A duck's nest was found today near the trail on the dry open prairie with as far as could be seen no water or marsh near. The bird flew off but could not tell what species. The eggs nine originally.
quote by George Mercer Dawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quail's Nest
I wandered out one rainy day
And heard a bird with merry joys
Cry 'wet my foot' for half the way;
I stood and wondered at the noise,
When from my foot a bird did flee--
The rain flew bouncing from her breast
I wondered what the bird could be,
And almost trampled on her nest.
The nest was full of eggs and round--
I met a shepherd in the vales,
And stood to tell him what I found.
He knew and said it was a quail's,
For he himself the nest had found,
Among the wheat and on the green,
When going on his daily round,
With eggs as many as fifteen.
Among the stranger birds they feed,
Their summer flight is short and low;
There's very few know where they breed,
And scarcely any where they go.
poem by John Clare
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I cannot forget the month of June
I cannot forget
The month of June
My memories
Take to my child hood
The Sun was hot red
And the sky blue
Hot winds blew
Little Cuckoo flew
In the dreaded heat
From the coziness
Of her nest
In search of water
And food
Couldn’t bear the heat
Of the sun
Fell on the ground
Gasping for breath
I saw the bird
Took her in my lap
Gave food and water
And saved its life
When evening came
The cuckoo flew back
To its cozy nest
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Spare just a moment....! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who flew from bleak winter of her habitat,
In search of warmth, food wet lands
And green fields, instead only found silt.
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who uncertainly hovers in the sky,
A grey cloud drifting by, seemed to ask why
Alone, where is your flock and why do you cry.
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who oh, so despondently alights?
Looking askance for a sanctuary,
Perplexed, why barely a marsh, rest concrete.
Spare just a moment for the bird,
Who feels lost as it sits on an electric pole
Wondering whatever happened to Neem and Babool
Which spread out arms to welcome for rest and to nest?
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who misses her good old friends
Dainty Golden Oriole, Kingfisher and Egrets,
And wonders how come only vultures lie in wait…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Eggs Of The Blue Bird On The Nest
the blue bird
takes care of its nest
all the white eggs
warm beneath its feathers
all those nights
and even cold days
and then when the eggs hatch
the fledgelings
prematurely spread their wings
fall off from the branch
where the nest hangs
on the following morning
you see the ants feasting on their flesh
ah! the blue bird sings again
readies itself for the rain
it escapes away from its sorrows
and flies away...far, far away
far, far away....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When I see a bird that walks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck.
quote by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As There Aren`t Safe Nests...
A migrating bird chirps into my ears,
'Can you make a nest for me that will be safe for ever? '
I don`t know what he means by a safe nest
For my nest has been on the verge of a collapse.
He flies away dreaming about a safe nest.
That leaves me with a question, ' Where to fix a safe nest? '
Safe nests should never be on the branches of trees
For trees themselves are tormented by storms and quakes.
Safe nests shouldn`t be on the roofs of man`s homes either
For his mischevious kids may throw away the eggs.
Safe nests should not be under the water or in the skies
For the fury and the terror of these elements are disastrous.
Safe nests shouldn`t be anywhere that eyes see or ears hear
For there are humans living on this earth.
You migrate my dear bird to anywhere you feel it safe
And never return to these unsafe homes.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Blue Tit's Nest
Some childhood memories with us seem to linger
And I recall when I was nine or so
Of seeing blue tit fly from hole in standing tree stump
One April day more than forty years ago.
I stood on tip toes and tried to look inside the tree stump
But all seemed dark in there I needed light
I hurried back home for to fetch a flash lamp
And what I saw a memorable sight.
A little nest of moss and hay and lined with feathers
And nine pale eggs with freckles brown to red
Laid by the little bird with yellow unders
Blue wings and tail and tiny blue cap on head.
I marvelled at this wondrous sight of Nature
How one small bird so many eggs could lay
The memory all those years has remained with me
And I still can picture what I see today.
I still can picture forty five years later
Nine speckled eggs in nest of moss and hay
Some things from childhood always remain with us
And from the memory never fade away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Pheasant's Nest
On a warm evening on the second day of July
As I walked through the high grass upwards a bird did fly
A bantam sized mottled brown bird with low and short quick flight
Beyond the hedge she disappeared from sight.
There at my feet amongst the high grass as I looked down
In her simple nest her ten eggs of greeny brown
I dared not touch them on them only gazed
At such a thing of Natural beauty quite amazed.
By chance alone the hen pheasant's nest I'd found
Since I had walked the fields for miles around
And only once see a pheasant with her young they flew away
And amongst the high grass hidden they did stay.
A school friend of mine once raised pheasants in an outdoor cage
And he sold them to a gun club at their adult stage
The gun club in late September set them free
At the time of wild pheasants a scarcity.
I still recall that evening in July
The mottled pheasant from her nest did fly
And I was eight and of Nature little did know
And that was more than fifty years ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When A Beautiful Singing Bird Comes Near You
when this beautiful singing bird comes close
to your heart
prepare to open right away what you just closed
prepare the place where it must hover
give it the best twig
let it lay its eggs and let it hatch
give it more time
to stay on its nest
when it begins to sing, listen
savor the pleasure found it its songs
it is something so beautiful in your heart
savor it
you know that this bird seldom comes and when it leaves
it leaves without your notice
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Symbols
I watched a rosebud very long
Brought on by dew and sun and shower,
Waiting to see the perfect flower:
Then, when I thought it should be strong,
It opened at the matin hour
And fell at evensong.
I watched a nest from day to day,
A green nest full of pleasant shade,
Wherein three speckled eggs were laid:
But when they should have hatched in May,
The two old birds had grown afraid
Or tired, and flew away.
Then in my wrath I broke the bough
That I had tended so with care,
Hoping its scent should fill the air;
I crushed the eggs, not heeding how
Their ancient promise had been fair:
I would have vengeance now.
But the dead branch spoke from the sod,
And the eggs answered me again:
Because we failed dost thou complain?
Is thy wrath just? And what if God,
Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain,
Should also take the rod?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Matter Of Decision
the black bird of loneliness
hovers over the window of the house
and stops to look at
our roof
we shoo it away
there is no place here
where it can build its own nest
we still wait for the bird of bounty
the one that brings us
the eggs of grace
the feathers of happiness
it is the only bird that we welcome here
as a matter of our own decision
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
Hidden watcher. For M'; lady Francesca
Hidden watcher.
The salt marsh stretches endlessly
and forms a perfect habitat
Where migrant birds nest in safety
to brood and raise a family.
Few hunters ever venture here,
because they fear the boggy ground
That’s noted for its treachery.
So most prefer to hunt elsewhere.
Bird watchers come the whole year round.
They only shoot with cameras
and they avoid the boggy ground
They know that rare birds can be found.
In the salt marsh beside the sea.
It is a twitcher’s paradise
They record meticulously
each and every bird they see
The salt marsh lies beside the sea.
As it has done since time began.
A panorama of rare beauty
That is changing constantly.
It changes as the seasons change.
I does not stay the same for long.
Nature can and does rearrange
to make the landscape look quite strange.
An eerie place and frightening
when covered by a dense sea fret.
When you can see and hear nothing
above the roar of waves breaking.
There’s nowhere I’d prefer to be
Than esconced in my favourite hide.
To watch the birds in secrecy
I can see them They can’t see me.
Sunday,15 August 2010.
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Yellow Billed Spoonbill
By the lake shore in the shallows where the waters are still
He walks in water to his knees the white bird with yellow legs and long yellow spoon like bill
With his bill in the water as he walk moving from side to side
His prey water insects, crustaceans and tiny fish in the water weed hide.
He and his partner build their nest on a high branch of a tree
On her nest of sticks she lays four white eggs though sometimes two or three
They both take care of their young a bird devoted to fatherhood as well as to his mate
Food from their stomachs to their nestlings they do regurgitate.
On river rapids never seen the still waters they need
Birds of the inland lakes and dams in the shallows they feed
Of humans 'twould be fair to say they have a healthy fear
To a human standing on the shore they never venture near.
Yellow billed or yellow legged spoonbill are names they are known by
On the lake I see one yesterday he did seem rather shy
With his long yellow bill moving from side to side in the shallows he shuffled up and down
The shiest of the water birds in the big park by the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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We are as the dew on a prairie
We are as the dew on a prairie
Flowers amongst limestone graves
Entrenched in living rock
Watered by bird song
Engulfed in nettle stings
We are but charcoal smoke rings
Fasting on a single drawn out breath
Resting on a forward moving breeze
We are a clutch of eggs
Encased in a bough of creeping ivy
Squawking franticly upwards
Up at the midnight's sun
We are the covenant…?
The rain storm afore the rainbow
Slayed by the swords of angels
We are the dewdrops on the prairie
Flowering; amidst the entire universe.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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The Cuckoo
No lyric line I ever penned
The praise this parasitic bird;
And what is more, I don't intend
To write a laudatory word,
Since in my garden robins made
A nest with eggs of dainty spot,
And then a callous cuckoo laid
A lone on on the lot.
Of course the sillies hatched it out
Along with their two tiny chicks,
And there it threw its weight about,
But with the others would not mix.
In fact, it seemed their guts to hate,
And crossly kicked them to the ground,
So that next morning, sorry fate!
Two babes stone dead I found.
These stupid robins, how they strove
To gluttonize that young cuckoo!
And like a prodigy it throve,
And daily greedier it grew.
How it would snap and glup and spit!
Till finally it came to pass,
Growing too big the nest to fit,
It fell out on the grass.
So for a week they fed it there,
As in a nook of turf it lay;
But it was scornful of their care,
for it was twice as big as they.
When lo! one afternoon I heard
A flutelike call: Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Then suddenly that foulsome bird
Flapped to its feet and flew.
I'm sure it never said goodbye
To its fond foster Pa and Ma,
Though to their desolated sigh
It might have chirruped: "Au revoir."
But no, it went in wanton mood,
Flying the coop for climates new
And so I say: "Ingratitude,
They name's Cuckoo."
poem by Robert William Service
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Riverside Walk
The wildering flowers bloom beautiful and gay
Along the green banks of the water way
And joyful songbirds whistling merrily
With tiny hearts brimful of ecstasy.
And all seem perfect save for water flowing gray
But pollution is a common thing nowaday
And keeping rivers clean don't appeal to modern man
As it's not part of his progression plan.
From her nest midst water reeds dark moorhen fly
And she utter forth a shrill like chirping cry
A warning to her little moorhen chicks
To leave their nest and head for cover quick.
From reed built nest four young dark moorhens creep
With bright orange bills and as they swim they cheep
And head for cover towards the river bank
And hide themselves midst rushes green and rank.
I walked along in pensive solitude
And a quarter mile down stream from Moorhen brood
I came upon what I don't often times see
A mallard out swimming with family.
From mother duck a warning sound did ring
She beat the water with her flapping wings
And her seven ducklings her signal did obey
And dived under water and hid themselves away.
The mother duck was circling in the sky
Whilst all of the time on me she kept an eye
And her anxiety for her family did grow
And she quacked aloud warning them not to show.
And as I walked homeward in the gloam of day
The wildborn birds piped with the joys of May
And my thoughts were of wild duck and moorhen
And tainted water for man a shameful sin.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Black Bird That Keeps On Flying
the black bird
keeps on flying
over my head
its wing tips
touch my hair
the black bird
weeps
and my mind
cannot ignore
it
it is seeing you
again
and it does not
know
what to do
with its beak
it wants to kiss you
but your eyes
are angry
it wants to land over
your hair
but they are hard
as wires
the black bird
has no nest for
its eggs
you never mind it
your mind
thinks always of
that white bird
in the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Want A New Duck
Woh oh
I want a new duck
One that wont try to bite
One that wont chew a hole in my socks
One that wont quack all night
I want a new duck
One with big webbed feet
One that knows how to wash my car
And keep his room real neat
One that wont raid the ice box
One thatll stay in shape
One thats never gonna try to migrate or escape
Or Ill tie him up with duck tape
I want a new duck
A mallard I think
One that wont make a mess of my house
Or build a nest in the bathroom sink
I want a new duck
One that wont steal my beer
One that wont stick his bill in my mail
One that knows the duck stops here
One that wont drive me crazy waddling all around
One wholl teach me how to swim and help me not to drown
And show me how to get down
How to get down baby
Get it?
*****
*****
*** ****
****
*** ***
I want a new duck
Not a swan or a goose
Just a drake I can dress real cute
Think Im gonna name him bruce
I want a new duck
Not a quail or an owl
One that wont molt to much
One that wont smell too fowl
One that wont beg for breadcrumbs
Hangin around all day
Hed better mind his manners
Better do just what I say
Or hes gonna be duck patte, duck patte, yah, yah
*
*****
***** (*** ** **)
****
*******
(lots of quacking sounds)
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If Love Is A Wild Bird
if love is a wild bird,
then i must be a cliff or a rock
far away from the trees,
where the wild bird
builds its nest,
i must be an unknown forest
where the eggs are hidden
where the hatching is done
without even my knowing.
if love is a wild bird
beyond the grasp of my twigs
then i must be the night that hovers
on its wings
and stays also wildly on its dreams
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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