The fledging thrush appreciate
their Mothers rung
Fresh worms
Fleet less they aspire
to fly
Secure in nest
an eiderdown of feathers
they hang onto
every tweet
mindful their day will come
It's dusk, almost an hour from sunset
and the wood thrush is not cheery;
his melody is a whisper heard in a lot,
where he sang with others happily!
The wood thrust with auburn wings and round belly
couldn't find a stream in a nearby forest and fled
fled here to drink from the water fountain color grey
brushed by a sudden darkness that spread dread!
Sing out loud, little wood thrush and uplift my low spirit;
evening is approaching quickly with its turbid shadows,
we'll shiver thinking of the fear so frightening to admit...
oh, wait: we can alter the mood of our dreary thoughts!
I'm wondering why the wood thrush is not cheery,
has he lost all the enthusiasm for unclear reasons?
It's a phase he must go though to regain full harmony...
when despair leaves and he'll sing again with his sibilings!
Where are you Mr Thrush?
Where can you be?
Your a handsome little fellow
Sadly I no longer see.
No longer do I hear your call
Or see you perched on my wall
Where are you Mr Thrush?
Please come back and visit me.
Your one of natures treasures
Don a coat of brown feathers
Your heart is shown on your chest
Your love to see is well expressed.
Have you moved far away?
Gone somewhere else to stay?
Please let me know that your okay
If your ever near or pass my way.
25.08.23
In the still of the night the orange headed ground thrush perched on a tree outside, calls out in earnest beseeching his mate to join him in intimate embrace. A perfect interruption as a wake up call suitably timed for meditation! As though by telepathy, the thrush calms down to only occasionally resume its melody in subdued tones, nudging us deeper inwards. As observer & observed thus invisibly tango, attention distilled with the purity of agendaless resonance with the soundless throb of divine magnetism filtered by the heavenly moonlight, the perfume of divinity osmotically percolates into each pore of form. We vaporise!
Still not the stillness
Let now stillness still our being
As bliss vivifying
That thrush so high up on the tree,
does it sing for you or me?
Its trills I hear with such delight
even though it's not in sight.
Then it's quiet. I peer and stare.
Has it flown? I wonder where?
And now it's on a neighbours' tree.
Is it's song for them or me?
Over the fence its song proclaims
worms and snails are mine to claim.
It's singing not for you or me,
yet from snails it sets us free.
Confined by virus week by week,
isolation may feel bleak.
Yet while it's quiet we can hear
sounds of nature far and near.
For each of us till fading light
thrush's song does us unite.
Why is Venus called the god of love
If you knew Samantha, she makes guys gush
A technique so cunning
Downright stunning
Grabs us by the “blank” as we sing like a wood thrush
white thrush and white crow
fight which one's biggest outcast -
black sheep watches them
*The idioms “white thrush” (merle blanc) in French and “white crow” (belaya vorona) in Russian correspond to “black sheep” in English.
11.07.2019
Black Sheep Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
So it is my theory
there is nothing more cheery;
that first vision bleary,
that first feathered dearie...
Ooh, look! One so leery...
It's a precious little Veery!
Mind the birder standing teary;
She's just shedding winter dreary.
18.03.20
Composed for Michael Vacek's
Spring Fling Zing Thing King (or Queen)
I wonder why of late
only certain birds come to the feeding plate.
In spring a blend of every species
appears fluid as hungry and needy.
Winter though,
perhaps because of cold and snow
that attendance is reduced,
to lovers of the oak and mighty spruce;
hovering tween bush and brush
comes the striped brown colored thrush;
windswept by fine flakes of snow
they are cautious where they go.
Seeking shelter beneath the flower pots,
each stakes out a private lot,
where protected and safe
the winter cold they escape.
I walk along through forest greens
With Wood Thrush singing flute like songs
I stop to watch what I have seen
It is sitting on a branch, following me along
Cheerfully it sings, with music lifting me
With joy as if I am also in that tree
So clear this perfect day, a path I walk
I only have to listen, I don’t have to talk
Then I realize another is singing in tune
A sweet love song at the rise of noon
Heidi Sands
7/5/17
Little speckled thrush
always in such a hurry
more Spring Songs to sing.
8th June 2017.
Contest one Haiku,
Sponsored by Rick Parise.
My eyebrowed thrush
Did you know that grief is
a part of human life
if it comes
to attack and
swim in my heart
I need only
your tunable chirp
your variation tones
are my beautiful poems
I wish
I were you
I’d sing my beautiful melody
to let every human being
be kissed with
sweet happiness
I’d kick all loneliness
With my noisy frenzy
till all the colors of grief
run away
my eyebrowed thrush
please take me with you
teach me how to fly swiftly
till each fur of grief
falls down
(c)sukmawati komala
05 June 2013
In
a
duet
with itself-
is never alone
A
call
to love-
repeated
many times over.
A song thrush am I
Dottie is my name
Play with me a game
One that's called I-Spy
In the garden
Something I spy
With my little eye
Beginning with
The letter ‘S’
Can anybody guess?
There are no replies
None to play her game
Always it’s the same
One thing Dottie spies
Nobody knows!
Nobody guessed!
Dottie is the best!
In the garden
A snail I spy
With my little eye!
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