Long Warbles Poems
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It’s Thursday morning, the twelfth day lock-down here. While sitting cozily in my room’s balcony with a bible and ukulele, some tiny birds perch tamely at the balustrade inviting me to play the most romantic melody as each critter hops and struts closer into pairs. Filling the air with their boastful flirty-chirpy chats and rubbing their wings sweetly against each other, the peeking sun displays its radiant smiles from the white fluffy clouds. Overlooking my spot are green trees laden with summer flowers, mostly supannikas and golden showers. Under the dense leaves are branches where other birds sing joyfully in unison with the tunes of their daily unique songs.
God sent songs of love
under our natures’ grand wings
listen and be glad
Amidst the orchestrated warbles of birds, the flowing water at my residence's swimming pool is heard while its dispenser strikes its keys to echo the refreshing music of serenity. The small lake across my spot is vividly viewed while it acclaims jubilantly the wonders of the day with its shimmering tranquility, mirroring the fire trees and bushes in its surroundings then accentuates the peeking sunrise that caresses my face with its warm glowing shafts. I read silently some verses midst nature's sounds then close my eyes to feel the majestic wonder of another day, another extension of life and lots of nature’s smiles. With thanksgiving, I start to finger-pick each string and sing with all my soul and heart a praising hymn.
nature's boundless gifts
our God's overwhelming grace
long reflection piece
May 6, 2021 3.06pm
Moments of Reflection -Haibun contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
Place: 1
Judged: May 11,2021
As the cold spring rain drips from tiny spring green leaves, birds quietly hide
in nest and eaves. The roosters crow encouraging the sun to shine through the
clouds but the depths of the clouds' moisture and gloom reach to the earth's core.
The illusion of sunshine radiates from the Forsythia's brilliant yellow blossoms like
an impressionist's painting radiating through the fog. The windchimes are gently
stirred by the northeasterly cold damp breeze.
a bird warbles
love notes to his mate ...
no answer
A throaty cheer-up, cheer-up, cheer-up or maybe he was sent to entertain
just me..
As the pines drip with fog's waterdroplets and their flowers drip with pollen's stores.
The moisture helps keep it from being blown about to cling to all building, cars, and
shores..
a quietness coats
spring grasses...
crow's caw stirs silence
The time out on the porch enriches the day. Thank you Lord for a few minutes
to pray..
“no sweeter sounds of song in winter
than from the one you hold
close to your heart …”
Quote by ~ Poet
A Winter’s Song
Frozen beauty of cold, crisp, midwinter -
Landscape shines in magical diamond dust.
Ice crystals hanging break free to splinter
as winds do blow with a shivering gust -
blankets all in hues of snow white tipped crust.
Silky snowflakes enchantingly swirl, twirl
dancing to a symphony of birdsong.
Sounds of whistling warbles daily unfurl -
rich contralto melodies, that, so long
for warmer days erelong, in soulful song.
Iced wreaths of holly, red berries, glisten
as acoustic waves reflect off the ground.
Crisp crunch of snow, chilled breath, as I listen -
creaking trees, snapping twigs, of winter’s sound
punctuate the season’s rhythmic abound.
No sweeter song held more dear to my heart
than my true love’s angelic voice that drifts
across frosty tracks like sculptured, fine art.
A winter’s song of flamed love warms and lifts
my spirits as he sings me treasured gifts.
For someone special with all my love …
on hyaloid shade phylum
of zaffre azure
swish
soulful scrutinize
apodictic vinculum
magniloquent
wandering of wispy whooshes
wrapping wisps of weird warbles
shrivel olive trees
overflow no omen
drenched in sweat
summoned by chimera
once called passion
title assertion?
baud pace of rimless dreams
blurred bark
bare branches
fruitless leaves
unfetter'd
sky loose
mythic gem idol
purine as Myrsine
space rock fit
moon zappily
uncanny
azure drilled of ritzy rag doll
mesh shimmer blaze shackle
include
dare
desire
gaudy Sirius in darkened spell
mottled splendor
to cognize my path
as xanthic whispers
afresh
Written: August 06, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Old Mr. Nicholson
totters across the town square
to the barbershop where
Clive has cut his hair
for the last forty years or so
Not hardly needing
even a trim
but pretending
he has a reason besides
the gossip waiting within
Inside, the shop smells like hair tonic
shaving cream and old leather
and the only noticeable things
that Clive's changed
in the last forty years
are the calendar, magazines
and gumball machine
Tall and gaunt, Clive stoops and
shuffles around the shop
a bit slow and shaky, but still
the cheapest and best around
as he drawls out the latest
scuttlebutt from all over town
Harry Van Hoorn leans
sideways in the old barber chair
hanging on every word like an old hound
ears flapping in the breeze
making an odd squinchy face as he
holds back a sneeze
bits of loose hair tickling his nose
While old Arnie Bruner
broods in the corner
his usual sour-faced self
like an old prune
all wrinkled and dried up
without a single good thing to say
“Well, hello Ed!” Clive stops and says
as Mr. Nicholson sidles in
he amiably waves his comb in the air
continuing to work on Harry's hair
thoroughly ignored as he
continues to speak
“Long time, no see!” Harry sings out
even though they were both
in here just last week
“Hiya Harry!” Mr. Nicholson says
in his high-pitched little whine
“Have you heard about-”
“Oh wait, lemme guess-” Arnie breaks in
in his growly bass
“...it's about that place... next door to-”
“Jim and Grace” Harry cuts in
“No, I was going to say-”
Mr. Nicholson chirps
a bit snappily
“It must be about Jenny Mae...”
Harry chortles gleefully
“No, it's gotta be about Faye!-”
Arnie belts out grumpily
Meanwhile, they're missing
all the scorching details
of the greatest scandal
as Clive croons on
amid the din
of his gabby, blabby customers
each desperate
to get a word in
Back and forth, in and out
with bickers and shouts
hums, warbles, trills, groans
solos and accidental duets
their crazy cacophony has become
a funny (albeit gossipy) kind
of barbershop quartet!
Of parrots and parakeets, no one knows
now numbering in the thousands
no longer Mexico's bucolic birds
new urbanized citizens migrated
to the suburbs.
If you travel to Los Angeles and county
where hobo avians flock to Pepperdine
hoping to matriculate to paradise..
Pasadenans know the raucous calls from palms
festooned in bright feathers and pheromones.
Should you wish to elicit a response
from a Red-crowned Amazon..
just ask any witch cat which hungers
with an acute accessory olfactory
rife in feline grin and purpose
eye'n the skies cheerfully.
And somewhere Marianne Faithfull warbles
'this little bird who lives on the wind,
this little bird that somebody sends.'
they're listening too, with a coo and squawk
o'er the skies of Silverlake
and Eagle Rock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This Little Bird sung by Marianne Faithfull - Lyrics by J.D. Loudermilk 1965
Rare as each blossom on a tree,
From Watusi tribe unto the Cherokee,
Each member of man's family,
Has their own unique biography.
Rare the nights of burgundy,
That prelude yellow dawn ecstasy!
Green are the fields so summery;
Pink the rose of fragrancy.
Silvery moon most satisfactory,
And stars winking at you and me.
Nature speaks not of equality;
Pale butterfly to grasshopper free.
Deep blue sky and frothing sea,
And colors of the nebulae.
A spectrum of hues, each in harmony,
Is how it was all meant to be.
Redbird red sings a rhapsody,
Pretty bluejay warbles his gaiety.
The sun shines on His Majesty,
As orchards respond fruitfully.
The old lady with white hair slowly tottles out onto the porch in the cold damp air.
She pulls the rocker back away from the dampest part of the porch and sits
listening to the sounds of nature.
constant straight down rain
pouring out of solid gray clouds...
bird in oak warbles
As the continuous rain trickles from the roof and the gentle breeze stirs the wind
chimes to play tunes, a bird warbles chere', chere' to a lady friend who answers
cheer. The rain is cold and uninviting to humans but birds must ignore such a small
inconvenience to love affairs and courtship. Their chirps to each other get closer.
One has moved into the Holly Bush about ten feet closer to the one bird in the
Pear Tree.
a gentle breeze blows
touches silent chimes still pipes...
a love affair born
The gentle breeze blows cold mist from the rain upon the old lady in the rocker out
on the porch. She shivers and writes a few more words in her notebook before
retreating into the warm, dry and comfortable home. She thanks God for a few
minutes to enjoy the creation and the creator.
Scent of petrichor wafts on air for a while,
Under the gray clouds of a volatile sky;
Sunshine and rain crown the sky with rainbow,
Ushering the balmy breeze’s hugging blows.
Rustling leaves sway to kiss each gentle flower,
Random of marigolds shine to show this month’s wonder;
Unfolding message they send: storms never hinder,
Spectacular events await everyone in October.
Oh, how lovely to frolic under the sunshine’s rain!
Feasting birds fly to perch on my window panes.
Outside my window is a marvelous site to see,
Cheering warbles orchestrate dancing butterflies and bees.
Triumphant smiles of rushing passers- by,
On their countenance are smiles that can’t be denied.
Blissful month with God’s steadfast loving miracles,
Exuberantly invite all for a short get-together,
Ravishing repertoire rendered to you only by October.
October 2,2020 7.36pm
WINNER (SEE CONGRATS BELOW)
Gaping open raw war exhales vapors
In the frigid gray stillness excavating
My souls for the unseen harvest
Reflected in the leaves desiccating
Through walls of fogs pale faces stare
And disappear like a random shiver
Like a slick violin string vibrating sad
-ness like a portent of a sickness open
-ing shaking thoughts of unknown frontiers
Full of four-dimensional forests and coasts
Where skeletons recite rhapsodies ravenously
Waving flags of unjust defunct empires wildly
In the encrusted fear demons lend severed gospels
Like laughing children without love keeping records
Of my actions and their forgotten complexions
Waning in the humid cold touch of misgivings
But the voice warbles without ceasing warnings
Releasing doves bleeding as they fall asleep
Descending into a valley where darkness shines
Limbs of unrequited hope desperately lunge
For the throat emanating light salvation
Indiscriminately reaping and sowing dreams
Seeming real as wounds which never heal
As flies hatch treasonous larva in the gash
And a new century is born and scorned
Now and forever have arrived starved
Demanding blood on the altar of profusion
Crying in concrete homes hallowing illusion
Until the last angel breaks illumination...