Parakeet Poems - Poems about Parakeet

A parakeet is a talking bird He’ll repeat whatever you say Which, depending on your mood Can make or break your day ...

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The monk parakeet, decked out in lime green, In communal nests they can oft be seen. To raise kids, they don't depend on granny. Instead, they hire a helper or nanny....

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I have a parakeet, named Pintu, She's so dear to me. I got her this year As a birthday gift from my mom and dad. She's the cutest pet I've ever had. Her colour is green and I've never seen, Such a pretty bird, noisy and funny. Early in the morning, every day, She'd say, 'Good...

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A parakeet green that I named Eugene and early in the mornings he will stir chirping and flapping his wings in a blur. It is quite a wild energetic scene . . . I swear, I do not give Eugene caffeine from this bird- I needed a silencer ! A parakeet green...

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They call her parakeet girl. If you can get past that, you will have a lot in common. She came into the restaurant wearing her friends. They were all over her head, one kept pecking a kiss on her face. Are you parakeet girl? He asked her. Are you psychic? She replied....

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Come, my love, let's unfetter and glide high, Your hues leave me breathless, to feel your breath I long; My dreamy dotted wings, with you, yearns to fly, And to chirrup in tune with your lilting love song. Your hues leave me breathless, to feel your breath I long, As I creep up on you and...

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The day had dawned with the sunrays pouring through my window, I saw myself scratching my head, Since the number of gripping ideas in my brain amounted to zero. I had been asked to compose something-- which will leave readers deeply moved, How could I explain that my thinking tank had been exhausted. People say- writers can write about anything...

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“I Do! I DO! I Do!” delight at the actuality of marrying my grandmother. Did she soar, as I do at the retelling? I don’t know. But I do know when cancer took his bride, he was not far behind, never again sleeping in their bed, hearing her voice, like an angel’s voice. He didn’t do without her, her wings...

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When I was in third grade, ...

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tiny weight of grandma’s parakeet on my finger spider leg toes bones enclosed in skin the curved pins the claws that grip my finger balancing its wiry weight of beak and wings the feathered fan of tail compacted pulling downward balances the body full of webs of bones like veins inside my eye delicate bones like grandma herself thin and fragile with holy hair thick and white it fans...

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A hole was dug, Kenny was placed in a small box Tears trickled down, down, ...

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