Limerance to love
Urge of late-night calls
Desperate with desire
Every note, every beat
Airborne anticipation
Hummingbird hearts
Lives glow and sparkle
Simple becomes spectacular
Matching pieces
A Disney-esque dream
Staring through the infinite
My waking thought
From burn to warmth
Anxious hands grasp at water
Push and pull, knowing need
Was it all for naught?
Soften with breath
Wrapped in safety
Comfort in confidence
Believing our best selves
Stable foundation
This new place of us
Hands and hearts entwined
Slow and steady
DELICATE DANCE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In nature’s exquisite ballet, a moment of perfect harmony unfolds before me. The hummingbird, a tiny, iridescent wonder, hovers with impossible grace over the trumpet flower. Their fleeting encounter, a delicate dance, speaks volumes of life’s fragile beauty and the miraculous interconnectedness of all things.
iridescent sheen
sunbeams dance upon her back
summer’s tiny queen
fragile, fierce, and free
hummingbird's bold, beating heart
wild and free she sings
invisible threads
connect her to flower’s heart
God’s subtle design
colorful and fast
flittering wings while feeding
then gone in a flash
THE HEAVYWEIGHT AND THE FEATHERWEIGHT
Poem written for Ridiculous Comparisons Poetry Contest, Miranda Hawley, sponsor, July 23, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There’s the elephant, a lumbering titan,
a true heavy weight with a heart that beats like thunder,
each footfall a seismic event,
a gentle giant, who with the grace of a ballet dancer
could crush a car if ballet were performed in slow motion
and involved a lot of mud.
Then there’s the hummingbird—a blur of iridescence,
a caffeine- sugar- fueled acrobat, a featherweight warrior
who sips nectar like a drunken poet,
lost in a world of fleeting moments.
It’s a tiny, feathered daredevil,
with the attention span of a gnat.
Mr. Smith sat tiredly, long hours at his desk,
by an old vacation photo, picturesque,
and a stack of papers; another twelve-hour day,
slowly, draining his lonely life away.
He looked at the picture and thought he heard
the voice of a tropical hummingbird
that lived inside that aged picture frame,
and, strangely, called him by his childhood name.
Could this be a hallucination?
Some out-of-control visualization?
He wondered, "Should I laugh out loud or scream?
I mustn't worry. It must just be a dream...
Or maybe it's a reverie, not a dream?"
The voice said, "I am His Majesty Supreme,
by needle beak, and by rotary wing,
I am the hummingbird fantasy king.
Smith felt his grip was growing flimsy,
when the bird said, "I also deal in whimsy".
"No! bird", you are my imagination!"
he screamed at the bird who forgot his station.
Mr. Smith disappeared, some say lost his mind.
Others say he left the world behind,
and he's living in a tropical dream
with a hummingbird, His Majesty Supreme.
firey spirit
rainbow colored wings floating
bird bath water cool
A flicker of wings,
a breath of color suspended
between here and gone.
They say the dead return as birds,
hearts restless, beating too fast,
as if trying to outfly time.
The hummingbird lingers,
drinking deep, trembling,
as if it knows the flowers will fade,
as if it knows the light is dying.
And then—
It is gone,
leaving only the whisper of wings
and the hush of something unseen.
hummingbirds flutter
amongst mauve rose of sharon ~
brimming with nectar
I woke to a whirring hum—
not the low drone of memory,
but the sharp, electric flick
of a question with wings.
Languorous molten air,
a stone canyon furnace,
and there!—
a hummingbird—
head cocked—
beady eyes peering at me—
beak poised at the gate of my breath—
as if to sample my soul—
or wake it back to life.
It must have thought me
a flower on a barrel cactus,
faked out by my red bandana,
and seemed surprised when I stirred
but didn’t fly away.
What was this small
multicolored messenger
from the spirit world
sent to say?
It hovered a heartbeat longer,
weirded out by my half-wild smile,
then zipped away sideways—
like all good mysteries do,
and left me feeling exultant,
and the day feeling brand new.
3d music bot that makes hearts swoon
Is what I’d leave melodies on the moon
Notes that float fly and dance
Or form pottery and art by hands
Yellow notes would boast so happily
Creating joy and hope as if laughing
Floating souls like white water tranquility
A kaleidoscope of colors moving dreams
Notes that are heard with silver soul
Like a hummingbird at a feeder glows
Fast and slow melodies ring like bell
Coasting in hearts like boat with sail
Yes a music bot that could act as a magic mirror
And a moving art that allows views to the hearer
Spring is here. and in the air...
and there's sparrows in the sky
Now seeds will blow, and greens will grow...
now that winter has passed us by
Flowers will blossom with beautiful hues...
and monarchs will cross the sea
And the hummingbird will sip, from the flower's petal tip
while it hums in a rhythmic melody
hummingbird magic
eighty wing beats a second
beauty of nature
most beautiful bird
so neat kind of hummingbirds
nice colorful bird
The hummingbird still comes
to the feeder hung to delight
the aged eyes of Mum,
shadowed now with twilight,
and to dance with her inner sprite.
The bird has not forsaken winter,
still sparkles with the dew of spring
and with the warmth of summer,
making mother's inner child sing
of joy the afterlife will bring.
Roaming among a sea of stars,
like a feather adrift in the breeze,
I wandered into kismet's bazaar.
From all the exotic scents and colours,
I became hypnotised by your guise.
Gazing into your reverie eyes,
you blushed like a lilac sunset.
Our souls reflected like bismuth crystals,
as hues shimmered upon forgotten lips.
I desired to decorate your sultry sighs
in a garland of holy petals,
showering you in a fountain of confetti,
creating a trail of opulent pastels.
Yet, all shades fade away,
as so much that is precious
is stolen or lost forever,
so with this porcelain heart,
where in between every beat,
the tip of my tongue calls your name,
I will adore you from a distance -
for I am just a hummingbird
in your horizon.
Simple Musing
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