On Nippon border
flies a Phoenix bird – Haiku,
now saved from the fire;
like a violin
my reborn soul is singing
tanka by Dumitru Roşu from Haiku: Magazine of Romanian – Japanese Relationships (2007), translated by Dumitru Roşu
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Phoenix Reborn
From the Great Fire’s ash, a new Phoenix shall rise
It’s glory is born from another’s demise
It’s mighty wings spread, as the Fire Bird sings
It’s voice heals the world, as it spreads it’s great wings
It rises above, a new King of the Skies
To the ends of the Earth the great Phoenix flies
Reborn from ashes, the Great Flame of the Sky
But in a burst of flame, this Phoenix shall die
Reduced to but ash, 'til the fire is stoked anew
This is the fate of the Phoenix, King of Skies Blue
From the ashes of death, shall a great flame be born
From the Great Fire’s ash, mighty Phoenix reborn
poem by Tim Vallie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Skinflint
The skinflint saved his policies,
The skinflint saved his plugs,
The skinflint saved his first house keys,
The skinflint saved his mugs...
The skinflint saved his chewing gum,
The skinflint saved his rope,
The skinflint saved his small toy drum,
The skinflint saved his soap...
The skinflint saved his worn-out shoes,
The skinflint saved his clothes,
The skinflint saved his tubes of glues,
The skinflint saved his bows...
The skinflint saved his dated files,
The skinflint saved his drapes,
The skinflint saved his airline miles,
The skinflint saved his tapes...
The skinflint saved, yes, on the whole...
The skinflint saved so well?
The skinflint never saved his soul!
So God sent him to Hell...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Violin
Four strings across the bridge,
Ready to carry me over,
Over the quavers, drunk in the bars,
Out of the realm of the orchestra,
Out of the realm of the orchestra.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Filling me up with the shivers and quivers.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Paganini up on the chimney,
Lord of the dance,
With nero and old nicky.
Whack that devil
Into my fiddlestick!
Give me the banshees for b.v.s,*
Give me the banshees for b.v.s.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-dee.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art of Border
It could be a shield, it could be a cage
The safety sealant, the tying trap
The filter line, the block wall
Border, border, border
The sacred culture, the love crossing
The moral limit, the emotion frame
The rule control, the life permission
Border, border, border
The friction fight, the freedom cut
The bond mark, the fence crack
The counter side, the edge of touch
Border, border, border
Can you keep it as promise
Can you bridge it by hope
The song from deserted corner
Border, border, border
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nippon
Last night, I dreamed of Nippon....
I saw a cloud of white
Drifting before the sunset
On seas of opal light.
Beyond the wide Pacific
I saw its mounded snow
Miraculously changing
In that deep evening glow,
To rosy rifts and hillocks,
To orchards that I knew,
To snows of peach and cherry,
And feathers of bamboo.
I saw, on twisted bridges,
In blue and crimson gleams,
The lanterns of the fishers,
Along the brook of dreams.
I saw the wreaths of incense
Like little ghosts arise,
From temples under Fuji,
From Fuji to the skies.
I saw that fairy mountain....
I watched it form and fade.
No doubt the gods were singing,
When Nippon isle was made.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I want to fly!
yes, you do.
where do you want to go?
i am looking for a new home
how does one grow wings?
i want to fly...
it is the most quiet conversation.
the man begs to understand
why the mouth he is blest with does not take the shape of a beak.
the bird sings of many lands
the man has not yet been to
the little brown bird's heart is a ray of sun
but the man does not know
inside the wars are all in the making
outside it is still calm
the bird and the man kiss
the bird flies
the man falls asleep
the man flies
the bird is dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Singing Birds Are Endangered Species!
Singing bird's songs
enjoyed,
wonderful melody, wonderful words,
Rhapsodical Sometimes,
More often romantic!
A power hungry,
another powerful
both listen a while,
They want the bird to sing for them!
Now the bird has to stop singing,
Or should think of flying far away!
Power hungry will kill
or powerful will,
Singing bird ability of throat
Is its own enemy,
Two hands are ready to squeeze,
Two blades ready to cut,
Singing bird's throat often
squeezed,
Several died,
not even found in history,
they fear even that bird's story!
For it sings only truth,
Singing birds throat is cut,
Because it can't keep its mouth shut!
Poor bird! Its talent,
gifted voice became
its own enemy,
Not even they are listed
Though singing birds are endangered species!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Broken Soldier
The broken soldier sings and whistles day to dark;
He's but the remnant of a man, maimed and half-blind,
But the soul they could not harm goes singing like the lark,
Like the incarnate Joy that will not be confined.
The Lady at the Hall has given him a light task,
He works in the gardens as busy as a bee;
One hand is but a stump and his face a pitted mask;
The gay soul goes singing like a bird set free.
Whistling and singing like a linnet on wings;
The others stop to listen, leaning on the spade,
Whole men and comely, they fret at little things.
The soul of him's singing like a thrush in a glade.
Hither and thither, hopping, like Robin on the grass,
The soul in the broken man is beautiful and brave;
And while he weeds the pansies and the bright hours pass
The bird caught in the cage whistles its joyous stave.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saved By Love
Laura loves her little family,
And shes the kind of woman who loves them with her life.
But sometimes in the evening,
When the world rests on her shoulders
With four walls closing in,
Shell close her eyes.
Oh....
Its not like she misses being younger,
Though she never was in vogue magazine or on tv;
Her husband loves her dearly,
And the morning shows her clearly,
Kisses her little baby girl.
Laura, shes the queen of the world.
Cant imagine ever leaving now,
Now that shes been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
Listen to her quiet heart singing loud.
Laura, shes been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
I know that shes been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
Saved by love.
Theres nothing quite like my familys love to warm me,
And nothing short of deaths gonna ever leave me cold.
Well, still at times its lonely,
But through it all it only
Makes me love jesus more,
And this is what he came here for.
I cant imagine ever leaving now.
Now that Ive been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
Hes gone and turned my crazy world back around,
And Ive been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
I know that Ive been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love....
Oh, Im never leaving now,
Now that Ive been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
Hes gone and turned my crazy world back around,
And Ive been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love.
Amy, shes been saved by love,
Saved by love, saved by love....
Saved by love.
Im saved by love.
Thats right.
And nothing I can say,
Nothing I can do, nothing I can say.
Were all just saved by love.
Nothing you can say, nothing you can do.
Only love can say, only love can do,
Only love can say.
Only love can say, only love can do,
Only love can say.
Im say-yay-yaved by,
Im saved by, by,
Nothing you can do, nothing you can say,
Only love can say....
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wildfire
The border of this fire crackled and snapped.
It's undulating movement that moved
All over the earth's body.
It's leaping orange and red intertwined,
This fire in all it's glory made me scream.
It made me heat up, this fire of old and fire of new.
This fire's constant singing made me wonder how it had a voice.
But it did, sometimes lower and sometimes higher, and then
So high.
This fire was nature's mischief maker and he made mischief.
Of all the leaves, branches and trees around him,
And he made mischief on me.
One day I disclosed to all my friends,
This fire was not a true fire.
It didn't burn down anything,
But it so excited me that it did burn my heart.
It excited my whole body and burned through my soul.
This fire just lit up my life.
But this wildfire was no ordinary fire.
This wildfire was my lover.
For this there was no other.
For his mother had named my lover Wildfire.
Watching his antics and speeding around on the playground,
I'll always hold Wildfire tightly in my arms because he's so hot.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Of Syntax
A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree
The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue
The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog
I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue
I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To a Sleeping Child
Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.
All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.
Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.
Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;
Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.
Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.
Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;
Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Haiku no fake who
Go to mountain shout Haiku
Echo back, more Haiku's
haiku by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When on a Summer's Morn
When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.
And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
And one that's all my own.
poem by William Henry Davies
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Haiku, stay with me..
Haiku, I feel so lonely..
Haiku, you and me.
haiku by Spiritual Seeker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Phoenix
What does a phoenix do,
that is unlike a bird,
what does it do,
to be different?
A phoenix rises from ashes,
and so have I,
I guess I have a lot in common,
with this bird.
What beautiful creatures,
they truly are,
and in the dark,
they seem so strong.
But they look so shy,
and so meek,
but watch them soar,
high above the rest.
I hope one day,
I'll be like them,
soaring high above,
the weakest below.
I hope one day,
I'll be strong,
and one day,
rise from the ashes.
poem by Katherine Bryce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hum The Haiku is a Funny Bird
The Haiku is a funny bird
Which roosts not in a tree,
It looks around with wondrous eye
And whispers much to me.
He looks him up, he looks him down,
He looks around the fields and town,
And when his wondrous eyes do caper
It's time to grab a pen and paper.
For then the Haiku shows his skill
And sets to verse most anything;
I fold my hands and grateful bow
Then feed him fish or sometimes chow.
poem by Mill Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soul Singing
Written by: r. robinson & c. robinson
Ive been down
Cascading and blue w/out a sound
Now Ive traded my black feathers for a crown
So feed me milk & honey
Lay me down
Lay me down
Look around
Show me holy places not yet found
Lets disappear and well hide underground
Well get high and well feel safe & sound
It comes around arayayayound
Chorus:
You got my soul singing my soul singing
You got my soul singing my soul singing
You got my soul singing my soul singing
You got my soul singing my soul singing
Home bound
Tired of tired of running town to town
Tired of my heart turned upside down
Now my lifes a smile not a frown
The sound
The sound
Chorus
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bird and flower upon the tree
A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
Each of them a perfect soul,
Song and sweetness manifest
The bird and flower we love the best
Side by side on the tall tree.
'Flower who art sunlight and fire, flower who art perfume and joy,
Sweetest of sweet,
Ah for the gift withheld!
Ah for the given gift's alloy!
Why must thy spirit exhale only in beauty and breath?
Ah for the voice thou hast not! I by thy side on the tree,
Telling the world of love, pain, and all raptures that be,
Raptures of laughter and life, raptures of tears and death,
Singing my heart to heaven, singing to earth at my feet;
Silence in thee.'
'Bird who art dew-drops and flame, bird who art rapture and song,
Sweetest of sweet,
Lo there's a voice part mine, songs that to me too belong,
Songs that grew of my growth, voice that has breathed my breath.
Bird that while I sit mute singest beside on the tree,
Hast thou ever a song taking no perfume of me?
Give forth my sweetness in song; bird, thou art singing for both,
Singing our hearts to heaven, singing to earth at our feet;
My voice in thee.'
On the tree-top side by side,
Sweet oriole and peony;
Music rings through earth and sky,
Sweet and sweet in sweetness lost
The flower and bird we love the most,
On the tree-top side by side.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In deep silence
a distinguished violin
at the flea market—
the seller arranging
the strings in the lily’s shadow
tanka by Eduard Țară from Haiku: Magazine of Romanian – Japanese Relationships (2004), translated by Magdalena Dale
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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