away as the Robin sings
She is never alone
bird speak fascinates me
I wish we had a Rosetta stone
to explain the tweets, peeps, cheeps and whistles
The air slowly fills
with curly pungent wafts of steam
billowing up from a
hot freshly brewed cup of coffee.
Raising the baton to
conduct the dawn chorus
of bird songs and plans
mulled to begin.
I love to see and feel
the ringlet tufts of steam
getting up my nose, blurring and
opening up my eyes,
like a curtain raise,
to conduct the symphony to begin.
The trills and tweets,
chirps and cheeps,
whistles and trills,
caws and chortles,
are all entwined and garnered
in the first sips, of the first cuppa,
taken at wake of day.
The steam and songs
unspool a cotton thread of
memories and reflections,
hopes and fears,
to be weft, warped,
shuffled and shuttled,
through the loom
to weave the coming day.
In the depth of the night, a concerto commenced,
With drums of thunder and a melody of rain.
Wind flutes played loud sniveling notes,
Carrying pulsating tunes in blustery tones.
Streaks of lightening, with their baton of light,
Led the blasting orchestra with dynamic might.
Trees swayed wildly, leaves scattered with force,
Rain soaked the paths, shattering dense shadows.
As dawn tiptoed, with the sun’s gentle caress,
Melodic whistles, cheeps and croaks took the stage.
Blue bonnets danced, greeting butterflies and bees,
Jays and cardinals capered under the radiant trees.
Hummingbirds frolicked around the buds of paintbrush,
Grackles called out in an enthusiastic rush.
Scissor-tailed flycatchers hovered, tails unfurled,
Charmed their mates with their squeaks and chirrs.
Pinkladies and Firewheels in their spectacular array,
Welcomed the day, luring pollinators their way.
The storm disappeared, giving way to a tranquil zephyr,
Joyfulness prevailed, in awe of Mother Earth’s endeavor.
Feckless forest faeries faintly frolicking for fiddling foundlings.
Morose mortals merrily mixing meager mushroom munchies
Fantastical fey forever feeds frenzied fevers following forest firs
Chattanooga chirps, cheeps, chattering chipmunks, chewing crunchies.
Fresh blossoms of trees and shrubs
Tender blooms of vine creepers
Meek buds developing into flowers
Glistening leaves’ swaying whispers
Glorious displays of emerald runners
Liberal scatterings of dynamic colors
Soft touches of crisp gusts
Reflective bouquets of dreamy fragrance
Enthusiastic cheeps of song birds
Mother Nature’s embellishments of spring air
He listened for them in the wood
as daylight blossomed, poised to prowl
For breakfast, breast meat sounded good
and Cat could feel his stomach growl
Soon, struck by a cacophany
of cheeps and chirps, of coos and caws,
Cat snuck up on them, tree by tree
and hushed each cluck with teeth and claws
They paid no mind, so were plucked clean
from every nook where they would sing
but had they looked, they might have seen
him right behind them and took wing!
When Cat had eaten every bird,
he retched a ball of beaks and feet,
spat out one final bone and purred,
outstretched atop the spongey peet...
The birdsong’s interrupted by
The lawn machine next door.
I cannot hear the tweets and trills
Above the mower’s roar.
An airplane flies by overhead;
The garbage truck makes beeps,
But suddenly, the man-made noises
Cease and there are cheeps.
Though sounds of nature coexist
With man’s cacophony,
Cessation of the latter
Brings a stillness sweet to me.
I
Siblings stolen
Why list the nations ills ...
Bring Chicken Little home
II
Kuiken has cage during light
Twilight cheeps, louder -- plaintive --
Back in box, quietest baby
There’s rainsong on Sunday morn.
The herald of Springtime reciting.
A chorus of wings in the changeover.
Unrelenting litany of praise from fowl.
Nature, humble and knowing, cheeps
loud and not silent, healing with peace.
Chirping, stirring, Winter to be released.
Forget the shadow of groundhog, lean
into the melody of a wet ground, awaiting
the plow and seeds, daffodils and hot sun.
Sing O earth, be rattled by resurrection.
What the robins and blue jays know.
What common man, with hope not despair,
hands opening the book where bonnie notes
ebb and flow on fiery tongues, in air, shared
on this very late Winter, a Sunday morn.
2/27/2022
unhurried buffalo sits in a corner of the prairie
watching things happen in slow intervals
hearing birds' tweets, cheeps, screeches and whistles
enjoying the sun warming his back,
recognizing nature's beauty in a soulful way
understanding the season and the climate
thanks to God's gift to him of many observant years
To watch the birds is pure delight
While at the feeder or in flight.
They poke and peck to get their seeds,
Providing peace my spirit needs.
Their cheeps and chirps imbue the air
With melody they’re meant to share
With fellow feathered-friends they greet,
Much like our human type of tweet.
How fortunate I feel that I
Can sit and let the hours go by
While watching birds to pass the time
And twittering my thoughts in rhyme.
How could those little wing,
Endure such a force,
Of the merciless rain,
Beating with stone drops coarse.
How could those little feathers,
Endure the heavy weight,
Of the drops so heavy,
As one by one peace they await.
How could those little birds,
Endure such hardships,
And yet with such happiness,
Give those uplifting chirps and cheeps?
07/03/2020
"In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous." Aristotle
Sweet
Singing
Chirping bird,
Chant notes with grace,
Whistle blissful tunes,
Whisper those short high cheeps,
Twitter those thin tender tweets,
Twist my moments of silent tears
Cover other notes so duff and dull
Coz someday, boys and girls might sing your voice.
Blackbird is dead.
Yes. That is what I said.
The woods are still. The sun is red.
Cherries near his little head.
Dark is coming. Nanette weeps!
The wind shivers. Nightowl peeps.
Gone the robin's trills and cheeps.
The song is ended. Time sleeps.
Sober the jay in his blue cloak,
Unlike the morning he awoke.
Frog hasn't heart to give a croak.
Adam won't tell his usual joke.
Trees bow. The day must pass.
Silent footstep on the grass.
What deed is this? What manner? What class?
The best of Sundays is gone, alas.
Blackbird is dead; they come and they go.
Summer changes to autumn glow.
All is ever so quiet now, though--
Awaiting the cockcrow.
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