The first goes as a stake, the second as a falcon, and the third as a little bird.
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The first [cup of vodka] goes as a stake, the second as a falcon, and the third as a little bird.
Stake Stake Stake
Stake, stake, stake,
on the green felt fabric thrown, -
the croupiers, awake,
the players, weary, grown.
O well for the novice who
can cash in lucky play,
O ill for the gambler too,
rash not to end his stay
as the golden chips go on
back to stack within the till, -
but O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,
and woe for the crushing bill!
Stake, stake, stake,
while a camera all can see,
records both banks which break,
and counts accounts’ red plea!
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Falcon
Why should my sleepy heart be taught
To whistle mocking-bird replies?
This is another bird you've caught,
Soft-feathered, with a falcon's eyes.
The bird Imagination,
That flies so far, that dies so soon;
Her wings are coloured like the sun,
Her breast is coloured like the moon.
Weave her a chain of silver twist,
And a little hood of scarlet wool,
And let her perch upon your wrist,
And tell her she is beautiful.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Falcon
They're near cracking.
And tracking a balloon,
On rumors.
They're near cracking.
And hoping that ballon lands soon.
A boy is claimed to be alone.
And flying on his own,
Alone...
High in the sky and crying.
But he was found to not have flown.
And hiding in a box.
Hoping that his daddy wouldn't fuss at him a lot.
They're near cracking.
And tracking a balloon,
On rumors.
They're near cracking.
And hoping that ballon lands soon.
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon no more hiding to start rumors.'
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon no more hiding to start rumors.'
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon? '
~Yes, daddy? ~
'Falcon no more hiding to start rumors.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ay De Mi
O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
With touch that seem'd to speak,
And ask a tender 'yes' -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
O tender downy breast,
And warmly beating heart,
That beating seem'd a part
Of me who gave it rest -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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What the Orphan Knows About Light
.
for Anna Kamienska**
'I don't believe in the other world
...But I don't believe in this one either
unless it's pierced by light.' - A. Kamienska
Hidden behind a star
the ash sings without self-pity -
stake your claim in Beauty.
Flame-near dreams
are of Far.
Jab the mausoleum
majesty of State
in the eye.
Here is your key, little one.
Now run quickly home.
**[Some poems of Anna Kamienska:
http: //www.ap.krakow.pl/nkja/literature/polpoet/kamien ska.htm]
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shore Leave Ornithology
Slacks, coffee trend
I could have been in the us navy
Flapping grey, coffee smoke
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Where the hell were you?
Rough stencil, print music
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard coffee
Saxophone mention barbers, n.y.
The cigarette was burning, the flat shoes
Stool
Bongo, coffee, don't mention that black man
The leather-coat was his
Where was she?
Could have been in the us navy
Flow beating air, table-top, shoulder slung
Shore leave, no sailors here
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard
Liquor slacks twisting
The cigarette was burning
The flat shoes, the flat shoes, the flat shoes
Bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Awhatthef..kia
'What ho? There ain't no bears down here, '
Said Robert Falcon Scott,
'I'll call it Anobearia.'
Back in acadamia
They translated it to Greek,
Called the place Antarctica,
That's still the name we speak.
What a shame he didn't honour
The flightless polar bird
And call it Apenguinia.
That name might have stuck-
Unless the Greeks had seen the bird
And called it whatthef..k.
In Greek that's ti-oto,
The land Ati-otoa.
Arty-ottowa.
'Sound's good, ' said acadamia,
'But meaning's not so nice.
We'll use the Greek for 'penguin'
And call Apigwevosa,
The Underland of Ice.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hard to coax
A reasonable stake is enough.
A vine is content with that.
The stronger stake cannot coax it.
Wives being such, men live in peace.
09.08.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stakes don’t alter the interest.
Children play cards with no stakes,
Street-men does with low stake and
Gamblers with high stake. The spirit
With which each group plays is same
06.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the sequence where I am burned at the stake, everything was so casual and hazardous that the bottom of my dress caught fire, and the grips became hysterical as they tried to pull me off the stake.
quote by Barbara Steele
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Name this bird
Name this bird
If you are.
If you wish
Go there.
Geography
I do not like.
History
This bird
is not feathery.
See the word
Search the bird.
The bird I saw
Above the rulrs
Above the law.
If you wish
Go and tell
But please
Do not say
The bird is in sleep
And not here to clip.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Birdbrain
Streaking, braking, twisting snatching,
Willie Wagtail's insect catching,
acrobatic chatterbox is garbed in black and white.
Overhead a falcon gliding
wheels and dives, hones in, colliding,
nail-gun force in outstretched claws which strike and lock in tight.
Falcon's talons raking feathers,
small-boned bird eludes caged tethers,
spirals down to dropp within a crown of needled pine.
Cradled safe in twiglet fences,
Wagtail blinks, regaining senses,
splintered wing hangs limply from a slashed and bloodied spine.
Wagtails are unused to resting,
soon, the broken bird is testing,
asymmetric fluttering as painful minutes slip.
Drifting, slowly dehydrating,
ants begin investigating;
as they nip, it hops, retreating, reaching pine limb's tip.
Still it watches insects flicking,
body clock's insistent ticking,
urges nesting, feeding, singing, borders to defend.
Tiny size can be deceptive,
this small bird is quite perceptive,
constantly deciding, many duties to attend.
Suddenly it launches, sailing,
briefly floats, then cartwheels flailing,
Willie Wagtail's final, fatal leap into the sky.
Insects hover, soon to plunder-
Can a bug feel smug?
I wonder.....
No,
but maybe birds can choose to linger or to fly.
poem by Diane Hine
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Love demands corporal presence
Is not it a fallacy,
If an uprooted stake thought
That the orphaned vine
In its place would never seek
Any stake nearby?
Your beloved ceases to be so
Once you have left the venue.
05.03.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Now Little Bird?
what now little bird?
you look around you
the nest is empty
and mother bird is far away
and siblings
have taken the first jump
to the pond
to learn to float
and then
fly
you think that mother-bird
comes back
to feed you with another worm?
no, little bird
no one is coming back for you
you do not even
know if you have a father-bird
to save you
no, little bird
do not wait
do not waste your time
the sun shines
and it is time
for you to go too
fly now
little bird
find the real meaning of your wings....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hefemale
To a stake,
On a stake!
But she cried out for help!
And like your love hidden in the bush;
However, will you not speak to me?
For, my wages are yet to be paid.
It was written,
Divided into four parts!
But, from the top to the bottom;
Andlike, Hefemale your lover seen around us today.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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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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Totem Last Night With Us Walked - A Verbal Sculpture
.
In arms we carried It as
one does a child yet it
was He who carried us
both bird and man who
cried openly along the
way entire for our presence
was solid in His arms.
He did not care who saw
these shed tears, head down
beneath spring blossoms -
Dogon warrior standing tall
with his staff and carved horn.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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