Long Baby bird Poems
Long Baby bird Poems. Below are the most popular long Baby bird by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baby bird poems by poem length and keyword.
Shark waits in the bushes, for his opportunity. I am watching the scene in horror, because I feed these birds. There are many robins, sparrows, wrens, cardinals and my bluejay. They all trust me. I try to get out there in time to scare the cat away from his prime spot, but alas, I am too late. He has captured an unsuspecting baby bird. Trots off with his prey into the forest while the other birds continue to feed, unaware they are now in Shark’s own secret happy hunting ground.
cat takes flying leap
little brown robin escapes
feline grab in air
Virgin mother of spring and maiden of light
Once fallen offspring of your splendorous son
Humbled and now exalted above the height
Shining down over all creatures as the sun
You are the slim ladder of heavenly wisdom
You sent Eve to make our human nature exalted
You sent Jesus of Sabaoth to man’s system
You sent bright Christ to become what he emanated
The love whose warmth made this white rose grow above
In eternal peace, flamed in your cosmic womb
You’re the noonday torch of burning, twinkling love
You’re a bubbling spring of living hope in gloom
Sophia, you so great, beyond any price or strife
That a baby bird wishing for warm grace assured
Does not tweet to you, the mother of all singing life
His young soul will try to fly without wings matured
Your breath-taking compassion not just lifts those who sing for it
Your living love often comes before we even sung with our teachers
In your heart is tenderness and pity that your eyes emit
In your soul is kindness and the pleroma of pearls in all creatures
Now we, who have been through every path and place
From rivers of flames to the outer darkness
Now to this bridge, we beg for your inner grace
Strength to uplift our eyes to blissful starkness
Our souls are on fire like singing phoenixes being born again
In flaming passion, we pray for soothing gnosis of the true
We pray for every cloud of mortality to vanish with our pain
We pray that that supreme joy, that saving lightning, might break through
Sophia, who can do all without restraints
May your hands conquer the fleshly minds of ours
See Norea and the countless stars of saints
Folding hands, bowing heads for us fallen stars
On the drive to work as the sun beams for Me
My mind and core still always reeling
Can't comprehend the depth of feeling
As you helped to ease and fix
A heart that had once all but stopped it's desperate beating
Once a girl standing on a fresh grave
With no words fitting for it's stone
Sitting in offices, trying to act brave
Counting pills in a hand that felt
The death of part of its soul
As it flew away like a wounded bird
Wanting and yearning to be seen and be heard
Broken and useless, Afraid and a burden
Now a woman who's standing in her own grace
A partner by her side , no longer lingering in place
Words flowing deeply from her expanse
Standing in her own scene , eyes gleaming
Thankful her core has a fresh chance to dream
Feeling the light winds of travel
As a new bird that's just hatched
Ready to see what life will unravel
Since a girl-
I have been sensitive
hiding behind mother was my place to be
my eyes were deep pools of sadness
brown swirls of sorrow
words said effected me too much
I could not brush them off-
that was not me . . .
I just went within
with my imagination making up stories
I would read books in a secret attic corner
at night I told my kitty- my sadness
father taught me about nature and I loved
wandering the forest all alone
I saw things that touched my soul
a little baby bird
young squirrels playing
nature growing
streams flowing
green lush vines creeping . . .
this is where I still find my peace
my tranquility-
as a young woman I remain quiet- often alone
in my silent world
words said still scar my heart and soul, and
for some reason my life has been a tangled path
a ravaged garden washed with death
I have lost everyone I ever loved-
but I treasure sweet moments of sublime beauty lived
and in the end my sorrow is
a blessing . . .
for it has made me the poet, and words
drip from my pen to create poems
yet in the mirror, I often see
that frightened, sad little girl looking at me . . .
_______________________
May 15, 2017
Free Verse/My Introspective Thoughts
Copyright Protected, ID 900506
For the contest, Introspective
sponsor, Lewis Raynes
First Place
I fear for the future of many young and innocent.
The unfortunate ones whose childhood was spent
without responsible parents who couldn't care less.
Abandoned or runaways, alone and in dire distress
of what to do. To survive they turn to a life of sin...
thinking it's better than the home they were living in.
On their own, using the only thing they have to barter,
one prostitutes her body like a lamb to the slaughter.
It's an old story about some who had a lousy childhood,
parents who didn't care or who never understood
that a child needs love to give them a sense of worth.
Many were given away within days of their birth.
Others, fleeing a home in which they'd been abused
is a common reason teenagers often become confused.
And another innocent baby bird, from the nest has flown
walking the streets, lost and left to make it on her own.
Lips painted scarlet red... in a hooker's shoes she walks,
lamb to the slaughter while the lascivious wolf stalks.
Little Girl Lost, whose flesh was once as white as snow,
allows herself to be used by Tom, Dick, John and Joe.
Langston Hughes has labeled her, "...a withered flower
on a broken stem." * Stilettoes pacing hour after hour,
just so she can eat. A lamb to quench a predator's thirst,
she's among the flock on the corner of Gutter and 21st.
*'Young Prostitute' by Langston Hughes
EXPECTING TO FLY
You watch outside the window at the bird's nest
Watching the baby bird leaning on the mother's breast
I want to give the mother and baby a wave
But I think they just want to rest before they engage
The baby is still very young
And the young bird flying has just begun
I know the baby bird flying will start slow
But it's just nice watching this little bird start to grow
The baby bird is just starting to stand
Without its mother lending a helping hand
When the baby bird starts to fly
It won't start very high
And I hope it will not be the bird's last goodbye
It was a rainy day at dawn
And I looked outside and they were gone
I don't know where they flew to
All I know they just flew the coup
You told me
when I nearly died
how weird it felt
to feed me
how agape I waited
mouth open wide
for the next spoonful
like I did as a baby
Hungry little bird
You told me
when you were dying
you didn't see me till
days after I was born
years of guilt
that we did not bond
unwed teenage moms
in those days
unconsidered
Hungry little birds
You told me
when I was dying
for your approval
that I was not pretty enough
not strong enough
ridiculed me
insulted me
cut me off
Hungry little bird
I told you
when you were dying
when you asked me
why
that it was all ok
that we just were who we were
and that I loved you
that it's ok
mom it's ok
Hungry little bird
A decade since
you passed away
I live with
echoes of your words
and only now
I realize
that for your love
I will always be
Your hungry baby bird
17.03.19
One of the treasures of our morning walks…as we slowly walk along
is listening to the birds as they wake up and sing their morning songs.
We love walking together…listening to the birds…it’s a great way for our day to start…
as walking exercises our body while those bird songs soothe our hearts.
Over the years…walking in the different seasons, fall, winter, summer, spring
we’ve come to recognize certain birds by the different songs they sing.
Even though we know their melodies and will never know the words
we smile when we hear the bluejay, the Carolina wren, the cardinal and the mockingbird.
We will never tire of listening…it is a great way for our day to begin…
and springtime here in Florida is when the woodpeckers join in.
We try to find the birds who are singing…because their colors we’d love to see
but most of the birds are shy and sing while hidden in the shelter of their trees.
Every now and then, however, we catch a glimpse of the diva…and we let our a little cheer
it’s a wonderful moment on our walk when our eyes are as happy as our ears.
Yesterday we heard a woodpecker…then followed her sound to a hole up in a tree
where a hungry baby woodpecker peeked out…and was easy for us to see.
She sang a hopeful tune…wondering what mom or dad would bring her to eat.
Would it be nuts or insects this morning…
or perhaps fruits and berries…something sweet.
We hoped she’d get berries as we walked away without saying a word
still listening and blessed to have witnessed the innocence of that baby bird.
And once again we thought of our own children and all the children of the world
those we can and cannot see…
and we said a little prayer that every one of them is as loved and as protected
as that baby woodpecker in the tree.
O' Beautiful poet you write the letters form to words turn to couplets, sentences and verses
Beautiful poet you don't write for fame you don't disclaim to write for worth for moneys or celebrity
Beautiful poet don't be discouraged as long as you have one who reads your words you are fully aware that you are gifted of God and that you can
Write those word encouraging to be held read and heard those beautiful words
Beautiful Poet don't let no one, no one discourage you don't let no one engage in negative views, try to silence you be derogatory for it is their View
Beautiful poet you write on, Write on right on
Beautiful poet if there's no one out of the 10 of thousands but just one who you enlighten Co creator co create your verse, whom you touch with your beautiful words
That means so much always, be encouraged never stop writing those words co-created by you and our God Beautiful Poet you mean so much
To everyone yet you don't even know it
Write on, right on, write on
Dedicated to the thousands of Poetry soup Poets and Poetess
You are All BEAUTIFUL
Write on!
Write on!
Write on!
Liken a baby bird, on the keyboard pecking with your beak
writing words
A chirping voice, rhyming of course
Beautiful poet
1/14/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©
I'm just getting started so what can I say,
we just might be here all day.
I am fed up with cooking what a mess,
I would rather be playing chess.
Driving was oh so much fun,
now everyone just looks and gives you a yawn.
Laundry, where did you come from?
seems like I did you yesterday as I sung.
Shopping was an adventure searching for the right outfit,
no sales people around, guess they all quit.
Just as I wash my last dish,
here comes one more to wash in the sink.
Having babies was a thrill,
then they all needed a pill.
Years come and years go,
am I sounding like an old crow?
Computer, computer what should I do,
I thought you had all my answers but you just make me blue.
Date:9/17/2019