Nightingale Poems - Poems about Nightingale

They promise peace, serenity...to all Everywhere masks ,masks, masks.... The unending war against Him... We live in an unjust chaotic society...... O ,God i beseech you to fortify my soul against the devilish society... The wise sun never fades......

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The Clown fish had brimming eyes, a montage flown back to Jaflong , a memory lane I wonder I felt overwhelmed, as if yesterday’s incomplete hard and fast, rituals and alone Over pouring overboard, ornate orange diva and monsoon rain and Jaflong time and greeting say Holistic a rueful an encapsulation, by the by a rare tracing cue with a poetic erotica,...

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“Nightingale and Roses” the heart burst open like a canary cracks open its cage with a song listening to the nightingale with roses flying like a throatful soul escaping from somewhere deep within, soaring out the cavern measureless to man, that loaded chamber made of bone and skin, to perch itself for a time upon your velvet tongue, the notes escape now from...

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Social reformist Florence Nightingale - her many good deeds make for a fascinating tale. Not only a nurse was she content to be. An innovative statistician was she. ...

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A midnight full of potential that lets me down without notice. I've touched eternity without admission in hopes of a reprieve from a destiny that eluded me. A shade of blue that masks suicide from within. Love couldn't save her from herself. Love won't save me. I purchased a romance that was out of my price range. Destiny as it...

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Dear, there’s a folktale so I’ve heard. It’s about a flower and a bird. The story’s blossom is a rose, The most beautiful mankind knows. The star bird in this unknown tale Is the melodious nightingale. Who’d not cast this singer, given choice? He has the most enchanting voice! Two halves make a poem of love - The poet and the gal he...

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The most famous flower, the rose, Sits on a stem, in a regal pose. With scent and mien, God did endow 'er, The rose, the most famous flower. The nightingale, with the sweetest voice, With ardor, serenades his choice. He warbles an excitin' tale, With the sweetest voice, the nightingale.    Their love story, never outshined - Is the tale of these two, combined, For you and...

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Another nightingale song. Always singing. Always beautiful. With its varied vibrant warblings. Another nightingale song. Always singing. Attention seeking. With its many inane ramblings. Another nightingale song. Another nightingale. Another song. Always. ...

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The beckoning call of the Nightingale Like the whistle of wind in a sail Arrives on a spring days tail And nestles like a cotton ball Inside a trees hidden cloud The hatchlings are so loud Bumblebees covered in a honey shroud But never so happy parents will be When the fledglings leave the tree The Nightingale nest empty...

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Good deeds sinners do, with a view to reach heaven, bargain for a front row seat. At an orphanage, a donation is received; the benefactor unknown....

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Empty streets, Naked trees, Flowers, Sighing, In rhe chill autumn breeze, With some gypsy ladies, Dancing a salsa dance, In a field of sunfliowers, Surreal waves, With windswept kisses, Empty canvases, And benches, Waiting to be filled, With hues and innovative styles, A hymn hummed in a mango vineyard, By an enchanting lady, Tambourines and harmonicas, Filling the cafes, Miracle of beauty, Miracle of you, Miracle of rain in her damp hair, Miracle of a poem...

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She must of been, A nightingale, The way she sighs, With a warmth, Of, mellifluous, Waves, That kisses, Deeply, the, Love, Within, Your, Soul Reynaldo Casison...

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In the flickering light of the lamp, Despite the chilly night, air so damp, She surveyed books so avidly read, Studied the guidelines now in her head. Time came: she departed for the war, Sure she'd care for all those wounded sore. Many followed as she left her stamp, At night she'd be the lady with the lamp....

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seaguls in the sea ~low expectatations to reach~ easy life to live eagles above clouds ~small eyes with a big vision~ catch life at first sight ...

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This is a poem written by my mother, under her, "nom de plume", Genevieve St. Cyr. The mechanical bird covered with diamonds, sings only waltzes until the insides give way, and the sound of his craft is crowing. Whether or not (my Ladies and Gentlemen, and the Emperor above all) the mood is coquetry, gurgling as...

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