Long Chickadee Poems
Long Chickadee Poems. Below are the most popular long Chickadee by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chickadee poems by poem length and keyword.
She’s breakable
as if she were fine china used for tea,
a cup one holds and sips from daintily.
Her arms are porcelain, for she’s a doll
She needs so much for one who is so small!
I‘d use MY limbs to shade you. I’m a tree
and solid. . . yet I’m liquid like the sea!
I’m durable, for I am standing tall,
while she’s a vine that crawls along your wall . . .
So delicate, your little chickadee.
She’s sapping you; she’ll never let you be.
Yet here stand I, prepared to give you all!
She’s fragile glass that you must not let fall.
She’s breakable.
For Joe Flach's contest: The Earl of Sandwich
I stand at the wooded edge
where goldenrod bows with the wind's wave
its yellow heads nodding in agreement.
A chickadee perches
its heart a tiny drum of joy
echoing the forest's pulse.
In this moment a smile radiates—
not mine but the earth's—
a ripple spreading
a gentle caress touching all it meets.
A maple leaf lets go
red-gold luminous
spinning down in a silent dance
a quiet farewell to summer's warmth.
I catch it as a gift.
How strange, this silk
between bird, leaf, and human
this quiet belonging that holds
as frost approaches.
What is this feeling
but love's quiet whisper?
This moment
but life itself, distilled
to its essence?
And now, having tasted
this wild sweetness
how will you carry
your one precious life?
Watching the snow falling outside,
Through the white drifts a lone deer glides.
Under the grove of laden trees, she stops,
Stretches her neck, for leaves to crop.
Someone spooks her and off she goes,
Leaving footprints in the blanket of snow.
A lone chickadee lands on my deck,
From the seeds there, she starts to peck.
If not for God's creatures, some great, some small,
I would not appreciate this winter weather at all.
As inconvenient as this winter snow can be
It still has it's beautiful moments for all to see.
*it's snowing like mad today, so my visitors this afternoon took
some of the annoyance out of it.
The merry widow’s marvelous mincemeat melody
Was gradually heard around three by the old oak tree
Honestly said Bert, the bumblebee, is this the Grand Prix?
Miraculously, there was a royal red revelry
A chickadee landed on the right knee of Diana Dee
Making her a friend in furious practicality
Old oak tree receded into the loving forest canopy
Forming a deliberate, desired universal solid symmetry
Would you like a chewy chickpea Lee asked widow and me.
I heard hyena-like laughter from Leroy, the red-butted monkey
Rolling them in warm tortillas is the chef’s secret recipe
Flamboyant frog huffed away, jingling her copper jewelry
The rest of us stared, which we do on Wednesdays, habitually
Being yourself and making no apology is the key said monkey
The faeries made themselves tinier, they were in fact now wee
Lovely monorhyme in progress, guessed my observant cousin Vee
I must agree said my boss, the pompous persnickety Mr. McGee
The rhymes are rather delightful, and frankly, there are plenty.
As with all things it began small,
As a whisper, a glint, a glimmer
A distant chickadee giving voice
To a sun that rose ever silently
And a morn that seemed ever,
And ever more promising of wonder
Fleeting westward the veil’d stars
And rolling thunder
Dappling tears
That shed their gladness
The growing light abate the fears
Wrought, the wet groaning night.
And it seemed a slow standing ovation
A clatter of chirps, cars and school children
Beginning their ritual’d day
A smattering of clouds forming and deforming
As the orchestra began to play
And my window became a ringing call
Beckoning me to my door,
To turn the knob that had secured me before
Symbolizing a threshold—of a freedom
That lay beyond—
And more.
An early spring morning is greeted with a robin’s song
A delightful chorus inviting other songbirds to sing along
In his chorus of “cheery, cherry, tut, tut” sounds
From a robin happily singing and dancing on the ground
A chickadee perches at the feeders to watch the show
And stops to eat some seeds before letting his music flow
He sings his chorus of “chick -a dee-dee-dee-dee-dee”
And continues his chirping for all the other songbirds to see
A red cardinal starts to sing to make his presence known
With a loud “cheer, cheer, cheer, tweet- cheer” not to be out shown
He’s perched high on a tree branch in vibrant feathers for all to see
His mate now lands on his branch and joins his chorus perfectly
A tufted titmouse is now perched on the bird feeder pole
Singing “peter, peter, peter” sounds as his loud whistles roll
Now the birds have all left after their cheery morning serenade
Hopeful tomorrow may bring another delightful songbird parade
The artist captures the sublime
Upon the page in simple lines
A flower, statue, standing tree
A stallion, child – a chickadee
The artist works in simple ways
To illustrate what he portrays
And seeks with easy hand to show
The essence of the subject’s glow
And thereby offer for display
The wonder that he sees each day –
So, too, the poet as he writes
Reveals his wisdom and insights
In simple phrases, simple words
Expressed in lines of simple verse –
And though the poet would proclaim
The artist has the better claim
For having pictures tell the tale
Where words alone would not avail
Yet both agree – what best defines
And forms the view they had in mind
Is captured – best – in simple lines
Distilled to render the sublime –
Absorbing sunset colors as I sat,
I heard the soft mews of a mournful cat,
Lost somewhere in the garden near the lane.
For its forlorn owner I sought in vain.
Suddenly there came the sounds of quail calls
Though quail never feed here as evening falls.
Were their cries clues to where the cat was now?
I listened, careful, for the next meow.
Soon came a cascade of solo singing:
Robins, jays, finches sang as if on cue.
Which was that silent creeping cat stalking?
I would bet those birds wanted to know too.
Wrens, larks, and chickadees chimed cheerily;
All the while, nary a bird did I see.
I searched and I called for my feline friend;
Shrugging, I gave up, my search at an end.
I turned back to the house, walking slowly,
When the cat called from the sycamore tree.
I looked up as I thought I heard a dove;
There was the high-leaping sight that I love:
The silhouetted imitator sly
Of the untroubled rosy evening sky;
Colorful, charming, and sometimes absurd,
A fluttering, mimicking mockingbird.
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind
I ride on a sound Arabian stallion
He takes me to snow mountain
Where snow trees are stunned
by cold wind
I get down by a swirling stream
I walk with him downhill
Where I see Lynx and Bear
busy fishing
Off again on our course free
I ride at ease gracefully
I see a palace at a distance
My heart set racing
We draw close to the mansion
I see a delicate princess
Walking elegantly in rose garden
Blushing wind
She was singing to a chickadee
Birds were chirping to her
As butterflies danced on flowers
Enchanting
I took my three magic rocks
Wrapped in silk, I sent her as gift
With a note that read, ‘Be so
Blessed dear, walk in truth’
‘A rock for good health be
A rock for good life be
A rock for divine blessings be’
Amen
Even before she could read my note
I was riding away on my stallion
Who flew faster like falcon
Down the mountain
Geology and biology are both to me
Confusing studies that are more than weirdly wee
artistic sands of the beach by the sea
speaks to thee, and speaks to me
I like astrology, darling, hungry chickadee
it makes me feel wild and free
giving me hope for a space odyssey
obscure, familiar, darling better-than-astronomy
Wow! Here come that crazy General Lee
over Atlanta's horizon, as I can see
the Civil war, how can this be?
History, baby, history
a chimpanzee beside a coconut tree
he’d better let me be, said Annabelle Lee
Poe’s protagonist, at twenty-three
She makes me think of poetry
As far as my arthritic left knee can see
I hear from my artistic friend Paul Klee
His canvases are expensive, as can be
Glad I am to pay his fee
Life is fun, good times are free
I live by the sea with my paul, Flea
Who has a habit of saying “gee”
add my donkey, and we are three