Long Birdsong Poems
Long Birdsong Poems. Below are the most popular long Birdsong by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Birdsong poems by poem length and keyword.
Spring's whispers were present in the brisk night
promises of blooms mid summerlike skies
Yet winter's snowy white colors my sight
Could those promises be only her guise?
I long for endless nights to quickly end
though I own no quibble with the white moon
but on Spring and birdsong we do depend;
in this stillness, there is no lovely tune.
Spring does seem very unmindful of time
nor do freezing breezes stir her desire
for flowers blooming in sun shining clime
What does one do to light the stubborn fire?
Could it be spring is but choosing to hide,
or is this some version of Spring Untried?
April 3, 2024
I walked where borders were mere lines,
Invisible ink beneath my strides.
No passport stamped my phantom face—
I was the ghost in every place.
Seventeen tongues danced on my lips,
From Moscow winds to Cairo ships.
I whispered codes in birdsong tones,
And sent the sparrows into zones.
Their wings, my messengers unseen,
Slipped past the guards, unheard, serene.
I wore a thousand crafted masks,
Each one flawless for its task.
A merchant, monk, or soldier’s guise—
Truth drowned beneath a sea of lies.
I played their minds like strings of art,
Each heartbeat mapped, each fear a chart.
Psychic sight, my inner flame,
Saw secrets long before they came.
I bent the steel of what is real—
With just a thought, the earth would feel.
Telekinetic wrath unfurled—
I cracked the skin of this old world.
With just a blink, I moved a tide,
Exposed the whispers nations hide.
Vaults of power? I had the key.
The darkest truths, revealed to me.
I watched as kings in silence bowed,
While empires burned beneath the cloud.
Data, secrets, blood, and shame—
I held them all, and none could name
The face behind the rising storm—
A ghost beyond the human form.
They feared what they would never see.
Who truly knows what knows the KGB?
White lace cascades,
string beads of light
fall from a quiet sky.
There’s a soulful eye-gaze—
not quite seen,
but deeply felt—
as if the night itself is watching,
studying the stars,
navigating galaxies of hope
with nothing but longing for a compass.
Turned out.
Opened up.
Like a Christmas present—
torn,
but radiant.
Laughter and freckles
etched into knowing.
The past,
just a sigh in the wind.
The future—not yet arrived.
It is now.
And that is enough.
Limited time
makes joy ache in a bittersweet way.
So it is only right
to submerge fully
into this sacred world
of breath and birdsong.
They say there are
a hundred billion planets
just in our galaxy—
and two trillion galaxies
still spinning in the dark.
A septillion worlds,
each cold, each silent,
each waiting.
But only this one
wept at sunrise,
wrote sonnets,
whispered I love you in kitchens,
birthed children,
broke hearts,
and kept going.
We—
star-born with nerve endings,
carbon dreaming in the dark—
are the only known thing
that has ever looked up
and asked:
Why?
With war,
and planes torn from the sky,
we forget
the simple, gentle fact
that it is a miracle
we are here at all.
Awed by the hypnotic sound and melody
of your gold-toned harmony
requested a single flower
as a memento of
your lyrical mysticism
yet, you brought on a tide of bliss
melodious birdsong, peaceful psalms
in an exquisite tangerine blush shade
speckled beauty adorns the stems
dazzlingly, in a blaze of golden splendor
blossom delightfully
lulled by the soothing tunes of hazel tales
shades play gracefully in motion
chase dreams of a faraway rainbow
gold bright throbs pulsating heart of a king
emitting flaming thrums of ariose spring moods.
Written: May 1st, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1213 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
bright
blotched blades
blows of breeze
bouquet of blooms
babble of birdsong
bustle of bees
are bounties
spring based
blinks
Spring Ninette Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Rhyme zone & syllables PS
Date: 07-04-2021
Lost my energy... tired and exhausted in my body
My longing drives me like a high fever
Just the thought .... feel a bit lightheaded
Am I sick - should I see a doctor
No ... when I think about it ... it's spring fever
Beautiful spring ... long time to wait after a cold winter
Gorgeous birdsong in the air ... I have not waited in vain
Spring snow melts ... Snowdrops, coltsfoot and buds on trees
Taste of summer I must say. . . my time - so beautiful
The air is set with colors - and dipped in beautiful fragrances
I want to plant a little seed in the still cold ground
later the seed grow into a beautiful flower
Spring has opened my heart today -
and I can feel it in my whole body
Now I want to dance - dance with me
19.02.2014
A-L Andresen :)
I
The depth of steep, hellish ascent
darkness abides, the peak obscene.
cliffhanger of sweat, the creature bent
attempting to climb, make a dent.
No wind brushes away the hair in her eyes.
She recalls nothing of birdsong or sunrise.
A hunchback of time, minutes pass slowly.
Diamonds glitter, the sun beats boldly.
Like a desert walk the road is parched.
With a sting of bumblebees she marched.
II
Delightful descent of diamondiferous slide.
Easy-peasy pleasant, air-conditioned ride.
Beautiful petals of friends, flutter of wings,
a moon full of stars, the universe sings.
Bare feet, toes polished bright pinks and reds.
Canopied four-posters, wide open beds.
Trees with jade and ruby candies, sweet
to the tongue, as she tells of her wild treat
life, retreat with angel feathers, falling
for her many handsome men, wailing
on her silken sheets as she says so long
to the coddlesome place she knows she belongs.
III
Suddenly the slide falls out, the flames shoot up.
She drinks the potent blood from her chalice cup.
As her fear and anger explode, the fire grows hotter.
The ground like a hurricane ship, teeter-totters. Sinks.
IV
Her twin stands tall, as a snowy white sail;
blue skies, the eyes of God, she hails.
All torment wiped from her brow, she’s strong
She climbed upwards by the narrow way.
V
Don’t take the easy ride. It’s a bottomless pit.
Fly to heights of eagles wings - the depth of eternal lift.
3/13/2021
Suspense creeps in with tea and crumpets, dear,
And murder, mayhem, chaos, stirred right in
—Poet Stirring Up Suspense
IT IS TIME FOR TEA
It is time for tea, a giddyup I need.
Water is boiling in the glass pot.
Sublime scent and flavor guaranteed
and great to sip with a story plot.
The warmth of Earl and Lady Grey,
with bergamot or peel of orange-lemon.
So arousing - a nose and tongue touché
as well as the development of dilemma in
my cute mystery novel. The dust cover
shows a striped gray kitten and steaming
cup of peppermint tea. A Christmas lover,
I sup on crumpets and choice daydreaming.
Whether herbal hibiscus, cherry or chai
in this cockcrow explosion of birdsong,
I live for and long for the climatic high.
My brain fog’s lifted, character’s are strong.
It is an intoxicating concoction, time well spent
to awaken this poet’s muse, cozy in red pajamas.
It is time for tea, the steeping and bent
of a stupendous cup, steaming with sunrise dramas.
- I wish my name was Jane ... and had a pretty
swimsuit ... (Tarzan yell) - quote by poet
The jungle waited with deep bated breath
silence broken by a pack of howler monkeys
In truth the jungle is never quiet
Morning sun shines through the leaves of the trees
the air is filled with birdsong
A sleepy sloth with movements
as a slow motion movie
Everyday routines for an effective new day
Further into the jungle a predator stirs
Muscles undulate under rosette-dotted fur
A slender muscular jaguar moves gracefully
First mission of the day with deadly grace
The strongest will survive
the law of the jungle
It rumbles in the treetops
elephants wander through dense foliage
waving their huge ears- no trumpet sound
Enigmatic giants in silent march
The jungle changes at sunset
don't dare stay here at night
I walk in the forest of dreams;
the colours vibrant, the birdsong
melodious. The sun warm as it
twinkles through the rustling leaves.
Discontentment crushed underfoot.
It is so beautiful.
I bathe in a river of love.
The gentle water lapping
at the edge of my emotions,
and trickling refreshingly
to my heart. It cleanses me -
soul deep. I float again.
I stare at a sky of hope.
It is clear and blue.
Its celestial beauty obliterates
hopelessness as it casts its
assured confidence on my doubting,
flailing spirit. It is renewed again.
I walk in a forest of dreams.
I live with a dream of hope.
I swim with creatures of contentment
and am buoyant on a wave of
expectancy. God, if you're there
let this illusion become reality.