On Monday morning magpie sang.
I thought it was for me.
He warbled high, he warbled low,
With joy for me to see.
His head leaned back, beak to the sky
The tumbling notes rang out.
He would have sung them anyway
If no one was about.
As sun shone through the misty morn
His song continued clear.
The silences between the tunes
Delightful to my ear.
On Tuesday morning, once again
The scruffy magpie sang.
His liquid notes, from one to next,
All through the air it rang.
‘Twas for himself, the joy of life!
On sunny mornings, sing!
To other creatures, me and them,
True pleasure did it bring.
On Wednesday morning, cleaned the house,
No outside time for me.
On Thursday an appointment made
And that would have to be.
When Friday came I’d quite forgot
To miss my magpie friend.
Then at stormy evening time, I mourned.
I found him dead,
I cried because I realised
That he was old and weak.
But even so he’d sung out clear
And given joy to me.
His song goes on forever
Lilting, weaving through the sky.
A sound like that reverberates
And never will run dry.
Oh, beautiful birds,
in my youth, I released you
to bluer skies with hopes high.
You were my longings in flight
before my wishing time
sadly subsided.
Some of you returned
to visit me as I slumbered
deep into nights
of unrequited dreams.
Others of you flew
far beyond any horizons
where I might ever find you.
A few of you,
like the blue bird and robin,
warbled in my ear from time to time,
but short were those visits to me.
Oh, dear birds of my youth’s
hopes and dreams,
where have you all gone
as my days grow shorter?
If I strive to listen,
sometimes I can almost catch
the sound of your pretty songs.
At my door today,
I can almost imagine the caw
of ravens that in my youth
I never dared
to dream of.
Just listen to the nightingale’s song—
you will know God’s compositions
are flawless, without error.
No earthly force can drown its melody,
woven with beauty and complexity,
for every ear to savor.
Its voice never cracks nor falters,
a gift no man can bestow.
Whistles, trills, and warbled phrases,
unwritten, yet always pleasing,
teaching us that music
needs no single tongue.
Hence it is often said:
music has no language.
Songs can stir the feet to dance
without a single word—
as the birds themselves have shown.
The wind too hisses its song,
yet it charms the earth.
Trees, shrubs, and grasses bend,
swaying back and forth
to its rhythm,
delighting in the dance.
Nature sings without instruments,
its melodies whole and pure.
We copy and claim them,
yet God never claimed a copyright
when He composed the first songs.
Through nature, God is the teacher:
the flight of birds in aeroplanes,
the sailing of fish in ships,
the motion of beast in cars.
Nothing we sing is truly new.
What we call song composition
was already in His creation.
All beautiful songs are first His,
for all good things begin with God.
A mate of Musk, I’m told I’m going soon
(if NASA still exists, this side of June):
the lack of oxygen might make me swoon
- my rear end is as puckered as a prune!
I feel I ought to leave a happy tune,
an album by somebody who can croon.
That swallows effort, warbled by Pat Boone,
or Herman’s Hermits leader, Peter Noone?
Perhaps a piece of marble, nicely-hewn?
Amid the regolith, randomly strewn,
A DVD by National Lampoon?
The one with David Bowie – what’s it – Dune?
The Brooke Shields epic movie, “Blue Lagoon”?
That stoned director (Stone) gave us “Platoon” –
or how about “Five Weeks in a Balloon”?
He left not a speck. He left not a stain.
He left no more than a black widow's brain.
He warbled loudly as he stood in the rain,
and sang it again and again and again.
Abramowicz, Goldstein, and Sol Newman
Went a-caroling with Harry Truman
They warbled ‘Silent Night’
In the wrong key, alright ~
Sol said, “Forget that darn gentile crewman”
Willy Wee Walldorf warbled wonderfully
We watched Willy’s whacky warbling, willingly
Waketa Wobblemaster wiggled wondrously
While weird Wormy Wishman watched wistfully.
Gloomy winter has began,
it will deprive us of freedom,
be ready to greet boredom;
every sad look agrees it can!
Bears are lucky, they go into lethargy,
humans are awake and experience a long solitude;
Tic-Tac and Twitter will keep kids busy,
adults will do their chores with decreased fortitude!
In spring everything sounds merry like Mary,
stop by her small cottage and hear her singing;
she hands dainty flowers to anyone who's listening:
the catch, of course, is a contribution to her charity!
Gloomy winter has began, trees lose their leaves,
flowers their beauty, birds migrate to southern places;
although we like snow: we prefer warm weather,
not much we can do inside, but read the local paper!
I'll free my robin from the cage, he'll follow his buddies;
he loved summer and ate lots of bugs and warbled happily;
sadly, I will confine myself to the creation of new poetry:
Roxy, the golden retriever, will feed and watch her puppies!
Indigo shades the western light,
Amber suffuses Shaman’s sight,
Mottled moans of a whispered soul,
Bellows churning Phaethon’s coals.
Embrace the night-birds warbled song,
In chanting verse that lasts not long,
Nor echoes past the dying sun,
Gifts given gone but not undone.
Incandescent sky serpents seek
Nothing but the depressed to eat,
Shaman retreats with folded hand,
Inspired by the sober land.
Not knowing that he’s long been owned,
Created just to come and go,
Each waxed lyric another bleat,
Reveals a bone that has no meat…
Even then some still think it deep.
Eagerly I arose to welcome winsome spring
Anticipating an ebullient, sun-swept morning
Only to witness opaline skies turn gloomy
Shrouded in dampness of rain pitter pattering
Swirling dust emanating petrichor themes
Scattering dreariness on visage of dawning.
You too were awed, extolling scenic setting,
Lauding crimson hues that darkened swiftly,
Adulating rustling winds swaying maple trees
With echoes of thunder heard intermittently
As gray clouds hung closer, roiling hastily,
Pouring down streams, flooding streets rapidly.
Farther in distance, storm was now fleeting
Where sun’s golden rays began emerging
Scintillating mountains in amber ray beams
Lifting my spirits in birds’ rhythmic chirping
As your intimations warbled amorous hints
Arousing rhythms of romantic heart strings.
Charmed by tempo of dawn’s chromatic arc
As rising sun vanquished remnants of dark,
Lovingly we embraced missives of love spark
Echoing lyrics strummed by doting hearts,
Drawing inspiration from gilded azure skies,
Hypnotized in allure of your enamored eyes.
November 11, 2022
Placed 1st: Inspiring Rainy Days Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
APACHE
His name was Apache
His eyes were so bright
He was completely full of joy
Hopping, jumping, dancing
Taking naps on top of me
Happiness, love, to fill the universe
Playing with home-made toys
Always excited to see each one
He warbled like a bird when he was held
He filled my heart so quickly
Like he knew me, before we met
He was a smart Guinea Pig
Squeaking from across the house,
When he knew I was cutting his food
He had a special ramp that I made
He would wait for his treats put on that
He always knew everything I would do
He was only 7 months old when he got sick
An ear infection spread, ending up untreatable
The light bulb of joy went out in my house
An emptiness that I cannot explain
There are other things that I cannot say,
But I wish that I had one more day
My writing area was near his play pen
When he left, my muse went with him
It will be a while to feel it again
It will be a while for my heart to mend
There is no answer for his leaving so young
There are always questions in life,
Left unanswered in some empty place that makes no sense
And we are expected to move on without knowing
Heidi Sands
9/26/22
Dappled light shimmered from a golden moon,
and peered into a grove of bent willow trees.
Arched branches swayed in a gentle breeze,
as if shadow dancing to the song of a loon
as she warbled the lyrics of her mating tune.
July 15, 2022
Bite Size Poem No 49 Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
I heard laughter
As if from the far end of a tunnel
The sound warbled
Distorting the sound
Making it sinister
Like the cawing of a crow
Snow forming on my brow
Infiltrating my skin
Filling up my very veins
Echoing down my arms
Reverberating down my spine
Filling me up completely
And the irony hit me
The laughter I heard
Came from my own lips
With tears running down my cheeks
As if to escape the pain
And a heart so broken
It can longer cope
So broken tears aren't enough
It's the twisted laughter
A deranged sound in sorrow
Such a desperate sound
In a desolate tunnel
Where the walls are crumbling
A burst of a bevy of colors
Suddenly dying
Everything fades to black
And what I heard
I heard laughter
In the fragrant noonday heat,
Sunshine poured on meadowsweet,
And rivers and lakes sparkled,
All while rose finches warbled,
From azure sky and green trees,
And sunshine burnished cities,
In the fragrant noonday heat.
Written on July 5, 2021
For: Elemental Poetry Contest
Sponsor: charles messina
Vivacious veins of hope
Virus still spreading fear
Veering variably
Voices warbled ill-use
Vaccination striving
Vicarious breathing
Vanquished foe valiantly
3rd place winner
Written : May 5, 2021
Pleiades V Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Merryman
Checked by : howmanysyllables.com
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.