Long Cheeps Poems

This is ANDERSON WALKINGSHOES... 
VERSE 1:
Observing the notional landscape about death,
Sometimes I begin to tear.
Faraway men rotten six feet under, dead;
What will I do when death angel appear?
The unknown place that's reserved for all men...

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The Aspen quaked in mild calm.
A stream nearby sent riffled song.
This trail less trod now almost gone.
‘Twas barren once now grown quite long.

Around a bend and down a steep
therein the brush from somewhere deep
here mixed...

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An unhurried sun slides across the horizon
Preparing for slumber behind distant waves
And daylight’s last seagull rides thermals in search
Of a late night fish supper - the herring he craves 

A paint shop explosion enlivens the...

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I bow down before the break of day...
 
Where the feeling of melancholy apprehension
fades by the emblazoning and dilating skies
Yet the stillness behold a sensation
even amid the hues and cries.
 
I concieve of a deity...

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O we are all very well informed 
how horrible might been our reality
in the time  of transition
from one evil regime to other.
When one day all monsters and predators
from the park of totalitarian  communistic...

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Placid winter cuddles close, lacing exotic spring.
Tapestry of flowers, birds in heavenly wings.
Wakes up a green canopy, exalted in chirpy trill
Peeps, cheeps in rhythm, clatter in medley thrill.

Dappled throat, bright feather, flitters branch to branch.
Gyrating...

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In the depth of the night, a concerto commenced,
With drums of thunder and a melody of rain.

Wind flutes played loud sniveling notes,
Carrying pulsating tunes in blustery tones.

Streaks of lightening, with their baton of light,
Led the...

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The mirage of yesterday shimmers over today,
pearly, dulcet, raining over sunshine memory
with an allure of tones chanted as poetry.

Nonverbal cues, squawks, screams, cheeps, brush
my ears over the crash of waves and the stolen
whispers of conversation...

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Blackbird is dead.
Yes.  That is what I said.
The woods are still.  The sun is red.
Cherries near his little head.

Dark is coming.  Nanette weeps!
The wind shivers.  Nightowl peeps.
Gone the robin's trills and...

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There’s rainsong on Sunday morn.
The herald of Springtime reciting.
A chorus of wings in the changeover.
Unrelenting litany of praise from fowl.

Nature, humble and knowing, cheeps
loud and not silent, healing with peace.
Chirping, stirring, Winter to be released.

Forget...

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How quietly the night goes gliding by;
How peacefully the might of it doth fill.
There's not a star up in the far dark sky
But fiery, gleams, and yet is calm and still.
An ocean of sweet grass...

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He listened for them in the wood
as daylight blossomed, poised to prowl
For breakfast, breast meat sounded good 
and Cat could feel his stomach growl

Soon, struck by a cacophany
of cheeps and chirps, of coos and caws,
Cat...

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