My mother tells me
the ways the world used to be.
She says—
it used to snow on Christmas Day
the trees would turn red and orange
and yellow in the autumn months.
She tells me of a great reef in the ocean
dressed and dazzling in more colors than a child could dare
to dream
My mother tells me
of something she calls “bitter”
that it chilled the bone
and left frost on the morning grass in place of dew
My mother tells me
of bird sounds in the morning
the screech of owls and twitters of robins and blue jays
greeting the rising sun,
carried by breezes
My mother tells me
of bees in spring
and dandelion-green-and-yellow knees in summer
And sometimes, in the early morning light,
I can almost recall
a wanderlust from a home I’ve never known
Memories that fade and fall like snowflakes and the ice at
the edge of the world
And I—
I cannot help
but to cradle them in my warm, warm hands,
melting them,
picturing how the world must’ve looked.
Come sit upon my deck, it is covered
with birdsong; bedecked in peace.
Come tarry; let me pour a warm beverage
of chocolate, tea or coffee. Listen
to the tweets, twitters, bird-sweets.
Come sit close, listen to nothing at all,
but the peace between two friends.
We will wait, we will watch for a.m. deer.
Quietly, we sit, side by side, as the sun
gives rise, reveling in God’s mercy -
day by day, with Summer bare feet,
sound mind, promise of newness.
Come sit, as friends do, then eventually,
their lips part with a passing remark.
Nothing cool or wise, just a soothing tone,
that lets the silent world know there’s life.
Quietude trains, it is painted with rain
and wildlife. Come, as the cool of morning,
touches a heart of flesh and pink pyjamas.
Come, as I sip my two-serving cup of peace
and quiet, whistles, hooting, no hollering.
There’s an occasional chirp, rarely a deer.
Here’s hoping. Yesterday, I spied one alone,
who hid behind a tree, momentarily, though
it did not see me. Come, I say, come. I watch.
We’d watch, or talk, or both. Perhaps, I’ve said
too much. Let’s listen, as my skin steams,
from my guzzled caffeine. Birds dance before me.
of understanding you
until I can correctly
identify colors
Green is to me
my mother's eyes
in the morning
when she laughs
at a rich joke
while we nibble
cantaloupe
and make fun
of our husbands’
idiosyncrasies
Yellow is in the nature walks
I take with students before lunch
and optimism is in the heart
of every red cardinal
that twitters down
at our scrambling
scrounging
I see you
clearly
to the fiber
of every insecurity,
unshaven hair,
awkward fumbling
and uncertainty
from morning coffee
to evening regrets
over wine and verbosity
you look introspective
when you talk after nine
at night, before the lonelier
barred owl hoots
and we sleep on separate spheres
of the same queen bed
You share leftover memories
of the weeping willow
that fell
and almost uprooted you
The pictures
remember you
from misordered time
of Christmas when reality
held its breath
and we had a day
of suspended reality
Yorkshire pudding and roast beef
We were the ones that broke the rules
of love, and rhythm
Tahira died before
her Swan's song was sung
or maybe I wasn't listening
Mozart, you were a lesser man
than my sister was to me
Tech Rex big hitters
Respect what glitters
Our new babysitters
Not Grandma knitters
X cortex hex twitters
Hate mission transmitters
Gaza or Persian fritters
Emission spate emitters
Vile bile style spitters
Culture war splitters
Astringent mocktail bitters
Seedier leader flitters
Don't get the jitters
Don't be permitters
The media embitters
Don't become quitters
Need pinch hitters
This lot are critters
What's in cats' litters
All just bullshi**ers
stagnant water still
stale grief slithered shattering —
finch twitters be free
path a hundred deaths
shake chains raining draining blood ~
write novels free be
turgid losses drown
in insolence they waited …
wife escaped be free
break bones to reach cave
courage climbs steps and steeps __
weep not nights free be
rods crack cords unfurl
ten thousand miles in riddles ~
shed shackles be free
eat parrot’s peanuts
pantry is empty laugh loud …
observe pain free be
smoothly plane cuts through
staring at unwinding space —
judgement flies be free
time moves then stands still
doors bang on open escape ~
awareness free be
petals circular
align with Sun straight down spine …
eyes dazed be free
~::~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~::~
Scattered around is destruction and debris blast-
Things rendered shapeless and futile ,but to ooze
Disgust and infinitely depressing misery profuse;
What was a pleasure and intact heaven, is lost !
Paralysed life and sickly breath is just a doom;
What came up in the spirit and sprouts of affinity,
And the blooming faith finds its end to infinity;
Intense fire has left behind the engirdling gloom
Weird ambition and endless greed do always swell :
All pursuits and desires fulfilled,man doth chase
The vain, 'undo' prompts of the hidden mind base
That blind the vision of the ensuant horror sequel
From the lithic to the vicious latent missile,
Devouring pathos,Rage has stretched its arm;
The charm of living is lost in death and sick harm
The extant essence of survival is lost in a while
Gone are twitters,chirps and the fresh pearly dew
The blessing sunrise and the sweet cool breeze;
Dissenting waves are churning the settled seas
Old order merges with the ruined past for the new!
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed like gentle rain amidst sun showers, she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings, she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
a flight of fancy fanning fast, she's a fabulous marvel of beauty, true on true
A whispering wind drifts down; wings flutter like a thousand shimmering stars.
Startled, the fragile creature flits away but dares not venture too far.
She moves onto the next blossom, twirling around to sip its sweet elixir,
tantalizing her senses with the promise of warm, golden, honeyed nectar.
A sparrow bursts into song nearby, filling the air with cheerful notes of love. Instinctively, she lifts her gaze to the tangle of branches and twine above.
There, the songbird bobs gracefully among the fronds in the lofty canopy,
while the butterfly twitters about joyfully enjoying the lively symphony.
In the woods, where silence secrets
Songs so alive with the harmonies of chirrups,
Tweets, peeps and twitters, colors of light
Falling like liquid insight into the spirit who hears
The voice of God through the oaks and laurels,
Through the woods gentle melodies, ballads and narratives…
.
Babel: “A bottomless pit of violence, a Tower of Babel where all are speakers and no hearers.” Alexander Smith
The preachers preach what they've been taught.
Reporters say what they’ve been told.
The politicians lie and lie.
I watch a tragedy unfold.
On social media I see
some folks who like to blog or play
while bullies bully; haters hate.
“Talk to the hand” they seem to say.
Mean twitters, memes and certain posts
use scalding words - an endless thread
scrolls down as if into a pit
where fire by sparks of hate is fed.
Opinions can be strong, but why
can’t some folks hear the other side -
with peace agree to disagree?
Yet fight they do and then collide.
Insanity is not just lurking.
Madness spits right in our faces
as many blab and jabber on,
heedless of the social graces.
Ears get clogged up; loose tongues flap.
See Babel’s Tower now so high!
We’ve come too far to still believe
that towers climb to touch the sky.
The fire raging underneath it,
spurred on by hate, crawls up each wall.
Violence will overtake us;
Then Babel’s Tower we’ll see fall.
My
tranquil
oasis,
terrace garden,
by July- serene
hues of green foliage,
and sweet scents of rose drifting.
A repose from the humid heat,
and oppressive sun- where the murmurs
of bird twitters bring a divine stillness.
it begins at dawn a tweet tweet then a beep beep~ a crow caws loudly
tiny little chirps
twitters silly shrills whistles ~
hel looo hel looo trill
and then, begins the circled flight in the sky
swooping as one, turning, diving- little birds fly
then, a pair of gliding birds gracefully dip and soar
oh, such divine and sublime sounds from tiny birds pour
A warm breeze rustles through the leaves
as flowers bloom this summer day.
'round wind ruffled petals it weaves.
Windswept, the weeping willows sway,
and songbirds nest in branches high
as flowers bloom this summer day.
Drizzling showers rain from the sky
in little puddles on the ground,
and songbirds nest in branches high.
When the sun appears, they’ll be found
bathing and preening without fears
in little puddles on the ground.
Their twitters, music to my ears
while the zephyr is blowing free,
bathing and preening without fears.
Such antics are soothing to me.
A warm breeze rustles through the leaves
while the zephyr is blowing free.
'round wind ruffled petals it weaves.
May 20, 2023
Inklings Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gina McIntosh
Violins whisper on warm summer night
Nightingale twitters a song just for me
Lost and alone I have lost my knight
heartbreaking moment I failed to see.
Birds twitter like whispering violins
Melodious moment soothing my mind
Uplifted I spread invisible wings
Violins and birds create heavenly chime.
Sadness resides in heart that is broken
Final goodbye to my beloved one
It seems that the Nightingale has spoken
Violins whisper as my life moves on.
Beautiful thoughts invade suffering heart
Goodbye my love I feel torn apart.
19/05/2023
newborn bulbs from sprouts
unfurl into green leaflets
a robin twitters
tulip buds will stretch
to greet the morning sunlight
colors of rebirth
2-14-2023
Spring Flower, Bird or Butterfly, Haiku x2 Poetry Contest
Tania Kitchin
Take all your vitamins and meds, twice a day
Exercise often, don't just 'play'
Eat healthy foods, but sparingly
No caffeine ever after mid-day
Regular visits, doctor and dental
And don't forget to check the mental
Make sure you're insured: life, health, house and car
Work long and hard hours, you're not a rock star
Constantly check your emails, texts and twitters too
Don't neglect your cousins in Kiev and Timbuktu
Inspect the a/c, heater, all vents and sump-pump sure enough
Use color-coded folders for your financial records and stuff
Now just follow these simple regulations and rules
And don't sweat the sleep ~ you insomniac, you
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.