Five Flights Up
Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions---if that is what they are---
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.
Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.
The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.
Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
---Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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Making Lvoe With Her Own Bed
you are just near me
but between us is a door
and between that door
is another door, and so
when you say a word
i have to figure out what
you really mean,
when i open the door
there is a glass wall and
i thought it was you
humming,
it is cold tonight
i am closing a window
out there
i see a black bird perched
upon a branch,
it is cold and i am shutting
myself for any
kind of significance like
what if the bird dies?
what if the bird is you
disguised as a bird?
tonight i cannot sleep
something bothers me
all these thoughts bother me
there is no note
that you are coming back
from that long trip
away from home
was it Sarah who said
that she is making love with her bed?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Yesterday
you can change your life (if you wanna)
you can change your clothes(if you wanna)
if you change your mind
well thats the way it goes
but im gonna keep your jeans
and your old black hat ( cause i wanna)
they look good on me
your never gonna get them back
at least not today not today not today cause
if its over let it go and
come tomorrow it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
im just a bird thats already flown away
laugh it off let it go and
when you wake up it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
haven't you heard that im gonna be okay
(okay)
you can say you're bored (if u wanna)
you can act real tough (if u wanna)
you can say you're torn
but i've heard enough
(thank you) You've made my mind up for me
when you started to ignore me
do you seen a single tear
it isn't gonna happen here
at least not today not today not today
cause
if its over let it go and
come tomorrow it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
i'm just a bird thats already flown away
laugh it off
let it go and
when you wake up it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
haven't you heard that im gonna be okay
if you're over me i'm already over you
if it's all been done what is left to do
how can you hang up if the line is dead
if you wanna walk i'm a step ahead
if you're movin on i'm already gone
if the light is off then it isn't on
at least not today not today not today
cause
if its over let it go and
come tomorrow it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
i'm just a bird thats already flown away
laugh it off let it go and when you wake up
it will seem so yesterday so yesterday
haven't you heard...you're so yesterday
if its over let it go and
come tomorrow it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
i'm just a bird thats already flown away
laugh it off let it go and
when you wake up it will seem so yesterday
so yesterday
haven't you heard that i'm gonna be okay
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 26
I remember having once walked all night with a caravan and then slept on the edge of the desert. A distracted man who had accompanied us on that journey raised a shout, ran towards the desert and took not a moment’s rest. When it was daylight, I asked him what state of his that was. He replied: "I saw bulbuls commencing to lament on the trees, the partridges on the mountains, the frogs in the water and the beasts in the desert so I bethought myself that it would not be becoming for me to sleep in carelessness while they all were praising God."
Yesterday at dawn a bird lamented,
Depriving me of sense, patience, strength and consciousness.
One of my intimate friends who
Had perhaps heard my distressed voice
Said: "I could not believe that thou
Wouldst be so dazed by a bird’s cry."
I replied: "It is not becoming to humanity
That I should be silent when birds chant praises."
The Mocking Bird On The Tree Fronting The House...
a mocking bird
sits on a branch of a tree
that fronts the house that
papa made
papa is gone.
a mocking bird left but one
sunny day
after the heavy rains for months
the mocking bird comes back
it is bringing silence
unlike all the other mocking birds
in town
the mocking bird is dead
a boy abandoned by his mother
stoned it
now the window if you walk a little
distant from the house
and sit on a bench across the road
looks like a Cheshire cat
giving Alice that fable smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bluejay Greeting and Old Cat Laughing
I. In the gray of the morning the bluejay is spring up and down on the branch of the old tree. Suddenly the bird dives towards the ground over and over. Startling my breakfast and making me wonder what’s happening under the window pane.
II. In the gloom I sit lonely with my love gone and the old cat off somewhere. Curiosity accompanies me out the door where I find a baby bluejay in the grass. The mother bird is screaming and diving towards the old cat keeping him at bay.
III. I grin with the old cat and laugh. The bluejay takes notice and comes at me. I quickly scoop up the old cat and retreat behind the door where the old cat and I grin at each other, then go about our day.
The Father, The Son And The Gun
The sky was burning by the window pane
And a shadow lurked proceeding to the woods
And a little boy behind the frame
Stood monitoring the steps of his father's boots
A possessed shot gun in his father's hand
And stepped out close before his eyes
Before a bird could realize its dream
A shot was fired in the sky
Down the bird fell rustling the leaves
Stooping through the trees till it met the ground
And the father he walks into the green
Towards the loud thud of the sound
And the boy he ask "mother why is it
That father he carries a gun around with him
And shoots out at the cloudless open sky
And murders and ends a voice that sings"
"It's alright dear, there's no need to worry
Your father is a brave man and you must learn
He is not a murderer for killing a bird
Come on you silly, there's no harm in it son"
And the boy inquires his father "father why it is
That you shoot a bird without distress
Don't your hands tremble, father?
Don't you think twice before your finger press? "
"My boy can't you see, its bloody destiny
That brought the chirping birds to a still
I gave it many a chance to run and hide
But it kept appearing ‘fore me to kill"
And so the boy takes the shotgun from his hands
And says run father run, and you better hide
The father laughs with a big cigar in his hand
A shot was fired, a BANG! ! echoes in the night
poem by Dipti Gurung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I got one to lose the other
In the course of my journey
I entered a kingdom.
I invaded an enclave,
Where I found a bird,
Quite unlike mine,
So fresh, so strange.
I wished I had had her,
I went to capture the bird,
With the bird, her nest,
With nest its branch,
with the branch the whole tree,
The soil that holds it,
The whole enclave
With its inhabitants,
Plants and animals,
Bees and pests and worms and snakes.
An avaricious act
No more journey.
No home returns either.
What happened to my bird at home?
Who knows?
Maybe someone invaded.
Maybe someone captured.
29.08.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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When I was a Bird
I climbed up the karaka tree
Into a nest all made of leaves
But soft as feathers.
I made up a song that went on singing all by itself
And hadn't any words, but got sad at the end.
There were daisies in the grass under the tree.
I said just to try them:
"I'll bite off your heads and give them to my little
children to eat."
But they didn't believe I was a bird;
They stayed quite open.
The sky was like a blue nest with white feathers
And the sun was the mother bird keeping it warm.
That's what my song said: though it hadn't any words.
Little Brother came up the patch, wheeling his barrow.
I made my dress into wings and kept very quiet.
Then when he was quite near I said: "Sweet, sweet!"
For a moment he looked quite startled;
Then he said: "Pooh, you're not a bird; I can see
your legs."
But the daisies didn't really matter,
And Little Brother didn't really matter;
I felt just like a bird.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove
It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.
It is a cool night.
The bird is asleep.
The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.
And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Lullaby of the iroquois
Little brown baby-bird, lapped in your nest,
Wrapped in your nest,
Strapped in your nest,
Your straight little cradle-board rocks you to rest;
Its hands are your nest;
Its bands are your nest;
It swings from the down-bending branch of the oak;
You watch the camp flame, and the curling grey smoke;
But, oh, for your pretty black eyes sleep is best,--
Little brown baby of mine, go to rest.
Little brown baby-bird swinging to sleep,
Winging to sleep,
Singing to sleep,
Your wonder-black eyes that so wide open keep,
Shielding their sleep,
Unyielding to sleep,
The heron is homing, the plover is still,
The night-owl calls from his haunt on the hill,
Afar the fox barks, afar the stars peep,--
Little brown baby of mine, go to sleep.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hypnagogic
a woman dreams that she turns
into an orange bird
and on the other hand the orange
bird seeing her so beautiful and complete
less the orange wings and feathers
dreams of having woman-hands
soft and a flowing body like a slender
river curving through along
the side of a big mountain where
the orange bird perches on a branch
of an olive tree beside it
convoluted, the thoughts unwind
themselves in sleep wanting rest
from all these warping of time
and seasons and images and swapping
between reality and dream
surreal and mundane
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Caged
People began bidding for a confined bird on a ledge
A poor bird in a iron cage.
No one knows this birds age.
It was the pleasing color of sage.
The sea was in a constant rage.
Everyone was afraid of standing near the outside stage.
The bird went to the highest bidder for a high price.
The auctionor asked him what he was going to do with the bird?
The owner of the bird set it free.
So it could fly from tree to tree.
The bird said thank you by singing its wild glee.
This reminds me of how God can set a mans souls free.
Thank you God for setting my soul free.
The Kingfisher
Sitting still on the overhanging branch
this beautiful creation of bright colours.
Vivid Blue with a flash of Orange,
what a spectacular bird you are.
Then a quick lightening dive
coming back with little fish
what a terrific hunter you are.
Proudly you sit on your branch
brightening up the drabness
what a colourful bird you are.
Your such a wonderous sight
small but big on style
what a super bird you are!
poem by Kevin Halls
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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
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The Wounded Bird
In the wide bed
Under the freen embroidered quilt
With flowers and leaves always in soft motion
She is like a wounded bird resting on a pool.
The hunter threw his dart
And hit her breast,--
Hit her but did not kill.
"O my wings, lift me--lift me!
I am not dreadfully hurt!"
Down she dropped and was still.
Kind people come to the edge of the pool with baskets.
"Of course what the poor bird wants is plenty of food!"
Their bags and pockets are crammed almost to bursting
With dinner scrapings and scraps from the servants'
lunch.
Oh! how pleased they are to be really giving!
"In the past, you know you know, you were always so
fly-away.
So seldom came to the window-sill, so rarely
Shared the delicious crumbs thrown into the yard.
Here is a delicate fragment and her a tit-bit
As good as new. And here's a morsel of relish
And cake and bread and bread and bread and bread."
At night, in the wide bed
With the leaves and flowers
Gently weaving in the darkness,
She is like a wounded bird at rest on a pool.
Timidly, timidly she lifts her head from her wing.
In the sky there are two stars
Floating, shining...
O waters--do not cover me!
I would look long and long at those beautiful stars!
O my wings--lift me--lift me!
I am not so dreadfully hurt...
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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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Finch & Frog
The finch trills in the apple tree
His: Tiriliree!
A frog climbs slowly up to him,
Up to the treetop's leafy rim
And puffs right up and croaks: "Hallooo,
Ol' chum: see, I c'n do it too!"
And as the bird his song of spring
So sweetly to the world doth sing,
The frog chimes in with sassy tones
And interjects his bassy drones.
The finch exclaims: "O Joy, hurray!
I'll fly away!"
And springs into the azure sky.
"Hah!" cries the frog, "Well so kin I!"
He makes a most ungainly bound
And splats onto the bare hard ground.
He's pancake flat, and that's no joke:
He's croaked his very final croak.
If someone climbs laboriously
Into the branches of a tree
And thinks himself a bird to be:
Wrong is he.
poem by Wilhelm Busch
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Those Little Birds In The Yard
yesterday i did not report for work.
i told myself, i am fed up and i want to be left alone.
and so i stayed on the yard
taking with me a seat
for a companion and i focused
my gaze on the grass
until those little birds arrive
struggling to eat most of the
rice grains fit for
chickens
they were noisy and
seemingly on top of their arguments
and i listened
and then there was this orange cat with one eye
silently sitting on the
side of a tree
trying to catch a bird
for breakfast
how can these creatures be too like us?
astonishing, and then as predicted by your
usual experience,
i begin to write again
this time perhaps
an article
on sociology vis-a-vis
bird-cat
relations.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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