A bird that flies off the earth and lands on an anthill is still on the ground.
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A bird that flies from the ground onto an anthill, does not know that it is still on the ground.
A bird may fly off the earth and land on an anthill, but it will still be on the ground.
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

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This Little Bird
John d loudermilk
Theres a little bird that somebody sends
Down to the earth to live on the wind.
Born on the wind and he sleeps on the wind
This little bird that somebody sends.
Hes light and fragile and feathered sky blue,
So thin and graceful the sun shines through.
This little bird who lives on the wind,
This little bird that somebody sends.
He flies so high up in the sky
Out of reach of human eye.
And the only time that he touches the ground
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird dies.
song performed by by Roy Orbison

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Bird Song
Theres a little bird
Somebody sent down to earth
To live along the wind
Blowing on the wind
And she sleeps on the wind
This little bird, somebody sent
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
And the only time that she touches ground
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird dies
song performed by by Jewel

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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

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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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To The Ants
their anthill
is the most powerful
territory
they ever built
for months now
their knows what
real business is all about
being fed
and then
reproduce for the
greatness of
their anthill
empire
the anteater comes
wanting to disprove
this fact
the truth is
everything is nothing
but predator-prey
without
exception
even your
religion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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We are anthill men upon an anthill world.
quote by Ray Bradbury

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The United Fruit Co.
When the trumpet sounded, it was
all prepared on the earth,
the Jehovah parcelled out the earth
to Coca Cola, Inc., Anaconda,
Ford Motors, and other entities:
The Fruit Company, Inc.
reserved for itself the most succulent,
the central coast of my own land,
the delicate waist of America.
It rechristened its territories
as the ’Banana Republics’
and over the sleeping dead,
over the restless heroes
who brought about the greatness, the liberty and the flags,
it established the comic opera:
abolished the independencies,
presented crowns of Caesar,
unsheathed envy, attracted
the dictatorship of the flies,
Trujillo flies, Tacho flies,
Carias flies, Martines flies,
Ubico flies, damp flies
of modest blood and marmalade,
drunken flies who zoom
over the ordinary graves,
circus flies, wise flies
well trained in tyranny.
Among the blood-thirsty flies
the Fruit Company lands its ships,
taking off the coffee and the fruit;
the treasure of our submerged
territories flow as though
on plates into the ships.
Meanwhile Indians are falling
into the sugared chasms
of the harbours, wrapped
for burials in the mist of the dawn:
a body rolls, a thing
that has no name, a fallen cipher,
a cluster of the dead fruit
thrown down on the dump.
poem by Pablo Neruda

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A bird flies high above and its funeral is performed on the ground.
No matter how high the bird flies, a hunter sets is trap on the ground.
Snowthunder
White on the ground and cicles
from the roof
Trees of ice and vehicles are
one inch solid
All is white
From building top to ground
No breeze or no sky or no birds
or no sound
All is still
With a sudden crack the lightening
splits the sky
In many directions roaring
From one side of the sky to the other
Shaking of the ground
Ice shatters from trees and roofs and
from everywhere
Hitting the ground
Sounds echo of popping and snapping
and cracking
Sheets falling off of sides and tops
Sounding like a war is on us
The ground and sky shakes and roars
No safe place to step
A bird flies through the sky screeching
Flying in waves and screaming
Beware the snowthunder comes
poem by Sarah Stites

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Birds Nest
Have you not seen the bird
flying far, again and again
collecting straws to weave a nest-
a home- for its young ones to be.
As eggs are hatched
out come the young
chirping or crying, to be fed,
the bird flies again, and again
collecting grains
to feed the young
who cannot fly
It chews the grain but does not swallow
beak to beak it feeds young fellow
caressingly and lovingly
so all are fed properly.
Young get wings, by and by:
and coaxed by the mother bird;
attempt to fly.
Then suddenly one day
the young one flies far away
It knows not where: and
The nest gets barren,
Lonely...
The bird DOES NOT GRIEVE
OR DOES IT
We humans, we do not know.
Bird's Wish
The bird asks me
What I’d do
If I am a bird.
I tell him
High and high I’d soar
So high that I’d see the earth no more
I’d be a bird on the tree
I’d be a bird that’s free!
What you’d do bird
If you’re a man?
To be fair
It’d be my only prayer to God
Don’t be so hard
Make me once again a bird!
Saying this the bird sings
And spreads its wings to a sky
I can never fly!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

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Lightnin Hopkins
When I lay myself to sleep pray that I dont go too deep
Lightnin won lightnin won
Because its cold down gold down there, crow!
Flat lands low lands on the track
Shows the water pan the track
Lightnin won lightnin won
Close up hands to silhouette, crow!
Lightnin won, lightnin won
Hound bark on the track
Hound crow hold onto your hat
Lightnin won lightnin won
Low lands timberlands bad lands bird lands
song performed by by REM

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bus Poem #4
A bird drops from the sky, hops to a new twig.
From the ground a cat spies him, falls in love.
Birdie strops his beak on a branch.
Cat pretends not to notice.
Birdie stretches his leg. Shuffles his wings.
Cat makes love to his paw.
A yellow feather drifts slowly to earth.
With its voice of blood cat's heart says 'ah'.
Called to the skies the birdie flies. Away.
Cat, broken-hearted, washes his ears with his tears.
poem by Robert Dickerson

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I Know That You Know How It Feels Tia Maria
i take a look again
eye to eye
to that white-breasted
bird
it flies away in the middle of the rain
leaving a leaf
falling
this time it is the leaf
always alone
always to the bottom of the
wet empty ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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Freedom In A Metaphor Bird
the little bird
driven by hunger
comes near the place
where you are seating
because you
spread some grains
of rice
on the ground just
below the tree
without looking at you
it pecks upon a few
nibbling
and then in a few seconds
flies away
swims through the air
and leaves you
once again
feeling so fettered....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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A Leaf
to a non-poet a leaf is just a leaf
and when it falls
on the ground, there is nothing but a
fall
but to us who claim this art
a leaf is not just a leaf
but it can be you or i
falling and when i reach the ground
you feel the heart of the leaf
beating
for its falling, its failure as a leaf,
its surrender to a certain death
its claiming a portion of this earth
to rest and be part of this
world, it rots, and it speaks some line
before it rots
a poem, a valediction on an anthill,
an eulogy of the other leaves that
fell before the great falling
it can be a story of humanity written
on the lines of its face, it will have flesh
on its layers, some mouths on its
seams, and it will tell too
about the tree where it comes from
how the clouds drifted so close to its stalk
how the sun kissed it on top of everything
a leaf is a world. just as a poem is.
we live inside it. Through it. Even
outside it. Even in circles.
we make understanding so complicated.
yet we are so simple as you see us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa

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