Bird Nesting
O wonderful! In sport we climbed the tree,
Eager and laughing, as in all our play,
To see the eggs where, in the nest, they lay,
But silent fell before the mystery.
For, one brief moment there, we understood
By sudden sympathy too fine for words
That we were sisters to the brooding birds
And part, with them, in God’s great motherhood.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Related quotes
The Poem Tree
The poem tree is a very safe haven,
for birds and fowl, a hawk, a raven, or
a little barn owl.The tree could be a
silhouette, or the finest place to raise
your pet.The poem tree could bear
the fruit of life.Such as apples and
pears, with morning dew.A wonderful
place to play the flute.The poem tree
could have a nest.Giving birds with
eggs, a place to rest.It could capture
a kite who someone lost, or be bitten
by the morning frost.It could capture
a balloon, which went astray, or drop
all its leaflets by the bay.The poem
tree could have a lollipop, or maybe
a candycane, umbrella branches, to
stop the rain.The tree could protect
all animals, from an oncoming flood,
and keep all the tree bugs out of the
mud.Above the tree the sun will shine.
Home for a raccoon, or a porcupine..
The Poem Tree by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2011.All rights reserved.
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Treecreepers
Elusive birds them one don't often see
Treecreepers build their cup shaped nest of bark behind loose bark of tree
From predators concealed and hidden away
And pinkish spotted eggs the female lay.
Shy woodland birds of humans they show respectful fear
They climb tree trunks in search of insects and when human to them venture near
Of the tree trunk they disappear to the other side
Of watchers eyes they'd much prefer to hide.
They will never be renowned as birds of song
Though their familiar chirps one hardly could get wrong
The ornithologists and bird watchers on studying them don't spend much of their time
And they seldom have inspired the poets to rhyme.
From the day they leave the nest until the day they die
From ground up they climb the tree and then to the next tree fly
To climb again in search of invertebrates such things they like to eat
They must have great strength in their tiny feet
In wooded places they like to reside
And from predators their cup shaped nest they hide
Shy little birds when human to them venture near
To the other side of the tree trunk they disappear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Birds On The Wires
Birds on the wires
though I know not your name
are you there to tell me
that spring will soon come?
Birds on the wires
though I know not your name
have you already chosen the tree
where you will make a nest
for your eggs?
Birds on the wires
can you see me from there?
How I wish
I have wings like you
so I can fly high enough
to see from above
the beauty of life
below.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Thru The Eyes Of A Child
When I was a child I climbed the tallest tree that I could find
To see all the beauties that GOD left behind.
I've never been to any snow capped mountain
Or ever climbed the highest peak
But he shows me words and lays them at my feet.
I see the baseball field where my friends and I would play
And I see the patch of grass where my head would lay.
I see myself laying there as the world passes by
Counting every cloud that's high up in the sky.
I feel the summer breeze as it passes through my hair
Ever so gentle- much more than I could bare.
I climbed up higher at least sixty feet above the ground
Just so I could hear all those familiar sounds.
The birds singing tunes to delight the ears
Wiping away all those childish fears.
I gazed across the park taking in all the sights
Watching younger children in the sprinklers
Jumping with delight.
I felt myself getting light headed, but not because of the height
But because of the words which I knew I could not fight.
So I climbed down from the tree, and said a little prayer
For the words he had given me
I knew that I must share.
This was my first inkling for what was in store for me
That was when I knew- I had to write poetry.
poem by Louis Rams
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Catching Frogs and Sticklebacks
Looking back on those childhood years
What a wonderful time we had
Who could climb the highest tree?
Got no fear when just a lad.
No time to say I'm really bored
What with Football and Cricket to play
Tomorrow we're all going bird nesting
Found out where there's eggs of a Jay.
The summer days always seemed so hot
Lasting from June till late September
Catching frogs and Sticklebacks
And chasing Butterflies I do remember.
Scrumping apples from down the lane
And knocking doors and running away
That's as bad as we all got
Fairly tame compared with things today.
No such thing as a play station
D.V.D'S, Computers, or Mobile Phone
You were too busy out doing stuff
When it got dark that's when you went home.
So forgive us for stealing those apples
And the birds eggs from out of the tree
But like I said whenever I got caught
Honestly mister it was him and not me!
poem by Kevin Halls
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SONNET: And This is Life!
Two Birds, a male and female met at last;
They found the tree on which to build their nest;
But soon, their little ones came rather fast;
The Birds hadn’t time for love-making or rest!
The Wind blew strongly; scorching was the Sun;
The Rain fell heavily upon their nest;
Rearing the young ones was both strain and fun;
Even a Snake came to their nest as guest1
But God helped them to find the worms for food;
And Spring replaced the Winter’s freezing cold;
The Birds laboured all life as best as could;
Their young ones turned adults; and they grew old!
When Death came like a robber in the night,
Both Birds never offered the slightest fight!
poem by John Celes
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Interchange
The oriole sang in the apple-tree;
The sick girl lay on her bed, and heard
The tremulous note of the glad wild bird;
And, "Ah!" she sighed, "to share with thee
Life's rapture exquisite and strong:
Its hope, its eager energy,
Its fragrance and its song!"
The oriole swayed in the apple-tree,
And he sang: "I will build, with my love, a nest,
Fine as e'er welcomed a birdling guest:
Like a pendent blossom, secure yet free,
It shall hang from the bough above me there,
Bright, bright with the gold that is combed for me
From the sick girl's auburn hair!"
Then he built the nest in the apple-tree;
And, burnished over, a ball of light,
It gleamed and shone in the sick girl's sight,
And she gazed upon it wonderingly:
But when the bird had forever flown,
They brought the nest from the apple-tree
To the bed where she lay alone.
"O builder of this mystery!"—
The wide and wistful eyes grew dim,
And the soul of the sick girl followed him—
"Dear bird! I have had part, through thee,
In the life for which I long and long:
Have shared its hope, its energy,
Its rapture and its song!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Two birds on a tree
Look at this old photograph..
some of these old photos look
more ancient than their, what,
hundred-and-twenty years;
as if the very air was different, then?
This one’s simply of
two birds in a tree:
one sits and watches;
the other eats the fruits..
this moment, frozen, framed, in time,
takes on the epic stature
of a metaphor, a myth:
what of the previous second
in our passing time? What
of the next second?
Where have those birds come from,
where may they go next?
If we cease to patronise
their ‘bird-brains’, see them
closer to their God than we
whose minds depart so far from nature…
if we think they think, in thoughts
which we may share – then,
what are they thinking? what
do they think of one another?
I look again at the photo, speculate;
the photo grows in my concern
to some great tree of primal Paradise…
the Tree of Knowledge, could it be?
Is the one bird thinking,
what a fine place this is to rest!
A place to hide, if so need be,
among its leaves; a height,
an observation post,
I still, the world about its business;
in stillness, I a little nearer to God,
just a little lower than the angels,
without beating my wings to find
a heaven above…
Is the other bird thinking,
what a fine restaurant I’ve found,
that God provided; I so hungry
on my way; how much I need to eat
to give me strength for further flight…
and have these two birds even noticed
each other, and each other’s state?
Are they two siblings from the self-same nest,
flying together through their lives;
loving one another until the last birdfall?
Two rivals, just about to fight to death?
Or, two fore-flyers of the same great flock,
about to land and strip the tree of fruit,
then rest, God-filled, to know Him in that stillness?
These thoughts; an ancient photograph;
now I wonder about the unknown photographer
who saw the world, in two birds on a tree.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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 Good Poem Never Ends
ahh, i have seen and felt
the words of that poem
that never ends,
the moment
you put the last breath
like death
it simply breathes upon itself
a new life
for another beginning
it shifts its meanings
to another soul
another place
and time
at the other side
of this globe
the reader that glances
only for a while
comes back and asks
am i there?
are you talking to me?
am i part of you?
are we not together in this?
are you myself?
how come that we feel
the same
angst?
the same joys?
this bliss?
and so, the words escape and fly away
like birds and build a nest
on the next tree nearby
where another lonely soul
is taking shelter
in his solitude,
for in truth a good poem
never dies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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 Echoing Green
The Sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells’ cheerful sound,
While our sports shall be seen
On the Echoing Green.
Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say:
‘Such, such were the joys
When we all, girls & boys,
In our youth time were seen
On the echoing green.’
Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening Green.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Walk as I Walk, and Die as I Die
Walk with me my child, let us walk along the shore
For there is something I must reveal to you
A great mystery explore
Because life my child, is what we are all around
From the moment you were conceived
To your first wonderful sound
My child, I am slowly growing old, getting cold
And there is a great something that I need to say
Something important, only on this special day
I want to you to be great and wonderful, the one who they trust
To not be blinded by Greed
Bribes or Lust
So will you walk as I walk, and die as I die
And you will great my child
Like a bird in the sky
poem by William Milam
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The Tree And The Breeze
Have you ever noticed how the trees sway with the breeze?
It's as if they were dancing in rhythm with a mellow tune
Have you ever notice how a tree is home to a bird's nest...
where the birds rest?
It's as if the tree were a peaceful and relaxed get-away
From where their troubles stray
But then the tree also has another side
In which it can take the birds for a bit of a ride
It is its party side...
when a pile of birds get together in one tree...
to sing along to the breeze as back and forth it sways the tree
The tree's stuck in the ground
Every day its life's the same
But the breeze
Now that's a different story
The breeze is free
It goes and comes as it pleases
The tree it seizes
Have you ever noticed half the things a tree does are caused by the breeze?
poem by Amy Parkinson
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Before My Eyes
I see before my eyes the wonderful words,
Speak them around the mouth to sustain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
I saw so many reasons to master and also afterwards,
Seen so many sessions of praise of this book to attain,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Created and longed for, the books and pages are blizzards,
Looking for times so tight with sin again,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
May we attain longevity when we read books backwards,
Leaning against the wall to hasten the air plane,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Pleasing us one way is like living a way of life with hazards,
Leading is a disease of words, so frightening for after pain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
Can the heraldry of our country be the same innards,
Liking this sign captures the books’ meanings from the brain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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Ramdas Choi Chang poems 4
Poem 1
Wonderful is life,
Wonderful to live and enjoy,
Enjoy stupidity of own in
laughing at stupidity of others, Mr. Bean and Chaplin are great
ones,
Bringing out that frozen
stupidity in all of us melt and
flow!
Poem2
Great was that dance
Of Michael Jackson,
Great was dance of greater
dancers but no one can dance on
our heart like our own ignorance
hand in hand with our stupidity!
Poem3
They say God is Love,
God is great, as great as love,
Both are great mysteries
but not as great as men and
woman!
They can use or misuse both God and Love,
as they can use or misuse fire or
knife!
Poem4
Come come my dear fountain of
Love,
Come come my dear spirit,
tell me please in which flavour,
You are at your best, which form
of spirit, Wine or divine?
Poem5
There were great men,
some worked for all and some
worked for
Themselves,
God is that great,
as mysterious as life and universe,
a few penetrated some of them,
yet mystery continued as
mysterious
as Human,
ignorance and stupidity too has that same mysterious origin as
the knowledge and wisdom!
Poem 6
Lovely will be nature,
you are the part of it,
Lovely is too your nature,
If you know what is nature of all
and what is nature in all?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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My Silent Teacher
I again try to write for him
To tell him how I feel
And again my thoughts just fall off the page
None of the poetic leaves of my tree
Of feeling for him come back into play when
The pen hits the paper
He says I stroke his confidence
He will one day pin mine down
As the stars were playing tag team with my eyes
He was with my heart
Looking deep in to my heart
Looking deep in to my soul
Through the sexy curves of the letter O
For being so far away that’s all we have for now
In he’s charming poetic way he tells me that he cares for me
Oh yes from now until forever
The forever that’s beyond the sea
Beyond the ears can hear
And beyond the heart can break
I will care for him
So different from the others
They just wanna use me as their toy or for their joy
They just make me cry
Take advantage of my great desire and deceive my young mind
To get what they want
Not him
He is the one that calls me his princess
He is the one that has cute nick names for me
That makes me smile
Within his clever words
The feeling of I’m high starts in my eyes
The smile emerges on my face
The butterflies try to charge though my stomach
The need the desire becomes so great for him
He is my silent teacher
Teaches me what’s right and
What’s ever so wrong without even a sound
He will teach me so many things I’m sure of it
Things of mystery that I already know and
Some that are still a mystery to me
For he is my silent teacher
Waiting to fill me up with his hard and thrusting knowledge
And I am willing to take all of it in
Many times a day
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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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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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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