Long Passerine Poems
Long Passerine Poems. Below are the most popular long Passerine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Passerine poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was a young boy
I used to watch with awe
The common house sparrows
busy building nest out of
twigs,straw and dry leaves
in the crevices of the tiled roof
in my old ancestral house.
The ever chirping sparrows
never stayed at one place,
But kept moving swiftly,
now in the backyard of the house
Where there was a garden,
And 'd collect tiny worms
Insects,, seeds or grains;
And keep them carefully in their mouth
And fly from thence to their nests,
Where they 'd feed their chicks
Waiting anxiously to be fed;
I remember all these vividly
Even today ,to tell my grandchildren .
What happened to these birds,grandpa?
My grandsons asked ;I told them
The tiny birds were driven out
By radiation emitted by micro-wave towers;
And further by paucity of their food
The worms and insects which
No longer are there in the modern
Landscaped gardens fed with insecticides;
And where will they go to build nests
As modern buildings are bereft of
attics, crevices and spaces.
So my kids,make cardboard nests
Keep them in vantage points with
seeds and grains inside to lure
these lovely little passerine, the sparrows
To our neighborhood once again,
Long live the house sparrows.
In the southern parts of Africa
You can hear me singing my song
A member of the finch family
Maybe the smallest one
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of the sun
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant yellow soul
With an attractive mellow hue
I’m a border fancy singing
Whistling these songs to you
We are the songbirds of America
Hey’ the special roller tours
The beautiful American songsters
The ones you cannot ignore
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of the grass
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant green soul
With plenty of attitude
I have a wide range of songs
Let me sing you the blues
Were a colourful chorus of birds
Competing in the shows to sing
But not during the molting period
In the summer just after the spring
Were the birds of Canary Islands
But took refuge on Spanish sails
The most famous finch in history
Singing beautiful as nightingales
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of a rose
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant redish soul
A brilliant little actor
Hear me bellow out
Have I got the Xfactor
We are popular cage birds
On both sides of the Atlantic
The hen she’s kind of cute
But the cock, now he’s romantic
© Copyright KC.Leake
27th November 2014
All Rights Reserved
Aloft, with keen eyes in sorbet skies’ raspberry half-light
visceral vibrations of vitality does await.
Soaring in a hush, with plumage plush, a silent stealth kite,
he glissades on ghostly winds with mystical wings of fate.
Poised to plummet from his summit of purple sundown spread
with wingspan wide, wreathed gradual glide, hunts a twilight hawk.
Floating form causes flocks to brainstorm on life or death dread,
those flying forlorn, late to roost, are reduced by his stalk.
Aerodynamic, his dramatic dive deals destiny,
raptor raptly pursues passerine through air’s plum-bruised dim.
Whispering wings whisk to live and not die desperately,
over the arborvitaes the future for one is grim.
If it’s true that energy never dies; its cries transform,
then songbird's notes will ascend on hunter's wings in reform.
Susan Ashley
December 3, 2017
~ First Place ~
Contest: Your Best Poem In The Last Year
Sponsor: Silent One
~ Seventh Place ~
Contest: Best Rhyming Poem October - December 2017
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Am I god's breath
Dawn's first breath caresses dew-wet glade,
yellow catkins quiver in spring's tender breeze,
eastern sunrise fuels passerine serenade.
Sulphur-yellow butterflies, black and golden bees
time for birth, new life, our earthly sphere decrees
of Erebus and Nyx
Impish flames dance in noontime light
morph to ghastly pirouetting demons leaping
everywhere, undisciplined they grave alight
red-hot searing daggers all-consuming.
Summer's purifying salamander breathing.
or earthly shibboleth?
Jewel blue; no longer skipping over rocks
the river, now near the end, is older, wiser,
gently drifting west towards the busy docks.
Autumn leaves of gold, like gentle boats, stir,
floating towards sunset's end of chapter.
Caught between the twixt;
The winter forest seems to our eyes dead.
Midnights new moon; the mother of the sky
mystic dewgleam-silver lights the seedbed
of decomposing earth, where fresh shoots testify
new life once more this land will occupy.
I'm Aether, or maybe six sixty-six.
A MYNAH BIRD CONFESSES
“Bonjour”
“Hello”
“Aloha”
I speak in many tongues,
this intelligent passerine.
“Shh, don’t let on
but I’ve seen the neighborhood burglar.
He’s confessed to me.”
He says, “I’ll tear at your wings.”
and I repeat, “I’ll tear at your wings.”
I think he takes me seriously as he makes a run for it.
Poor chap. His bag of goods flew. I caught them midair
as I echoed the siren.
“Shoo little birdie. I have the jewelry. Don’t tell anyone.”
The boys in blue appear amused as I land on a shoulder. They took me in for evidence. Funny to see a grown man cry inside a cage, as I look on -
a freebird.
7/7/2019
The pixie of the thicket, the Wren, that wee russet bird, bodly flittered forth with a staccato rhthym of wing beats. It flittered forth from dense garden thicket and proceeded to proclaim ire at my intrusion. With tail lifted high and head lowered, this sorrel scolding sprite reminded me of why I admire it so.
The bold feathered vagabond emerges from the safety of tangled flora recesses and chatters away at giants, giving them the what for, then darts away to sing melodic verses of pure joy. What lessons could one learn from this miniature passerine? For the Wren dwells in humble low settings, not worthy of mighty birds of prey. Yet, its heart is surely to be admired. Its indomitable spirit brings a smile to my face and lifts my own spirit to remind me that even seemingly insignificant creatures have a voice.
Oh mighty wee one, how I delight in you!
Have you ever, wandered into, a sequestered meadow
Surrounded by trees and mountains
Where the passerine song birds, sang songs with no words
Indian paintbrushes, rose up, like red fountains
The orange day lilies, and butterfly weeds
Danced, with the light purple asters
Bold black eyed susans and multicolored lupines
Provided scenes, like paintings, of old masters
Did you feel the cool breeze, that tickled the leaves
Of the poplars, birches and oaks
Put off by the snow caps, as they melt and collapse
Then ski down the shadowy slopes
Or happen to look, when the clear snow melt brook
Rushed by, to the lake of, serenity
Did you feel the love, of Mother Nature's hug
And the awesomeness of it's, sublimity
To put words to a feeling, when the senses are reeling
Can be a difficult thing
Meadows sleeping with mountains, flowery red fountains
With a breeze of tranquility
That's how I felt, when ice started to melt
Encasing my frozen heart
I'll never forget, when our paths first met
And you gave, my life, a jump start
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
In the tree by my house,
Lived, a black rumped flameback, with its spouse.
Their oscine songs and undulating flight were my daily delight.
Oh! Today it was flicking the rear-view mirror of my car,
May be, it found another song bird inside.
Jabbing and drilling to play or may be, to fight.
Or maybe, those unique rolls and the cadence were to impress the new bride.
Whatever! Its drumming was like a song of a passerine.
Just then the carcass of its partner lay in front of my sight.
Gut-wrenching was the plight of this speechless red hooded flight.
How do I tell it, that its solitude would never subside?
Yet, its spouse is in, there inside and that’s a great respite.
17th February 2019
His eyes
bore into mine
they send a signal
S.O.S.
help me
I’m in for it
No escape
Those eyes melt
I melt
I’m undone
The sheet, like a billow,
the wind rises
under its skirt
Us ladies, don’t wear
them much
anymore
Us ladies…it’s just me
and his morsel eyes
those immortals
those “I’ve got a surprise”
The reprisal,
with no escape
I don my batting eyelashes,
my wiggling hips,
my “come hither,”
cause I’m caught in his web
I don’t fight it…the fight
was over before it started
my pulse ebbing and flowing
my breath, minted and steamy
Those eyes contractual,
beat me into submission
with my permission
Wedded to them one April day
“Hey! Hey! Who gave you the present?”
My best friend said, ‘How do you do?’
She wasn’t presently there, but nonetheless
intrusive…the long silky gown on me
when I was still perky. Still sensuous,
no worries..he still wants me
after all our years - we had some good fights,
locked doors, tears, long nights,
but love sweet love defeats the demons
Their butts kicked to the curb
We threw away the curb
The lights are off
They can’t see in our dark
We find each other
The meadow lark passerine
sings sweetly…my guys eyes
serenade and serene.
If your married, you know
what I mean
An early outing for my friend and I
We walked the winding path down to the springs
The uncut winter hay is now waist high
And in the morning breeze it softly sings
Red Indian paintbrushes are in bloom
As are the downy phlox and dogwood trees
How sweet the smell of birth in nature's womb
Attracting butterflies and honey bees
The passerine song birds are in full throat
While woodpeckers and sap suckers keep time
Mid air, white cotton hayseeds gently float
So gracefully they dance their pantomime
And in that moment, in the tarnished hay
The gurgling springs still hidden from my view
With nature's springtime beauty on display
I heard her say a peaceful. "I love you"
by Daniel Turner