En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Birds Never Sang Or Flew

The dawn awoke one morning
to start a day brand new
but there was something wrong
outside no birds sang or flew.
The skies that normally teamed with life
on the day before
now fell silent empty and abandoned
by all that flew there.
While in a great city
twin towers crumpled into dust,
its plumes of agony stretched
high up in the air for the world to see
that a new demon with a cancerous soul
was about to scourge the earth
to corrupt others to follow him
into the damnation of hell.
Was this the Armageddon that was prophesied,
in which the world as we know it died?
As the tentacles of this demon,
who dressed as a man
stretched around the world
penetrating every land.
Hence, the battle of good against evil began
in the day of infamy known simply as 9/11.
In the days that followed as no planes flew,
no birds sang or took to the skies
as if in a mark of respect from them to
for those who had fallen
in this demons evil plan.

13 October 2009

Author’s note:

Following the horror of 9/11 when all the planes around the world were grounded a strange phenomena occurred. For all the time the planes were grounded the world seemed absent of birds. My late brother brought it to my attention and when I looked, he was right. I did not see or hear a bird until the planes few again.

poem by David Harris
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The Skies Fell Silent

Written in memory of all those who perished in the 9/11 terror attacks.

Ten years have passed
since a day of infamy
that shook the world
and the skies fell silent.
It was a day the world mourned
and a war against terror began.
However, for weeks after
the skies fell silent,
not only of planes,
but birds as well.
It was as if nature
was paying its respects
for those who perished as well.
It was not until the planes flew again
did we see birds again in the sky.

9 September 2011

Author’s Note:

My late brother brought the lack of birds to my attention. He made me search the skies for them and I did not see any. I have no explanation for the phenomena only that it happened.

DVH.

poem by David Harris
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History Of the Airplane

And the Wright brothers said they thought they had invented
something that could make peace on earth
(if the wrong brothers didn’t get hold of it)
when their wonderful flying machine took off at Kitty Hawk
into the kingdom of birds but the parliament of birds was freaked out
by this man-made bird and fled to heaven

And then the famous Spirit of Saint Louis took off eastward and
flew across the Big Pond with Lindy at the controls in his leather
helmet and goggles hoping to sight the doves of peace but he did not
Even though he circled Versailles

And then the famous Yankee Clipper took off in the opposite
direction and flew across the terrific Pacific but the pacific doves
were frighted by this strange amphibious bird and hid in the orient sky

And then the famous Flying Fortress took off bristling with guns
and testosterone to make the world safe for peace and capitalism
but the birds of peace were nowhere to be found before or after Hiroshima

And so then clever men built bigger and faster flying machines and
these great man-made birds with jet plumage flew higher than any
real birds and seemed about to fly into the sun and melt their wings
and like Icarus crash to earth

And the Wright brothers were long forgotten in the high-flying
bombers that now began to visit their blessings on various Third
Worlds all the while claiming they were searching for doves of
peace

And they kept flying and flying until they flew right into the 21st
century and then one fine day a Third World struck back and
stormed the great planes and flew them straight into the beating
heart of Skyscraper America where there were no aviaries and no
parliaments of doves and in a blinding flash America became a part
of the scorched earth of the world

And a wind of ashes blows across the land
And for one long moment in eternity
There is chaos and despair

And buried loves and voices
Cries and whispers
Fill the air
Everywhere

poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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Trains And Boats And Planes

Trains and boats and planes are passing by
They mean a trip to Paris or Rome
To someone else but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
We were so in love, and high above
We had a star to wish upon. Wish
And dreams come true, but not for me
The trains and boats and planes
Took you away, away from me
You are from another part of the world
You had to go back a while and then
You said you soon would return again
I'm waiting here like I promised to
I'm waiting here but where are you?
Trains and boats and planes took you a way
But every time I see them I pray
And if my prayers can cross the sea
The trains and the boats and planes

song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hope Was There

When the desperation hit
When people wept in the streets
When everyone felt abandoned
Hope stayed, even though fleeing was easier

When eyes filled with tears
When kids and families were torn apart
By that last frantic grasp
Hope tried

When all else gave up
When all else backed off
When people lost all they had
Hope flew

When they cried
When the world was shaken with agony and despair
When nothing seemed good
Hope worked

When those four planes crashed
When the buildings fell
When the lives were lost
Hope was there

Hope was only a tiny glimmer
Hope was still there
She ran to those who needed her
She worked to help

When all else failed
Hope didn't
She flew through us all
Letting us know we still had her
We just had to look hard enough

Hope remembers
Hope was there

poem by Nicole Pearson
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A Year of Anniversaries

This year is a year of anniversaries,
and I remember where I was,
and what I was doing on each of them,
when the news came through.
The death of two famous people
who had an effect on our lives
and a diabolical act of terrorism
one could never forget.
That stunned nations around the world.

Thirty years ago,
the world was stunned by the passing of a king.
The king of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley.
Although his voice was silenced
on a bathroom floor,
he left with us all a legacy
of his music that will live eternally.

Ten years ago the world lost a Princess
in a car crash in Paris.
A Royal Princess of the likes no one had ever seen before,
whose gentleness and kindness
with everyone she met
will always be remembered.
She was Diana, Princess of Wales,
but she was more than that,
she was a Princess to the world.
She reached out to the poor and rich alike.
She was mourned by millions across every land.
The legacy she left is to befriend everyone.

Then six years ago, something happened.
It drew together nations,
who sometimes were at odds with one another,
to defeat an enemy
whose fingers stretched across many lands.
Loved ones of many nations mourned
when the twin towers crumbled to the ground
in a diabolical act of terror.
Planes were ordered out of the sky,
and for days after as I remember
I never saw a single bird fly.
Silence drew a cloud around the world,
on that day of infamy,
11 September 2001.
Images flew around the world to television screens.
Everyone looked in disbelief
at the pictures that they saw.
The unimaginable had happened.
Terror had struck
the corner stone of freedom
with one almighty blow.
The world was a sad place that day
as many millions cried.

Now the anniversaries have rolled around.
Memories of what I was doing on those days,
come to the forefront of my mind,
of how I felt,
where I was,
when for a few minutes around the world
time stood still in my life.

So I ask as you finish this poem to take a minute of your time to remember all those who lost their lives and those who risked their lives to save people most didn’t know six years ago today.

poem by David Harris
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Our Country

Their country treated them well,
Like an animal is kept a good pet.
Forms of employment missed us and wedded us,
Concern for the violent debt whets our appetite.
We see more landings of aircraft than anyone,
Because we are near an airport.
Five planes have concerned us most,
The very ones near our home just an hour ago.
We saw flight like that of birds;
Birds are beautiful, and so are we,
But do we see the air planes and their noise more often?
Our country is concerned with us
And other countries.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Hostess With The Mostest

As fluorescents do
They blink oer the floor
Of her majestic halls
Yeah, they do
I hear surf on kazoo
I march with the militia of the mine
Malicious are the times
Malicious
In the doors we all flew
To see the great indoors
Of her majestic stalls
Yeah, we flew
Waves break on the shore of the zoo
And I see how
Laurasia sure has changed
Imaginary planes
Imagine
I hit the mall on every friday
When it was biggest in the world
The hostess with the mostest

song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet- September 11

Four giant ‘birds’ had fallen from the skies!
Not on their own but piloted by men;
All suicide-bombers of unknown ties,
To raze down skyscrapers that touched heaven!

The hijacked planes with passengers and crew,
Swooped down into the buildings one by one;
Some thousands died but saved were just a few;
Hijackers died with their missions ‘well done’!

What fanatic, bedeviled men has earth!
What dastardly and heinous crimes, they had done!
A mighty nation lost its mighty mirth;
Billowing smoke had hidden Moon and Sun!

Can we forgive these men for their mad act?
The world demand’s just blood for blood- the fact.

poem by John Celes
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Sonnet- Heinous Crimes

Four giant ‘birds’ had fallen from the skies!
Not on their own but piloted by men;
All suicide-bombers of unknown ties,
To raze down skyscrapers that touched heaven!

The hijacked planes with passengers and crew,
Swooped down into the buildings one by one;
Some thousands died but saved were just a few;
Hijackers died with their missions ‘well done’!

What fanatic, bedeviled men has earth!
What dastardly and heinous crimes, they had done!
A mighty nation lost its mighty mirth;
Billowing smoke had hidden Moon and Sun!

Can we forgive these men for their mad act?
The world demand’s just blood for blood- the fact.

poem by John Celes
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In and outside worlds

When I was small
we had a green carpet
in the living room
that like a lawn
stretched out wide, thick and luxurious.

The ceiling was the sky,
big fans made wind
and lights came on at night
like suns.

The shower was
where you make your own rain
to be cleaned
and every tap a small fountain.

Sometimes a bird
flew into the house
and was cordoned off
and flew everywhere
and completed the picture
of man’s inner world
to me.

Still man just copies
the Creator
and outside the sky is stretched out,
every night full of stars
and day after day the sun appears
and the wind blows
as it find it necessary
and all the birds fly free
and the grass spread by itself.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle

eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out

eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''

eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''

Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''

Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''

poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Peace Will Come

(e) i'm praying for the day, when the (a) whole wide world can say,
That this (e) cruel war it is (b7) o'er,
And the (e) boys who are gone, start their (a) long journey home,
Oh i'm (e) praying for the (b7) day when peace will (e) come.
When the black clouds roll away, and the skies are bright and gay,
And the guns are silent once more,
And the bombs no longer fly, from the planes up in the sky,
Oh i'm praying for the day when peace will come.
Oh there's mother and dad, don't you know they'll be so glad,
To see their son's coming home,
This old world will rock with joy, for that freedom loving boy,
Oh i'm praying for the day when peace will come.
Sweethearts and wives so dear, who have waited for that year,
For their loved ones to return,
This old world will be so gay, on that great and happy day,
Oh i'm praying for the day when peace will come.

song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remembering 9/11

September 11,2001
Starting the day
With the rising sun
We rushed around
At the break of day
How many of us
Remembered to pray?

The day began as all days do
No differently for me and you
The rush of traffic,
The clank of trains,
The ringing of phones,
The roar of planes.

Then horror struck
Terror from the sky
Buildings fell,
We questioned why
We stopped, we watched
As planes collide
The gasps, the screams
To God we cried.

September 11,2011
We mourn our loved ones
Now in Heaven
The years have passed
Though things have changed
Routines returned
Lives rearranged

Have we truly
Changed our lives?
Do we honor daily
Those who died?
Do we now remember
At the start of the day
To take the time
To stop and pray?

poem by R.L. Kerst
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Blues In Minor Key

'Twas a lovely night in gay Paree
The stagelight was beating on him and me
He took my heart and spoke so well
And told me things no one else could tell
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

He was a lonely tramp in the world of rhyme
With words that caught me just in time
I gave him my body I gave him my soul
In front of the stage I played my role
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

The chimes of freedom rang that night
And stars in heaven were shining bright
The songs he sang were like ice and fire
Leading me through the bush and brier
But far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

Behind his mask and behind his name
He left the stage with nothin' to claim
Like a shooting star in the empty skies
Our love was done without any ties
And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key

And far away in a barren tree
The birds sang the blues in a minor key....

Copyright © 2011 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved

poem by Göran Gustafsson
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September 11th

Remember the two tall twin towers,
the crumbling ash that fell not in hours
but just mere minutes,
minutes of horror and disbelief
watched over and over with sadness and grief.
It was played repeatedly on the TV,
ripping apart viewer's psyche.

And whom did we blame for this blatant act?
A man in a cave that can't be tracked?
Suspicious minds say, 'This cannot be.'
Planes that flew unmercifully
while our president sat and read a book,
safe in a school while the towers shook.

And so we remember, yes we remember
that treacherous day in the month of September
when husbands and wives, sons and daughters
were gone in minutes from instant slaughter.
And who were the brave that came to the rescue?
Ordinary Americans that had a job to do.
And where were the officials?
Nowhere in sight
Scurrying like rats in the middle of the night.

So we reflect today and what do we see?
Empty space
and a memory
of what can happen when our leaders vacate
and don't do their job until it's too late.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Good Luck

Your good luck happens to us all,
Especially when the stagnant pond is disturbed.
Life will explain why your deeds are complete,
Here the dice are rolled for the future, and we command.

The lost angels of the One Above are against us,
Now they fly out to lower planes, we have occupied
Higher planes to escape, and escapades such as these
Shall be wrong in feeling, we have not transgressed.

Your good luck is again arriving to take the place
Of bad luck.
Your enemy has lost over you, over your place,
They decided the higher planes were yours.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Evil World

The evil world is like hell with human life,
So for almost every man beats his wife.

No place is worser than a life in a cell,
Except for eternity with demons in hell.

The evil world is filled with worthless life,
Yet life is sometimes worth living.

At night I lay in my bed
Wondering when is everyone dead.

Yet the evil world is like hell:
Evil conquers most human beings.

Without light or good the human race
Will seize to exist.

You must fulfill the life of man.
The evil world is like hell with human life.

poem by Tamika Taylor
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Recollection - First Poetic Impulse

my first poetic impulse
was in my pre school days
i must have been only four
years old lying sweet on the
kitchen floor one fine morning
sucking on my milk bottle

out on the tip of a pointed roof
a magpie had gathered itself
comfortably and started singing
its heart out to the sun just beginning
to warm up the new day

its song was edged like the roof
pointed here and there
in the rhythm and fractured tone
of a disconcerted soul
complaining all the world's
injustices to the heavens
like a chirpy woman crying mad about
poor treatments of her in laws

it sang for so long i was
provoked to ask the bird
what it was pining all about
about the black and white
of its days?

i asked and it sang
i asked and it sang
beak pointed to the sky

i asked and it sang
i asked and it sang
until it thought it was done
and flew away without a note
leaving a trail of silence and
melancholy on an empty
roof, the morning and -
an unrequited heart

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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War In Secret

I don’t know much about war,
at least first hand I don’t.
But in my neighborhood,
when I was a child,
there was an old man
who had been in world War I.
He would ride his bicycle daily
up and down the streets,
pumping only the left pedal.
He didn’t remember about the war,
and all he got from it was
an artificial right leg.

I don’t know much about war but,
my uncle flew bombers
during World War II.
In an old album there is a picture
of him standing by a plane which
is painted with a big white star.
My grandparents were so proud but,
he never wants to talk about the war,
he only wants to remember
and talk about the planes.

I don’t know much about war,
but I know of two magnificent towers,
ones I’ve seen only in pictures.
Once they stood in New York City.
Proudly they stood,
jutting twenty-five years into the sky,
slicing the clouds.
Now they are gone,
taking with them approximately
two thousand seven hundred fifty lives.
This is what I know about war,
war in secret, plotted and
executed with ease,
with no remorse.

And this, I will always remember.

poem by Betty Bleen
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An Indestructible Tree.

Rugged desert_
an unbriddled melancholy wind blows
Scattering sparks of fire,
There is no tree in Shatil Arab,
only the simoom’s voice moans all around.
In the palace of the Sheikh, though,
a few khayyamesque gardens exist
on whose blue carpets you’ll find
the finest wine of the world
and an enamoured saki with her lovely eyes.

Oblivious of his tent and the far away horizon’s call
the intrepid Bedouin has taken refuge
in the soft white abode of sex
in the Sheikh’s khayyamesque gardens.
Outside all trees have been singed by fire,
not even a cactus grows
in the barren land.

And yet an indestructible tree stands there
in the bronze-hot red soil of burning Palestine,
a miracle-tree with soft and green and serene
and large leaves.

All the good winds of the world
blow on that tree,
all the birds of the world sing there
with the tune of the seven seas on their lips.

In the murmuring leaves of this tree
only one tune plays
only one symphony,
only one sacred hymn,
only the undying joy
of men gathered on a temporary sojourn
expressed in their cry;
Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!

Because of this the dark hand of the demon
rises from the setting sun
bent on destroying that tree.

They wont let a single tree live
in the third world.
And so, the arrogant demon blasts
the heart of this tree into shreds.

Missile after missile from their F16 military planes
hit the trunk of this tree
tearing it asunder,
and yet this tree does not die.

Hundreds and hundreds of Palestinians
pour on it their holy and fertile blood
in a bid to keep it alive.

The demon’s dark hands turn red
with the blood of the heroic martyrs.
Shunts of condemnation fill the air.
And their angry planes return to camp
after the onslaught is over.
But the indestructible tree still stands
and keep awake.

Breathing in the unlimited cool breeze of the sea
the tender young leaves of the indestructible tree
recites in silence the sacred incantation
of Freedom.
This indestructible tree will not die, never ever.
This indestructible tree cannot die.

-

poem by Shafiqul Islam
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