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.
I. Theory
She is dark and her darkness frightens you. But as closer you come to her, the lighter the darkness becomes. How bright the light were, if a thousand suns would rise in the sky at once, but even such unbearable light powerlessly pales in comparison with the darkness of the one who scares you so much. The whole world, from heaven to hell, from black holes to snake’s ones, from the purest aspirations of human soul to the dirtiest pores of its flesh, is soaked with darkness like a sponge... Speaking of which, who is a class monitor today? The blackboard after the lesson should be virgin clean.
so don’t be afraid
come close and take the final
step toward yourself
II. Practice
Blind, hands in front, moving forward slowly. Or walking around. Direction no longer mattered. Time too. The last memories of light have long been left behind and now only darkness surrounded me. Alas, I wasn’t alone here. Fear didn’t leave my side, and its chains, clanging out there, made me nervously laugh. As instructed, after laughter pain comes, and soon there were three of us: a fear, a pain and the echo, laughing in the dark. It was all a bit sad. It all meant I haven't met her face-to-face yet.
endless loneliness
in everlasting darkness -
that's what she looks like
III. Exam
The human mind turns any abstractions into anthropomorphic forms. She had cat eyes, and in her vertical pupils I saw only eternal gloom. The weary moans of a woman, giving birth in pain; a newborn’s first cry; a girl's tears over the baby bird that fell out of the nest; a red-nosed widower’s choking sobs; an old man’s death rattle; the multi-billion groaning of the planet, being devoured alive by the black hole - that was the voice she spoke to me. Fleeing universes; cold, red, giant corpses of once living and hot stars; lifeless stone balls, spinning in the void - that's what I saw, having come close to her. All that could be said was said; all that could be lost was lost; all that made sense, became senseless. At last I was alone, alone in the literal sense of this word, but even loneliness requires clarification. "The noun, the inanimate, the middle genus," I clarified, and at the same moment I understood the meaning of the lesson, which had previously eluded the one who always was
the unthinkable
inscrutable complacent
dazzlingly bright nought
Jokes on me, guess you're the roaster and i'm to chicken to say goodbye cause I waste my time wishing you would hold me closer ,the shows been over but im still seated, my vision blurred , Is the curtain really closed? ,In the mist I search through my mind to try to find the truths separated from the lie,what's real and whats hidden, intermixed and woven, a stir of confusion, a mind warped ,a puppet to the puppeteer her brains been stirred, she cant see clear,a place in his heart? please! there's no room for you there, little crumbs get dropped and I follow the trail going through the maze getting dizzy in the haze hoping to reach the big cheese,what am I trying to achieve?The unattainable heart, the broken Soul,a sick need like desire why is it he that fuels my fire when it is also he who leave my heart and soul, empty ,yearning and tired,the lust ,his touch ,his smell, his presence in your mind he always dwells, he disregards you and still you feel like hes your armor?!? it's debatable that hes not quite malicious but yet he still harms you,disarmed you are against his charms,his smile ,his voice defeats you every time,in your mind a shadow of him cackles you are mine,a prisoner to passion all while forgetting this kinda pain is not in fashion ,a glutton for punishment I ingest all the excrement, a slave to the pain don't even try to break out of my chains,sounding erratic the feeling is tragic ,his flesh pressed against mine ,the skin craving sin, ringmaster of this disaster he controls the elements like a wizard, under his spell heaven an hell ,if u looked in my eyes could you tell? I'm under your spell can you not tell, I wish I was held in your mind like you are in mine ,I wish in your heart I had a place to reside, but I'm just a jester going on a ride ,riding my unicycle around in a circle ,a sideshow for you ,the one u lie with but will never hold dear, like a master I'm your cat ,you wave the feather taunting me but I can never grasp it ,like a baby bird inside of the shell there's a slight crack but I cant break free, born deformed unable to fly,you caught me a few times as I started to cry, shrieking inside my mind the words blast between my skull and vibrate my brain as my blood vessels pulsate in a excruciating manner , my mind screams he'll never be mine!
Enjoyers of the traveling days, all should be so lucky. My companion and I were stranded at a train station. A thunderstorm so bright with lighting crashing, we wrote youthful words by dimly lit candles. Flickering in your eyes I see no roused worry. Across your face no exhaustion exhibited. But two travelers, up all night giddy as school girls, have breath and rest and youth to carry our fresh bodies on through, our now dark journey. Sojourner, sleep will be my partner tonight. The excitement I burst forth with, all to be ethereal.
Oh, lovely train trip. All scattered through these dark and lonely plains. After the shower stopped, I’m in the distant. I hear a baby bird crying out for its mother. Mother I am soaked and cannot fly, here I am.
This dark withdrawn night came along a universal path. One of destruction aimed right at the petulant travelers. The sky cracks with lights. Voicing out in precession, are we mad, turbulent, dissatisfied come wail and shout with us the weary. The thunderstorms, the crossroad hunters, us. We have love of men forgotten, the un-marrying type. We experience not the closeness of women, a friend, companion and love to hold my hand.
I am the lone sojourner. The traveler, my scattered rug baggage, a storm for my paths way. Like little bird all drenched, chirping out, here I am love. Dry my tears for years, I long for you men and women to gently kiss my streaming cheeks dry again.
On just this side of trouble, I lie so very still. Rejected by love. Used by my fellows and their incessant jokes. Laughing they take my youthful beauty away. To have but never hold, never one touch of compassion. I am too proud to act beautiful and baffled. For my knowledge of romantic love not only run sadly back home, but still stately longs for my companion and lovers fine caress. Truthfully, but never-the-less, my solace in my deepest of moon absent midnight. Oh woman where shall thee be? Your subtle friendship, agreeable to me, I more than wish for you. I hope to suddenly find you waiting at the crossroads for me. Send me not away. My ironical need to call out for the gentle breeze of your breath.
Joy, happiness, pain, sadness, love, passion, hatred, greed, tears, pleasure, grief, lies,
regret, pride, addiction, suicide....
Lots of emotions
Lots of feelings
Lots of confusions
Some are nothing but acts, lies and performances
Some are truthful and painful
And Some are helpless and hopeless
I stand as a baby bird ready to fly
I blunder forth and back, Left and right
Where ever the wind takes me
Just like the voices in my head moving inside my mind
The sound of the screaming nights, the stormy lands, the raging hungry oceans, the cries in every drop in a rainy day and the broken heart of planet earth.
The floating sea animals, the burning forests!! Because of the intelligent acts of human!
Thoughts, poetry, stories scrawl across the white empty pages... Meaningless words!!
Safe, secure!! Look at them no houses, no families, no shadows... Nameless!
They're hungry for hugs and kisses for a bosom and we get angry for getting a bad payday
and they aren't getting any!
Their only shield is the naked trees!!
The mask of blessings and the beliefs of belongings are wilting with the fires of
loneliness and guilt.
The music of the weddings
The screams with every new birth
The voices of the crashing bones when a body hits the ground...another suicide!
The shouts of a girl lost in despair holding her father in her arm screaming for help to
save him...another heart attack!
War, human, peace, god!!
Voices of thunders - god creation - Reach from the farthest, vast skies burning houses
trees and cities.
Human creation crashing the skies blowing homes, women, babies... Blowing them into pieces!
Soulless men!!
Somewhere in this world in this minute
A girl weeps
A child cries
many dies
somewhere in this world humanity fades
Some are killed
Some are hurt
Some lost in dreams
Lots of voices I can't handle
The thoughts of an addict living with a blue hole in his arm barely losing it
The thoughts of a daughter brutally beaten from an alcoholic father
The thoughts of a hungry child of war
I should have helped them all, but I can't!
The Snow that Flurried like Chatting Kangaroos
Ramah Prince was thinking about Suhail G Faizal again. Suhail G was a remarkable rover with pretty hair and wide lips.
Ramah walked over to the window and reflected on his magical surroundings. He had always loved chilly Newyork with its rapid, roasted rivers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel shocked.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a remarkable figure of Suhail G Faizal.
Ramah gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an incredible, greedy, tea drinker with feathery hair and handsome lips. His friends saw him as an alert, afraid author. Once, he had even helped a relieved Baby bird cross the road.
But not even an incredible person who had once helped a relieved Baby bird cross the road, was prepared for what Suhail G had in store today.
The snow flurried like chatting kangaroos, making Ramah active. Ramah grabbed a peculiar kettle that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Ramah stepped outside and Suhail G came closer, he could see the yarbing glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want revenge," Suhail G bellowed, in a kind tone. He slammed his fist against Ramah's chest, with the force of 479 gerbils. "I frigging love you, Ramah Prince."
Ramah looked back, even more active and still fingering the peculiar kettle. "Suhail G, I am your father," he replied.
They looked at each other with healthy feelings, like two outrageous, oily ostriches loving at a very lovable Holiday, which had reggae music playing in the background and two admirable uncles shouting to the beat.
Ramah studied Suhail G's pretty hair and wide lips. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you revenge," he explained, in pitying tones.
Suhail G looked lonely, his body raw like a rich, ratty ruler.
Ramah could actually hear Suhail G's body shatter into 1698 pieces. Then the remarkable rover hurried away into the distance.
Not even a cup of tea would calm Ramah's nerves tonight.
THE END
Enora used to take him walking in the woods…they would listen to the trees….They would stop to touch the flowers…watch the butterfly and bees.
Enora loved to walk among the birds…she knew them all by name……She did not have a favorite one…for she loved them all the same.
She would close her eyes and listen to their songs…their melodies without words….“Oh I would give anything.” She’d say…”to be singing with these birds.”
On the day Enora passed away…the Enora he adored…he ran into the forest…to the place where they explored.
He remembered how they walked these woods..and all the wonders they had found…but he was not expecting…what he discovered on the ground.
He was thinking of Enora…when suddenly he heard…plaintive cries…what sounded like the moaning of a bird?
He looked around and then he saw it… a few steps up ahead…a baby bird had fallen from the nest…the baby bird was dead.
He scooped her in his hands as gently as he could…then in a voice both sad and calm…he looked up in the tree and said, “I’m sorry!” to the mom.
Tears cascaded down his cheek…as he looked into the mother bird’s eyes…as he listened to her somber tweet…as he watched the mother bird cry?
He nestled the bird within his hands…she was a beautiful shade of blue…then carried her back to his front porch…unsure what to do.
As his thoughts returned to Enora…it became easy to decide….He filled an old shoe box with cotton…then laid the bird inside.
He carried that box back back to the woods…got on his hands and knees…and with mom (and Enora) watching….buried her beneath that tree.
“I know that you’re unhappy, momma bird.” He said. “Wishing things were different than they were.”…but your baby’s with Enora now…and she’ll take care of her…”
Then he looked up to the heavens…searching in his heart for the right words…“I think you got her wish Enora.” He said…”have fun singing with the birds.”
Then the momma bird landed on a lower branch…and sang the sweetest lullaby
as both boy and bird found their own way…
to say their last good-bye.
(Inspired by Carl Jung and his psychological theories)
We, the humans pull words from physical reminders
as a farmer harvest crops
and as ranchers recognize the animals.
See how children make friends with their toys
and often have imaginary experiences.
They believe for a time, a real and living to them
that allows them a world of fiction and fantasy.
We know the animals talk not
but their eyes have the power
that speaks great language.
And we know for certain how
animals differ from men
as they don’t have financial worries.
See how the birds differ more from man
the way they build their nests
and as they leave, keep landscape as it was.
It’s said about birds
if baby bird has human scent
mom won’t accept it.
And see how
the cuckoo arrives in April,
starts to sing a song in May:
Then in June another tune,
and she flies away.
Birds have senses quite clearer than man.
Once on a chilly Christmas morn
I was looking out of the window.
Most of the birds have gone
on this cold dark winter day.
I saw a Cardinal on the tree
brilliantly colored Northern Cardinal
a winter fixture at snow-covered bird feeders.
I asked myself “Do the birds have Christmas?”
Looking something to eat or
planning in advance for a habitat
on the leafless tree.
When it gets cold, it flies south
when it gets warm, it returns
that is what we learn from birds.
Maybe waiting his girlfriend’s message
About when to bring food to the nest.
Real things grow on our vines of Jungian theory
As our mind chooses words and create thoughts.
One well knows clouds and watermelons
As close relatives, kissing cousins genetically
As their molecular identity is almost the same.
As the mind create
The body expels joy and hate.
We satisfy our needs the best we can
Thereby feed the desire to cast emotional dice.
+++
October 29, 2014
Form: Free Verse"
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest: Words; the heart of imagination by Brian Johnston
THE MORNING WAS PLEASANT, THE WEATHER WAS FINE,
BREAKFAST OUT OF THE WAY, FISHING WAS ON MY MIND.
I’D WAITED ALL WEEK, BUT IT HAD FINALLY ARRIVED,
GOING FISHING AT LAST, THANK GOODNESS ALIVE.
WITH REEL IN MY HAND, TACKLE BY MY SIDE,
I HEADED ON OUT, NOT TOO LONG A RIDE.
TO THE LAKE I WAS GOING EARLY ON THIS MORN,
BEFORE DAYBREAK, AND BEFORE THE SUN WAS BORN.
WITH COOL DRINKS IN THE ICE CHEST, LISCENCE BY MY SIDE,
I’D BE OUT FISHING BEFORE A BABY BIRD CRIED.
GETTING TO THE LAKE, NO TROUBLE I HAD,
I LEARNED ALL THIS EARLY, STRAIGHT FROM MY DAD.
HE SAID, GO OUT EARLY, BRING THEM ON IN,
THAT’S WHEN YOU CATCH THEM, HE SAID WITH A GRIN.
I SURVEYED THE AREA, ALL GLOOM AND ASLEEP,
I’D CAST TOWARD THE MIDDLE, OUT WHERE IT WAS DEEP.
I PULL BACK MY ARM TO GET A GOOD SHOT,
BUT WHEN I WENT FORWARD’S THAT’S WHEN THINGS GOT HOT.
CAUGHT MY LINE ON A TREE BRANCH, LIKE TO BROKE MY ARM,
THOUGHT I HEARD SOME ONE SAY, NO FOUL NO HARM
WELL THAT MADE ME MAD, THAT’S WHEN THE TROUBLE BEGAN,
I YANKED AND I YANKED AND YANKED ONCE AGAIN.
NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED TO GET THE LINE FREE,
THAT DAD BOB BRANCH WOULDN’T GIVE IT BACK TO ME.
WELL, I THREW DOWN MY REEL, AND CLIMBED UP THAT TREE,
I COULD SEE IT WAS GOING TO BE TROUBLE TWEEN THAT BRANCH AND ME.
WELL I FINALLY CRAWLED OUT ON THAT BIG BRANCH.
FIXING TO GET MY WRAPPED UP LINE UNHOOKED, FAT CHANCE.
CAUSE ALL OF A SUDDEN AND MUCH TO MY SUPPRISE,
I WAS ON A HORNETS NEST, RIGHT THERE BEFORE MY EYES.
YOU TALK ABOUT PANIC, I THINK IT WAS TOO LATE,
CAUSE WHEN THEY STARTED UP, SEEMS THEY OPENED THE GATE.
LORD! I HOLLOWED OUT AS MY FEET HIT THE GROUND,
GET ME OUTTA THIS MESS AND MY LIFE I’LL KEEP SOUND.
THEM SUCKERS WAS POPPING ME, POPPING LIKE HECK,
I JUMPED IN THE LAKE, WAY OVER MY NECK.
SEEMED LIKE HOURS, BEFORE I HAD THE NERVE TO COME UP.
LUCKILY THEY WERE GONE, ME I WAS SOAKED LIKE A PUP.
I EASED TO MY TRUCK, GOT IN AND STARTED OUT FAST,
THEY CAN HAVE MY FISHING GEAR AND THEY CAN KISS MY FOOT.
Form:
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.
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