Long Avian Poems
Long Avian Poems. Below are the most popular long Avian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Avian poems by poem length and keyword.
In bejeweled jade landscape
the topaz terrain rolls
on wondrous waves,
undulating with
the sculpted panorama
of pristine cadence,
entrenches in earthen frame
the sprawling shape
of a serene lake
sublimely sparkling,
the sapphire shining face
looks up
toward the cerulean sky,
entranced.
The southern zephyr
whispers enticing melody
to the rhapsodic ripples
intensely passionate,
spread in seraphic span
of self-centric rhythm,
slide on slithering shadows
of the dancing trees,
lining the contorted contours
of the splashing shore,
adorned.
Malachite lotus leaves
float flamboyant
with pulsating fervor,
the ruby flush of full bloom
makes the collage
of fiery fresco
with fanning feathers
of flaming flamingos,
their ballerina legs wading
the emerald waters
in avian grace,
supple napes swiveling
in charismatic concerto
of aquatic ballet,
surreal.
In the hypnotic gleam
of the setting sun
I watch the lacustrine opera.
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine
Enthralled by their Creator*’s glowing rays
Optimizing fidelity-strength’s sign
Amidst freedom, devoid of panic trace.
Enthralled by their Creator’s glowing rays
They fly with clever versatility
Amidst freedom, devoid of panic trace
Boasting expression-repertoire’s beauty.
They fly with clever versatility
As migratory marked by persistence
Boasting expression-repertoire’s beauty
Along great avian intelligence.
As migratory marked by persistence
Birds are they of caring sweet attitude
Along great avian intelligence
To conquer prey for triumph’s fortitude
Birds are they of caring sweet attitude
Optimizing fidelity-strength’s sign
To conquer prey for triumph’s fortitude
Squalling seagulls sip the morning sunshine.
*Isaiah 43:15 I am the LORD, your Holy One, the creator …, your King.
December 6, 2019
3rd place, "Your Best December Poem (Not about Christmas)" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton; judged on 12/26/2019.
I stand looking eastward, in the piccaninny dawn
I stand up straight, have a stretch, give out a hearty yawn
I am waiting for the sunrise, one of those times of day
When the beauty of this Place we live, comes with its own display
The horizon slowly brightens, as the Earth revolves
The sun appears to move around, as the dark dissolves
The rays start to stream vertical, the herald of the sun
Then the first part of the orb, a new day has begun
I watch enthralled as colours change, atmosphere in control
It is not long before the sun, is magnificently whole
The shadows they stretch out so far, hard to see the end
They blend into the distant shapes, Goosebumps they can send
As they are growing shorter, and daylight in command
Sunrise has gone for another day, Gods raucous, avian band
Plays all the different bird calls, is not sunrise grand?
All I can do is watch in wonder, was it really planned
As it makes its way across the sky, the Sun sees all the Earth
I think about the miracle, for what my thought is worth
The eons in the past gone by, no doubt the same to come
Just the passing of such time, it makes my brain quite numb
It moves toward its setting point, more beauty to behold
The colours they will vary, but with overwhelming gold
The reds they will be deeper, as the sun sinks in the west
Hard to say which one I think, sunrise or sunset best
As the orb sinks lower, shadows lengthen once again
But this time it's getting darker, daylight is on the wane
We'll have to wait till morning, once more to see it rise
Until dusk we can enjoy, the colour lows and highs
After the chill, I return from the wild to the thicket to fly
as the migratory songbird of the season so charming,
in the rippling crispy breeze of the sparkling spring sky
of the curved cobalt canvas with my spread-out wing.
The bird born to beckon the bright flushing dawn light,
I tweeter to the vibrant tunes of the sunburst shade,
keeping the cadence of the enclosed avian delight
in my beast beneath the scarlet coat that doesn’t fade.
When all the yonder thickets are silent in slumber,
I sing soaring in the silvery tracks of the first sunray.
The melody I compose for the dawn to remember,
as on the wings of the wild wind the notes drift away.
If you see a bird hopping on the bowed boughs bare,
clung to the tree outside your window on the sky blue,
singing the sunrise song sailing in the drifting dawn air,
know it’s me, the robin, ushering in a new day for you.
Written: November 17, 2023
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love. By William Wordsworth
_____________________________________________
If just there were a lexis from which to choose.
A magic word to silence the clock in the room.
To turn on lights for just a while and let loose.
Unplug the gloom and watch your face bloom.
A magic word to silence the clock in the room
In my mind, I retain loads of nameless rhymes.
Unplug the gloom and watch your face bloom.
Dreams primed my heart wrapped in those times.
In my mind, I retain loads of nameless rhymes.
By arguing, as if you're the only thing I can say.
Dreams primed my heart wrapped in those times.
However, they can't be spoken to or buried away.
By arguing, as if you're the only thing I can say.
They can't, as they secern the effects and price.
However, they can't be spoken to or buried away.
So I garden, sifting through my memory trice.
They can't, as they secern the effects and price.
Light in the grass, craving the white gull cry.
So I garden, sifting through my memory trice.
In passing, geese waveringly cross the sky.
Light in the grass, craving the white gull cry.
I watch, and it sleeps in solitude, with no name.
In passing, geese waveringly cross the sky.
Life of light seems to scorch anything as a flame.
I watch, and it sleeps in solitude, with no name.
Raised hare on a slope with long, clear ears.
Life of light seems to scorch anything as a flame.
Learn a timeless tune as trees quiver in years.
Raised hare on a slope with long, clear ears.
Avian species exude it and don't need to learn.
Learn a timeless tune as trees quiver in years.
Serve us with no words, and seek none in return.
Avian species exude it and don't need to learn.
To turn on lights for just a while and let loose.
Serve us with no words, and seek none in return.
If just there were a lexis from which to choose.
She was conceived of Springtime’s grace. Flower- child molded from the freshness and a burst of indescribable hues. Like Sabbath delicacy and freckled tints of June morning; this woman became the melody of dawn and solace of midnight. Until, grey winter blinded her eyes so almond. Cycles of discoveries slipped between dark and glitter. Oh, but her spirit remained undaunted--- more daring and quite misunderstood. Grandma listened to a glowing sky, instead; and fondled avian drawings through her chest. Her passion for life was full just the same.
through a roused breeze
image flares, tracing colors...
muted in darkness
Nonetheless, she tended leaves evergreen. More trails of seasons arose and departed; and in between, her words laced the Braille with wonder. Grandma held the moon that spiked her hunger for more flowers. She decorated her own thoughts without need for remorse; imagination came with her own sunsets, endless. And her fire for life was full just the same.
as leaves cluttered
moonlight swathes blossoms...
opening new roots
Haibun Form Contest, Broken Wings
9.30.2013
I want to sing like the birds sing, NOT worrying about
who hears or what they think."
~ Rumi
And so, it is penned with each poetic verse I write~
I become a nightingale trilling in the dark of night
A mourning dove, tenderly crying for a lost soul
Spring's first robin, tempting a worm from its hole
I'm a warbler, a thrush with songs that need singing
A swallow in Capistrano, north with my flock, winging
Hummingbird searching for sweet nectar to drink
Ebony raven whose observant eye can give you a wink
I'm a wee sparrow but my voice demands to be heard
I know the lyrics to sing for I've memorized each word
I'm part of an avian chorus crooning like a symphony
Musically arranged for our voices in harmonic polyphony
In the resplendent dawn of one seraphic spring
I saw a delicately weaved bird’s nest nestled
on the baroque bough of the magnolia tree
that was in full bloom in the backyard lawn.
Since then I saw every morning a cheery Robin
fly low in zest through the crispy fragrant air
with the wings spread to span the cerulean sky,
and descend to its nest as my songbird.
The bird of bright daylight flew with sunburst zest,
kept the secrets of avian delight in scarlet breast.
When thrushes were silent it sang to the first sunray,
the winds carried away the lyric of the dawn.
Little Robin swung on tree boughs in the surge of squall,
fluttered with rhythmic melody when rainbow appeared.
I heard the bird perched high outside my window
sing for me the sunrise song of the new day.
The charming bird dancing on the bowed branches
gave me enchanting company in the lonesome hours,
singing delightful songs that sailed in the gloomy air,
suffused my time with the ether of sensuous joy.
As I enjoyed the friendly closeness of the chirping robin
my pet cat sat by my side at the edge of the portico.
Perhaps with a built-up feeling of envy she watched me
engrossed with the little bird, unmindful of her presence.
One sunny morning I placed some corn on the porch,
found the bird fly in, hopped around to eat the grains.
My cat appeared from nowhere, pounced like lightning,
caught the robin in her sharp claws and ran away.
Sitting now by the window I miss my robin on the tree,
but in my ear still resonates the twitter of the bruised bird.
Ever these gifts from Eos of dawn,
Her mornings gently purling with ray’s early luster
To herald new sunrise, a jasper flare--
Robed in ornate chiffon waltzing quietly
On marbled hills, on awakened floral glide:
How fragrance explodes into creamy nectar
Luscious as her avian flock and bahiagrass,
With dainty hands strewing mist upon trees
Through chants of daybreak's invocation,
Granting all with tokens from maiden prayers…
And we offer beads of gratitude and homage
For newborn dreams yet to be fulfilled,
Till she renders vestal light to the wild of noon.
For Anthony Biaanco's Gifts Contest :
6/18/2020
Written: December 07, 2023
______________________________________
An art display with free and delightful assets,
Blemishes and brightness of nature are blatant
Confusingly gorgeous and full of magic and wonder
Digging deep down the dictum draws a drain.
Earth apex joins the sky peak to heal man's soul
Fathom thrills in its primal vogue as chaos
Gorgeous greenery coiled in your rippling blade
Hobble with a brisk ember for fall indulgence
It seems that nature is the most visually enticing.
Jewel blooms in a savored indigo whisk breeze
Kissing spite swirled, swaying spritz and sunlight
Levitate into the hills tidings; peace will reach you,
Mercurial avian melodies mingled in a zephyr swell.
Numb tears as marigolds sprout in the dawning sun
Observe nature in a gladsome way and appreciate it
Parasol arose in the blissful glory of glorious wile
Quintessence infuses both lost and found creations.
Remember, when the seasons alter and rain falls,
Sunshine and steel drum bands hug periwinkle sky.
Tender, rich maple-scented trees swirl with the wind
Uncork while chirping with birds to relieve stress
Vegetal forms decay, die, or are rudimentary.
Wail with a willow whisper whisked wind wilting
Xenoliths lack implies peridotite-eclogite connect
Yodeling, bird song disguise, and stage presence
Zenith inhales, exhales, fresh air renews your spirit.