Long For the birds Poems
Long For the birds Poems. Below are the most popular long For the birds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long For the birds poems by poem length and keyword.
What if I told you things aren't
what they used to be.
What if I told you clichés
are not always "for the birds"
That the Clichés cling for
a reason and have clung long.
Show me your truth sandwich;
What ingredients did you use?
Smoked lunch meat and cheese
Did you eat that, digest that?
What if I told you cheese is plastic
And ain't what it used to be?
And chicken feed ain't, flies and grain
But Plastic and GMO corn instead.
Don't feed the pigeons, says the sign.
But we don't eat the pigeons here.
So we feed them, and they eat
bits of truth that we now turn down,
Pigeons fly around downtown,
Without true food, without the truth.
Show me your truth sandwich;
What ingredients did you use?
Peanut butter and Bananas?
Pigeons spread disease in excrement
With bits of nontruth, splattered all over;
Making a point about the truth the whole truth
and nothing but the moot truth “So help you, Hanna"?
Cliché' may be our only reality, because little truths
matter, relevance should never be Obsolete.
Big or small, the truth must massively
Combust into big explosions of honesty.
If you should turn your back on truth
You will be face to face with a lie.
The truth needs to matter again
Or nothing else will.
Such a beautiful picture scene
so many lovely colours for the eye
full of splendour and light
what a view for the birds in sky
This is nature showing itself true
God’s creation painted by His hand
such skill with touches so sublime
one only looks in awesome stand
The blueness of the colourful water
shows a deepness of it’s very own
the surrounding woodland so green
makes your mind so utterly blown
It’s a mirror of the surrounding landscape
as the waters show a sea of glass
one looks aghast at this sheer beauty
what can one say this is sheer class
(writing as as I was looking over Rydal water in Lake District in Northern England when stopped the car to take in the beautiful view spending couple days there last week.)
The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls
of the plover flock, long before they are spotted.
The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky.
Markings of white and coal black weave,
wing-stitched, a blanket maker’s dream.
Sigh makers they close on the beach
at high tide, the horizon shivers the
sand blanches. These ravishing scavengers
light on the tattered edge of wet to dry,
dawdling with the dead.
Plovers are diminutive scroungers, one-legged
dancers, hopping to the pull of tide, dining on
crab-eggs in black-tie and feathered tails, their
gray skull caps lined with a black brow.
Sparrow-small birds dress to the nines.
A feast for the birds, fall crisps, crab moltings,
go on for endless miles. September is beginning
and soon winged ones will fly to sunny shores.
The cold Atlantic will moan for the loss of music,
the unstitched sky will part. The avian choir is off
to the mud flats of Carolina.
First Published Eunoia Review January 2015
Black and thin boned,
velvet almost, but also stringy.
Hard to define
the shape of a hissing cat
that was alive and kicking
but now lies dead on my neighbor’s lawn.
I would watch it on summer evenings
crouching low
under the hedgerow hunting small birds.
Watch it stiffen as one hopped nearby
wait until.......now pounce,
fortunately for the birds
he most always missed
but then he would hiss loudly
and walk away as if he didn't give a damn.
Now it’s dead, its corpse splayed out on the grass
and by God I swear I can hear
from that very same hedgerow
a merry twittering
and a whole lot of ribald hissing.
Winter Wonderland, Winter Schmunderland
I've had it up to my ying yang
If I never see another snowflake in my life
My big bass drum I'd bang
Wonderland, Schmunderland, I've had enough
Don't know how I've made this far
Except for those few times in the loony bin
Still have my marbles, by gar
Well at least I think I still have my marbles
But sure wish I could feel my mouth
This Winter Schmunderland is really for the birds
Even they have sense to head south
Winter Wonderland, Winter Schmunderland
Who really needs all of this crap
I'd certainly be a very much happier camper
If I could wear a hat without flaps
© Jack Ellison 2014
We think we are many, but there are billions of them
Species so different, they so out number us men
Then came that day when natures parameters changed
Something out there happened to us humans so strange
Whether they were robins, starlings, vultures or crows
She's had enough, for the birds she now chose
Formidable they became as they attacked in masses
Wave after wave in lacerated passes
No one was spared, whether mother or child
Some were found, bloodied but smiled
For many months the world has endured
Us facing survival outside we are lured
Ammonia traces as they leave their marks
Reminding who's in charge, the future of humans so stark
If you are fortunate to survive, look to the skies
They followed the geese, their formation to strive
For those of us who are left, underground we reside
If we are to change, it's up to us to decide
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-15.php
They say it is not a sin to be forgiven;
That you need my forgiveness just like I need yours.
Delicate and undetermined,
I walk like a shadow,
Oh, but a whisper in the wind
Between this world and the next.
I am a bride-in-waiting-
For a dead lover to follow the long path home.
I am a vacant-eyed mother-
Pushing a stillborn in the cradle to and fro.
I am nothing you have ever seen before-
Nor are likely to ever see again.
I am a patient waiting nervously,
For the Good Doctor’s diagnosis.
Checking symptoms off a list,
He says I am not so different from him, with a smile.
For the birds that have swooped too low
For dreams that have soared too high.
I am a child in a woman’s body
Anxious for life to begin.
A different narrator tells the same story
Will my sins be redeemed this time around?
They say it is not a sin to be forgiven;
That you need my forgiveness just like I need yours.
Delicate and undetermined,
I walk like a shadow
Or a whisper in the wind
Between this world and the next.
I am a bride-in-waiting
For a dead lover to follow the long path home.
I am a vacant mother
Pushing a stillborn in the cradle to and fro.
I am nothing you have ever seen before
Nor are likely to ever see again.
I am a patient waiting nervously,
For the Good Doctor’s diagnosis.
Checking symptoms off a list-
He says I am not so different from him, with a smile.
For the birds that have swooped too low
For dreams that have soared too high.
I am a child in a woman’s body
Anxious for life to begin.
A different narrator tells the same story
And I am not forgiven this time around.
There once was a land
they called Beautiful Tree
the best of the lands
where the birds want to be
Then, there were only
the Cards and the Jays
no other birds had yet
flown in to stay
Nesting in groups
with a thickness of thieves
the flocks ever growing
outnumbered the leaves
Soon there was pecking
each with their order
defending their branches
defining their borders
Then one day the Cards
took control of the place
changing the rules
at a blistering pace
The Jay's were disheartened
and flustered, they flittered
their soaring blue skies
ever darkened with twitter
The Jays still believed
they could all live as one
but if ever to be
something had to be done
Yet try as they may
and with all of their might
the Jays gentle spirits
weren't up to the fight
Watching the Cards
taking care of their own
hogging the tree
with their true colors shown
Consumed by their greed
and driven by pride
hoarding resources
as new fledglings died
With no other enemies
left to declare
they turned on each other
defiant to share
The Jays knew the secret
for them to survive
was joining together
so all birds could thrive
The Cards stacked the deck
to their utter demise
as the powerful peeps
of the Jays would arise
Singing so sweetly
in harmonic rhyme
even the Cards
were found singing in time
Soon to return
to their Beautiful Tree
ready to cleanup
the mess there would be
Once again living
a life less absurd
Isn't this Beautiful Tree
for the birds?
-Jeannie Minor
Winter Wonderland Winter Schmunderland
I've had it up to my ying yang
If I never see another snowflake in my life
My big bass drum I'd bang
Wonderland, Schmunderland I've had enough
Don't know how I've made this far
Except for those few times in the loony bin
Still have my marbles, by gar
Well at least I think I still have my marbles
But sure wish I could feel my mouth
This Winter Schmunderland is really for the birds
Even they have sense to head south
Winter Wonderland Winter Schmunderland
Who really needs all of this crap
I'd certainly be a very much happier camper
If I could wear a hat without flaps
I heard a chance ring on the phone.
Three heart beats later I was still alone.
But now the days a little brighter.
With hope eternal a little lighter.
Until I die I'll think of you.
But still I sigh and wait my due.
I don't know who hung up this time.
And left my heart searching for rhyme.
What can be said when you can't find words.
When it all just seems it's for the birds.
How many times can you breath this air.
Of a time in life that was so rare.
I guess only the heavens know.
Where love in broken hearts does go.
It's forever whispered on the wires.
As the ache tirelessly inspires.