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Victor Buhagiar Poem
Wintry days were turning mild.
After the harsh stormy days.
Still not a sound could be heard
Except the hammering of posts
As I prepared the bird feeders.
Surely it was time for their return.
Yet not a sound could I detect that evening.
So I filled the feeders with delicious seed
And went for my usual long night sleep.
But with dawn I was wide awake
For then the garden began to fill with song.
Two male scarlet tanagers settled on an oak
On the other side of the street.
I was thrilled even though
Their song sounded a bit hoarse.
Bluebirds sang a lively tune
As they fed on worms.
But what pleased me most
Was to see two meadowlarks,
The male feeding the female
As she sat on an old nest.
This spring was full of promise.
A bird’s paradise.
20 February 2021
Spring Birds Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
POTD
Placed 1
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2021
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
We buried him under the large yew tree,
We all wore thick face masks as they should be.
The shade of the green yew tree was pleasant.
Yet we all knew the poison there present.
It was not his wish to bury him there.
He died under the tree eating a pear.
Little bothering about deadly fumes
His mind elsewhere humming her loving tunes.
The yew yielded a deadly red berry,
Fell on the white pear, tasted like cherry.
They spied him there, dead, under the yew tree.
All left to enjoy the breath of the sea.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2023
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
If only I could write you a sonnet,
Iambic pentameter and what not,
Let my muse mull profoundly upon it.
I must write it quickly lest I forgot.
It will have to stress real passion, love,
Mention a rose if I really must
But for heaven's sake leave out the white dove,
Still do mention the red moon that I trust.
Compare her eyes to some fragrant flower,
And wish to taste her full strawberry lips,
Scheme to meet her in a quiet bower,
Clouds enfold us in mythical eclipse.
Will she come, will she go, my marigold?
Ah, my poor love sonnet has now gone cold.
POTD 14 September 2020
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2020
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
Night fell,
Summer’s heat abating,
I sat leaning against a tall magnolia,
Its fragrance spreading everywhere
Like echoes of whispering breezes.
Despite all I could not rest and sleep.
The moon and stars were invisible now,
But darkness could not cover the glade.
Fireflies flittered here and there, glowing.
I was mesmerised by the fireworks of the night.
Suddenly I heard a delicate delicious melody.
Was it the fireflies orchestrating their symphony?
Soft enchanting tunes enticed the whole glen.
Could this be a dream descended from the hidden stars?
The melody changed, cadences tuned up and down,
The fragrance of the magnolia increased,
The moon appeared and all was bright.
Butterflies flew all around. Or were they fairies?
I could not tell for suddenly my eyes became heavy
And blissfully I slept as joyfully I dreamt.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2020
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
The slow sun sets, the night ebony dark,
Silvery moon shines brightly, dreamy mood.
I stroll carefully, nimble like a lark.
In glad, dreamy, indulgent solitude,
Admiring the mood in tame attitude.
Brightness around the moon circles delight,
For a moment I try to clear my sight
Am I hearing a melodious tune?
I fight with my senses, all should be right.
I watch. It is the Lady of the Moon.
3 February 2022
D Forms - Dizain- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
10 lines each with 10 syllables.
Rhymes checked with Rhyme Zone.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2022
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
Etched in my soul
is the peace of a lonely ruin,
an old chapel on the skull
of a hill surrounded by pastureland
and wind-swept trees.
Below a lake stretches into the distance,
its waves lapping the mottled shores,
its waters harboring a variety of fishes,
its surface mutating according to nature's whims.
I lie on my bed in my urban hovel,
a small window opened ajar,
I smell the effluvial stink of the dirty alley,
I hear the hellish hustle and bustle
of the mad world outside,
the world that rejected me, leaving me jobless
on the verge of homelessness
on the brink of famine.
Like a somnambulist, I walk away
like a drugged addicted old man,
and limp towards my haven far away.
The way is long, and torturous, and steep.
I fall, get up, knees bleeding, but keep on
until at last I reach the top where silence reigns.
What did I expect to find here?
I look down as the earth stretches before me.
And wonder what must He had felt
with a panorama such as this
as He hang on a tree,
blood dripping from a thousand wounds.
There was no silence then but only jeers.
Here on the skull of my haven is silence and peace
and I wonder: would there have been
silence and peace, had He
not died so many years ago?
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2020
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
Playing at night on rocky ground, he sprained his foot.
He hobbled onwards careful where his foot he put.
The lonely shepherds had long returned to their sheep,
But he wanted to see before he went to sleep.
Shepherds said that angels sent them to the stable,
So he wanted to see all was not a fable.
The night was cold but he did not really mind,
What worried him was if he would manage to find,
The new born babe that promised peace and love to all,
So he entered quietly in the forlorn stall.
There in the half dark, dimly lit by an old oil lamp
Tiptoeing softly inside like some escaped tramp,
He saw two persons asleep, but in a cradle
He saw the sweetest babe: he felt so disabled.
The dim dark turned bright and sweet angelic voices
Turned the cold places in feelings of rejoices.
Afraid the lonely boy would not approach too near,
This king of king, was no fable and he felt fear.
The kindly woman woke and beckoned him to see,
Do not be afraid, come hither she said, It's He.
The boy hobbled slowly to the heavenly child,
Instinctively he kissed the new born babe who smiled.
One day I shall see this babe though I live so far
I'll know him for only he could possess the star.
I shall be a great fisherman and so I’ll know,
My name is John and with Him I shall always go.
27/12/2012
Placed 1
Nativity New Poems
Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2021
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
Light me a new candle,
Put it before the manger,
It is a bit cold, love.
Yet we’re in no danger.
There's Jesus, a small babe
In a cold, wintry day
Lying on some fresh straw.
Kneel down and calmly pray.
Mary, Joseph calmly,
Adore the king of kings
Shepherds come with their lambs
Angels fly with bright wings.
Christ in Bethlehem born.
Choirs sing heavenly hymns.
Let us give Him His due
Ask to forgive our sins.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2021
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
The magnolia almost whispers to me.
Let the stream pass by me, nourishing
Food that comes from the sweet current.
That flows from hills down to my cottage.
There are many quant cottages around,
All decorated with climbing green plants,
I love them all, ivies, clematis, vines, and more.
But I am in love with the magnolia tree.
She blooms in late Spring, silently full of fragrance
Night or day it is a splendour of pure delight.
Alas the bloom will fade, as all things must,
But beauty is not eradicated easily.
Its petals remind me of days long gone,
Of laughter echoing through the garden air.
Now I sit beneath its shade alone,
Yet feel embraced by fragrance that once spread.
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2025
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Victor Buhagiar Poem
The wind blows softly over the lonely,
The suffering think of themselves only.
A world of chaos, racism, and turmoil,
Utmost egomanias spoil our toil.
An old man groans, no decent place to live,
Are there relatives? No comfort to give?
Blow softly oh lonely wind, they care not,
They are comfortable, and all forgot.
Somewhere a child is crying his heart out,
Can anyone guess what it's all about?
Is the child hungry, lost, or cast aside?
Much abused, ill-treated, or love denied?
There are millions of cries heard on the wind,
Alas no one bothers: is man unkind?
Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2020
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