Long Thrushes Poems
Long Thrushes Poems. Below are the most popular long Thrushes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Thrushes poems by poem length and keyword.
April decorates emerald Nature
with an unexpected snowy festivity
that resembles a season so wintry;
will the warm snow drift offshore?
it's a big thrill at the start of this awaited spring,
will it kill all the little buds that are a living thing?
Will the spotted-winged thrushes delude the bridegroom?
Who's more afraid than him to feel an improvised doom?
Not everybody thinks that a snowy festivity
can surprise and allude to the winter's beauty
already forgotten by the worries of the day;
they wish is to see light, not a sky so grey!
And to their utter discontent, stormy clouds gather,
then a roaring thunder explodes above their heads...
bringing showers to wash the distress off their faces:
they understand that hopelessness is useless fear!
The red-bellied woodpeckers
and wood thrushes of Central Park ...
hanging in majestic oaks
and shady dogwood trees,
woke up early to greet
the glowing sun from the East,
and unable to speak
in the human voice...
they used their melodies
to send us this message,
"There's sorrow lingering
in the September warm air;
summer is ending
and fading out
like a distant star;
from a short distance
tragedy will strike
to shake everyone up
with horrendous fright...
death mocks life
with a foul laugh!"
When peace dominated over
the still and peaceful
New York Harbor,
Manhattan found itself under
clouds of debris and dust
and the stifling,black smoke
could be seen from each County...
to dispel the wrong assumption
that it was the safest city!...
And this act of terror
stirred up much contention
to have struck it so unvaliantly!
Manhattan under dusty clouds,
never before we heard anguish in voices...
as fighfighters raised the American flag
on a pile of smoking rubble:
they were so courageous and didn't tremble...
what was so pretty,looked so sad!
Those swelling and blacks clouds
haven't vanished yet
in the drifting winds,
they are stil rising...
unable to be forgotten
and many would have given
their own lives to prevent
all that from happening!
We silently stood there so helpless,
crying and praying even for the strangers
who couldn't fight
the smoke and flames
and live to tell their story,
which others will write
for their country to be read aloud,
but many will relive that tragedy!
Manhattan under dusty clouds,
the greatest city under siege...
putting away its prestige,
but calling out to the Nation
not to resist the deed of mortification
and become vulnerable to more attacks!
Manhattan under dusty clouds
in a month when daffodils and lilacs
made it beautiful...waving in grassy meadows,
forcing the broken spirit
to leave that spendid Paradise
and face a crude reality and weep!
Manhattan under dusty clouds,
but the flag still waves with pride,
and anyone counting its stars
knows that they are intrepid...
truly inseparable by those
sharing the same fate and beliefs!
NB Thanks for your prayers. My eye operation was successful. I still need four weeks for the total result.
The rowan trees grew haphazardly.
Down the North side, where snow
And rain affected them least.
Sturdy and strong, they allow the winds.
To filter amongst the green leaves,
Creating a soft hum amongst the mountains.
Listen, it echoes your name throughout the trees,
Sweet Crystal, my lovely beloved Crystal.
Large flocks of fieldfares, thrushes, and blackbirds
Visit or migrate to rowan trees, eating the berries around.
Among the crevices of mountains, streams run down.
A rhythm humming an echoing romantic song.
My heart pounds with electric love as I feel.
Your soft face cuddles against my shaven face.
Yet twilight is nigh, and so we departed down.
The rough paths and return lovingly home.
Oh, Crystal, my Crystal, I love you so.
In the crispy aromatic air of auburn autumn,
with the fluttering wings spanning the sky,
flies low in my meadow the little cheery Robin,
the charming migratory songbird I like.
The chirping bird of bright flushing daylight,
tweeters the hued tune of the spectral sunburst,
keeps the exuberance of avian delight
vibrating within the scarlet silken breast.
When all the thrushes are silent,
flying on the sparkling track of the first sunrays,
it sings the melody of the blossoming dawn,
and on the wings of wind the song reaches me.
As the storm clouds gather in the slate horizon,
the petite Robin chants on the swinging tree,
flutters feathery wings in the shadow of the cloud,
longing to get drenched in the colors of rainbow.
The crimson painted bird perched on the bough
of the banyan tree outside my window,
sings the sunrise song that drifts in the dawn air,
ushering in a delightful new day for me.
In November I write of winter
for I am weary of the old year and tired bones
I visualize all hardships blanketed with fresh snowfall
geese in a "V" as they flee on trade winds to the south
season's celebrations, toasting in the new year
senior couples delighting in a luminous sunset
knowing it might be their last together
In February I write of spring
for I am weary of the bone-chilling cold
I envision the circle of life resurrecting dormant earth and tired souls
zephyr winds teasing nascent flower petals and young hummingbirds
mayday flower crowns adorning laughing children
young lovers sharing kisses, dreaming dreams of
infinite possibilities
In May I write of summer
for I am weary of the bone-soaking rain
I forecast cloudless skies and longer days
Santa Ana winds dismissing every chill
a lark's lilting lullaby lulling loons on the lake
vacationing families basking in the warm outdoors
brides and grooms viewing limitless horizons
In August I write of autumn
for I am weary of the bone-dry heat
I anticipate bewitching fall winds tantalizing neon maple leaves
turkeys gobbling, ducks wobbling, thrushes warbling
harvest home throbbing with the aroma of fresh pie
middle age couples cuddling by the fireplace
giving thanks for all that lies behind and ahead
Lord, help me to view the past with grace,
the future with hope,
the present with contentment,
and to write of November
in November.
written 25 October 2021
Visions, above fluffy white clouds,
I would have as a bird,
And spy upon the fairy crowds
That frolic among stately pines.
Eat milk, cheese and honey,
Fly round elves and the Queen that shines.
On to the beach littered with tents
Oh if I were a bird,
Follow games and summer events.
Love children playing in the cove,
Bring on spades and red pails
Build fine sand castles in a grove.
Back to the hills to croon again.
Oh if I were a bird,
I'll join my friends sing on the plain.
A choir of melodious song.
A lyric of grosbeak,
Thrushes, robins, we'll sing for long.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
18 October 2020~
Writing Challenge - Tercets - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Placed 2nd tier
As the spring zephyr smoothly sails,
with the wings spread wide skyward
flies low in grace the little nightingale,
the migrant charming songbird.
The lively bird of the bright daylight,
tweeters with morning sunburst zest,
keeps the rhythm of avian delight
within the fold of silvery satin breast.
When all the thrushes are silent,
it sings to chaperone the first sunray,
tracing the trail of the dawn’s advent,
while in the wind the tune drifts away.
Little nightingale on the glistened tree,
in the voice of pristine nature it sings,
flies on the ripples of its own melody,
as the nascent sun shines on its wings.
The silky bird on a bough perched high
outside my window as night melts away,
sings the dawn’s glory floating softly by,
ushering in for me a jubilant new day.
May 20, 2021
Title chosen : A Nightingale Sings Of Dawn's Glory
Contest : This Or That Vol 3
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
In the crispy thin air of auburn autumn
with the wings spread to span the sky,
flies low the little cheery Robin,
the migratory charming songbird.
The bird of bright flushing daylight
tweeters to the tune of spectral sunburst,
keeps the secrets of avian delight
within the silky scarlet breast.
When all the thrushes are silent
it sings on the track of the first sunray,
the chant for the blossoming dawn,
on the wings of wind the notes drift away.
As the storm clouds garner in slate horizon
the petite Robin sings on the swinging tree,
flutters feathery wings in the shadow of clouds,
longing to get drenched in the colors of rainbow.
The red bird perched high on the bough
of the banyan tree outside my window,
sings the sunrise song sailing in dawn air,
ushering in a delightful new day for me.
July 11, 2020
Contest : Bird
Sponsor : Constance La France
Under the hedges the ground was still like a frozen brick,
Cracks zig zagged over the surface leaving gaps,
Where old Jacomus in his wild dance,
Would whirl and freeze as if in a trance,
Robins and Thrushes vainly search for grains and grubs,
Along with the scampering long tailed mouse,
His whiskers a twitching sensing out a louse,
Badgers warm and snug in their deep setts,
Foxes scream and call in the forest deep,
Pheasants shuffle in gamekeepers keep.
A rattle in bleak blangk twigs and branches,
A lady in white on her unicorn prances,
Breathing warm air from between ruby red lips,
Softening the earth making it fertile again,
Where plants and bushes will start to awaken,
The joy of rebirth and beginings anew once more.
Rabbits go dancing in soft moonlit meadows;
Field mice, less boldly just waltz in the shadows.
Moles and shrews surface, but can’t see a thing;
Young thrushes and sparrows take flight on their wings.
Fawns go cavorting in wide open spaces.
Turtles shed shells and run naked in races.
Owls so enthralled that they don’t give a hoot:
Provincial living’s exceedingly cute.
Crocus choirs raise color-filled hallelujahs;
Queen bee lays eggs because that’s what she does.
Pansies and bloodroot are no longer dormant;
Solomon’s wardrobe ne’er held such a garment.
Young kits leave tree nests and begin exploring.
Cross Old Man Winter is finally snoring.
Temperate days have moods on the upswing;
Nighttime’s for frolicking when Mother sings.