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Be Like A Bird
Birds build their own nests
one twig at a time
little by little.
Birds build their own nests
strong enough
for raising their young ones
until they know
how to fly.
Be like a bird
even if it takes time
build your own home.
Be like a bird
build your home strong enough
for raising your children
until they know how to live
...on their own.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Love....my Dear...
This is the garden
where yellow daffodils bloom throughout summer
There are trees around here
where birds build their nests
Birds sing and play
feeding on sesame seeds
in a small house i build for them
hanging on the
gutter
This is a cozy room my dear
where i undress before you
without feeling
any shame
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kalahari Weavers
The weaver birds build homes together
Great thatch domes
They enter and leave
Circling in their thousands
Nests embracing great thorn trees
And no wisp or stalk is wasted
The weaver birds build commune homes
That stately sway in the breeze of dawn
Freezing under the midday blaze
Defiant in the cruellest evening storm
Tireless desert artisans
Peerless design skills
Resolved to live together by
Savannah stripped bare of life
And grasses of which few survive
If I had a week, a shade
And water-bottle filled
I would stay to watch them build.
poem by Frank Bana
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Set them free..They will multiply..
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time,
colorful birds to colored birds,
chirping birds to singing birds,
flying birds to walking birds,
cunning birds to love birds,
Watching birds is just a lesson,
making mind to have a vision.
collect the twigs to make the nest,
one by one, they think the best,
choose the right tree,
just high and free,
Making the nest perfect,
without any single defect,
The birds toil together or alone,
all day long until it is done.
I bought two love birds,
that were kept in a cage.
Hung the cage under the balcony,
above the reach of dogs not felony.
chirping disturbed their sleep,
Nikko, the dog set them free.
Only two flew away,
but I have a few dozens now,
making their nests,
right in front of me, on the trees.
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Because We Have Never Told Them
there is a straight path
and you want to walk straight to it
you cannot, there is this desire to
go inside a circle and hide
behind those curves,
there is this wish to find a resting place
a glass cage
a one-way mirror where you see all of them
and then
no one sees you
sometimes i look for some reasons why
this behavior is sought
there is this straight path that nobody wants to take
it is too tight in there
and everyone sees you
and their gaze hurt a lot
and you do not deserve to suffer upon their causes
no wonder birds travel on clouds
and build their nests
how men made walls
how women hide their faces on hats and
winter coats
there is this secret that we keep
that we bring even to our death
it is this secret that makes us what we are
others miss us
because we have never told them
the trees wish to look inside the nests
where birds have already flown away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not Everyone Looks Forward To Spring
Although it is a time of bloom and blossom
When wild birds build their nests and breed and sing
It also is a time of heavy pollen
And not everybody looks forward to the Spring.
The garden in full bloom is looking lovely
And blossoms on the bushes and the trees
But pollen by the warm breeze is carried
And you hear some people sniffle, cough and sneeze.
The beauty of Spring on the artist's canvas
And Spring inspire the lyric poet to rhyme
But all of those who have an allergy to pollen
Will tell you that Spring is not their favourite time.
Not every one yearns for the warm weather
Or for the scents of blossom, rose and flower
You cannot enjoy the beauty of a sunlit garden
If you cough and sneeze one hundred times an hour.
It is a time of greenery and beauty
When wild birds build their nests and breed and sing
And Mother Nature she is at her loveliest
But not everyone looks forward to the Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Spring In Victoria
The bottlebrushes laden with crimson flowers
And there is warmth in the October breeze
And with her Spring has brought her blooms and greenery
And birds are singing on the sunlit trees.
Spring in Victoria my favourite time of year
The birds build their nests and raise their families
The weather not too cool or not too warm
A high today of 17 degrees.
The distinct call sounds of the magpie lark
And the Indian mynah sings his scratchy song
Some birds are easy to identify
And by their voices you never get them wrong.
Spring in Victoria is a time of bloom
And sun shines brightly after the brief showers
The fruit trees cloaked in blossoms of pale pink
And gardens look resplendent in their flowers.
My favourite season is always the spring
And spring in Victoria is now in her prime
The wild birds sing and gardens are in bloom
But Nature's beauty fades with the passage of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Birds Bring Beauty
Birds, birds everywhere
flying through the sky without a care.
Reminding us how graceful life can be
as they fly from tree to tree.
Singing so very happily.
Singing songs of love and light
flying gracefully with delight.
Landing on their claws outstretched
landing in their straw filled nests.
Feeding their offspring worms from dirt
protecting them so they don't get hurt.
Pushing them to leave the nest
so they can fly like all the rest.
Flying high and flying low
they will be like their parents on the go.
Writenn by Christina Sunrise on June 18,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Birds Live Peacefully
Birds, birds everywhere
flying through the sky without a care.
Reminding us how graceful life can be
as they fly from tree to tree.
Singing so very happily.
Singing songs of love and light
flying gracefully with delight.
Landing on their claws outstretched
landing in their straw filled nests.
Feeding their offspring worms from dirt
protecting them so they don't get hurt.
Pushing them to leave the nest
so they can fly like all the rest.
Flying high and flying low
they will be like their parents on the go.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on June 18,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Nicest Season For One To Die
The nicest Season for one to die must surely be the Spring
When the Parklands wear their Wildflowers and song birds pipe and sing
And young birds are chirping in their nests and the sparrows all the day
Are busy under the house eaves weaving their nests of hay.
If I'm not burned to ashes then why not bury me
In that old graveyard on the hill preferably by a tree
Where in Spring birds will build their nest and sing their songs above where I lay
Though what happens to your remains when you are dead doesn't matter some do say.
We all belong to Mother Nature and to her we must return sometime
The reaper takes the young and old and those in their life's
prime
And since I too must die I hope 'twill be when flowers are in full bloom
In the prime of Spring when the air scent sweetly of Nature's own perfume.
Bury me in the Graveyard on the hill where peace is to be found
Beside a tree where birds nest and sing content in their home ground
A quiet place free of man made noise when Spring is in the air
In Nature's bosom I will rest beyond any living care.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Whores don't live in company of poor men, citizens never support a weak company and birds don't build nests on a tree that doesn't bear fruits.
Free
Birds flying free
where can you be going?
I just wish knowing
would help me be free.
Flying south in winter,
no more cold for you.
Ample berries on the trees
under skies so blue.
Flying north in summer
where the nests you'll build
where twigs and feathers
will do fine
'til your nest is filled.
Birds flying free
never will there be
escape from the landscape
like yours, for me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Play of togetherness
Yes nice play of togetherness
Feel nothing different with total oneness
They need no empire or vast land
Come together only to become friends
Nothing to bother not even house
Only sweet passions to rouse
Act may bring so much happiness and melody
Apart from playing part assigned by nobody
Do the birds care about norms?
Are they in touch or well informed?
They know the arrival of spring
They have only to wait for surprises to bring
They need no material to build nest
They have their own are as best
No art, no labor but little care
Penetration in nest nearly impossible to dare
No scientific medium to air the music
Peace and melody with so much magic
Anybody may stop on the way and watch
Try desperately to have glimpse and catch
How much closeness with mother earth?
Roots deep in and to hold for worth
May never fail or create shortage
Peaceful living with clear message
I heard sparrows have disappeared
Near extinction and new births totally feared
No more colorful birds may be seen on our window
We have smashed the nests and new one did not allow
We face Tsunami and murderous cyclones
Uproot completely and leave behind bones
Will we not take any note of disasters?
Will not hear call from our divine masters?
Birds do for us nice singing
Bright sunshine with little warning
Let us be friendly with entire creatures
We can build and leave with happy future
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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THE BLISS OF MY OWN SILENCE (revised)
in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep
as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking
i wonder
what are these birds up to?
they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the another night
i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer
but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter
it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bless Of My Own Silence....
in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep
as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking
i wonder
what are these birds up to
they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the same night
i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer
but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter
it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not Yet Spring
It is not yet spring.
The birds return and build their nests,
the sun lingers long in the sky,
but it is not yet spring.
The crocus peek among the grass,
the daffodils raise their head,
but it is not yet spring.
For I am dormant still,
in my winter state.
I wait.
(5-12-2001)
poem by Lady of the Trees
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An Afterthought!
even stone shudders,
groans and cracks...
shifting on it's axis,
changing!
squirrels find erections,
and name them trees...
homes that reach to infinity,
beds fulls of nuts!
only people build houses
out of things dead...
feeling safe in the numbness
of walls that cant touch!
ah! but birds build nests
out of straw discarded...
waiting for angels to fill their wings
with stardust and magic!
and if god created breasts,
rainbows, and sunsets...
then rainbows and sunsets
were an afterthought!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The big nest was in Afghanistan, thats not quite cleared, then there are nests in the Philippines, there are nests in Indonesia, the Malaysians are clearing up their nests.
quote by Lee Kuan Yew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rainy Day In Early June
The gray sky clouded over the rain is drizzling down
And the golf course is deserted by the river near the town
An early June day in early Winter in the Southern Hemisphere
The sun in the rain clouds hidden it is that time of year
From once you hear him singing his voice with you remain
The magpie he is piping in defiance of the rain
The gray and brown red wattlebird with a hoarseness in his cry
Is calling on a flowering gum that drips of rain nearby
To the vast expanse of dark water that crawls slowly to the sea
And in the calm dampness of the drizzling rain come the song of the pee wee
On this rainy day in early Winter it seems a long way from the Spring
When most of Nature's wildborn birds will build their nests and chirp and sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Birds Turning South
stacking wood,
chill morning air...
birds turning south.
axe and boots,
old truck loaded down....
birds turning south.
dreams and passions,
tied down and loaded,
birds turning south.
memory stained moments,
when the earth stoppt turning...
birds turning south.
now nothing more than
empty nests, a stray feather...
birds rurning south!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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