A Hunter Bold
An owl, in his solitary state,
Sits motionless and yet,
He's watching with an expert eye,
For the arrival of sunset.
Throughout the night he'll hunt for food,
Swift and silently he flies,
Beneath the branches thick with leaves,
And then across the moonlit skies.
He is a very wise old bird,
Content to sit and wait,
For creatures scurrying in the undergrowth,
Something tasty for his supper plate.
With saucer feathered eyes, and a mottled breast,
He reigns, in his patch, supreme,
A dream in flight, a hunter bold,
A schemer with a cunning scheme.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Foolproof Strategy
What powerful things, are an eagle's wings,
As he soars high on currents of air.
So graceful in flight, when seen at great height,
Oh! How you wish you could be there.
Gliding supreme, in a wonderful dream,
Free as that proud bird of prey.
A beautiful sight, when his sharp eyes alight
On good food, when off on a foray.
In silence he sits, motionless, his wits
Gauging what his next move ought to be.
Such elegance and style, he hunts with such guile,
Endowed with a foolproof strategy.
His skill is top-notch he is always on watch,
For creatures that are travelling with haste.
He swoops with sheer speed, and captures his feed,
Devouring it, and loving the taste.
While he is trailblazing, he rules like a king,
The fields are his conquered domain.
A veritable speeder, a formidable leader,
In legendary splendour, long may he reign.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The reality of a sudden wooden maiden.
Can you see her?
She`s a glimpse of a wink
And half as pink.
Beneath the leafy undergrowth
And crunchy branches.
She strolls and woos you.
Between your looking
Aside and behind.
She`s a glimpse and a wink.
Maybe she`s real
And half as pink.
Can you see her?
Can you see you?
She strokes your head
And swings into her dream.
She strolls and woos you.
Between alert eyes,
And suspense or fear.
Amidst leafy undergrowth
And crunchy branches.
Watching from her perch.
What is she?
Is she you?
She strokes your hand,
And trips your feet
As you nervously laugh
Into deadly stillness.
poem by Peter Vealey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A buffet to Remember
It was a buffet to remember
With a lovely Hawaiian theme
Food so fresh and flavorful
It was truly a food critic’s dream
Shrimp so sweet and tasty
Dipping sauce perfectly mixed
The platters were so beautiful
With everything that was fixed
A pig cooked to perfection
We couldn’t wait to eat
So much food to put on our plate
Hard to carry it to our seat
The perfect way to celebrate
Harold’s 100th birthday
Grabbed our plate and filled it up
It was just like a holiday!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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The Inky Night
How really eerie becomes the inky night,
Which street lights illuminate with pitiful glow,
Revealing alien shadows in swift flight,
And ghostly noises that echo 'in vacuo'.
Night gradually darkens all this world of ours,
Silence reigns, except for nature's cries,
The elements engage us, with their salient power,
And far flung stars sit quietly in the skies.
Whistling winds, down alleys, wing their way,
Hats fly off, and umbrellas invert with ease,
On pavements, the homeless, with nowhere to stay,
Curl up in cardboard boxes, and slowly freeze.
Between those hours of sunset and the dawn,
A fox sneaks out in search of needed fare,
To hunt until the awakening of the morn,
Returning thence, to cubs within her lair.
Whilst we sleep, nocturnal creatures stir,
The bat, the owl, the cat, all stalk abroad,
They have no fear of darkness, they prefer
This sunless land, which, they have long explored.
How really eerie becomes the inky night,
When street lights illuminate with pitiful glow,
We awake to sunshine and the gentle light,
But all was darkness and existed 'an initio'.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Little Bird Song
Theres a little bird
Somebody sent down to earth
To live along the wind
Blowing on the wind
And she sleeps on the wind
This little bird, somebody sent
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
And the only time that she touches ground
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird dies
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballade Of The Dream
Swift as sound of music fled
When no more the organ sighs,
Sped as all old days are sped,
So your lips, love, and your eyes,
So your gentle-voiced replies
Mine one hour in sleep that seem,
Rise and flit when slumber flies,
Following darkness like a dream!
Like the scent from roses red,
Like the dawn from golden skies,
Like the semblance of the dead
From the living love that hies,
Like the shifting shade that lies
On the moonlight-silvered stream,
So you rise when dreams arise,
Following darkness like a dream!
Could some spell, or sung or said,
Could some kindly witch and wise,
Lull for aye this dreaming head
In a mist of memories,
I would lie like him who lies
Where the lights on Latmos gleam, -
Wake not, find not Paradise
Following darkness like a dream!
ENVOY.
Sleep, that giv'st what Life denies,
Shadowy bounties and supreme,
Bring the dearest face that flies
Following darkness like a dream!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Mother Nature Knows
The sedge along the riverside.
Provides a perfect place to hide
For creatures which we rarely see.
Small animals which need to be.
Hid from the eyes of predators.
Who hunt along the water course.
Feathered hunters high in the sky
follow the river as they fly
In their eternal hunt for prey.
Ready to stoop without delay.
Given the opportunity
On some potential meal they see..
Small creatures seeking sustenance.
Who are prepared to take a chance.
To forage for the food they need
Far from the safety of the weeds
where they are hidden from the view.
Of predators who must feed too.
Though most will die some will survive.
Enough to keep the breed alive.
Ma Nature plans well in advance
for each and every circumstance.
She will maintain the status quo.
Which was established long ago.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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Listen to The Song of Invisible Bird!
Listen to The Song of that invisible bird,
The Song of great singer several souls heard,
Sings sitting on tree of life, hidden under every leaf,
Its song go unheard by those pretend deaf,
Ever tuned to that great music,
Everytime it sings same song,
But with different lyrics and different words,
Autumn may come followed by spring,
Leaves may fall to make way to new,
Each leaf has that song, the bird flies under cover of green leaf,
When old yellow one fall,
Green leaves should learn from the fall of the old!
One can wait flowers to bloom,
Or can reap all fruits mature,
or remove immature buds or raw fruits,
The tree of life spread to several worlds,
One parallel to other,
Makes one world happy by another,
some may cross and intersect,
only to give or take life!
Come an sit near a flower,
Look at frog waiting for insects to come,
The invisible bird sings its song,
May it be heart of the flower,
It is flower for you,
source of nectar to insects,
place where frog gets its food!
It is cage for that bird ready to fly,
enters as nectar into insect,
and it enters frog as insects,
and moves along food chain,
It may be invisible to these eyes,
Yet it has its flight can be seen,
Look at your heart, the same bird sing,
Who knows when and where is its next flight?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Nightwing
Nightwing has stirred, and taken to flight
The silence is over, hes shattered the night
No other hunter has the power or the grace
He is the master of this place
Tell every creature of the night
The kill is around the bend
So listen my friend
Nightwing flies again
They say he comes for those whose souls are weak
And call his name upon the wind
The night is cold and thick with mystery
Oh I can feel his beating wings
Tell every creature of the night
The kill is around the bend
Nightwing flies again
Tell every creature of the night
The kill is around the bend
Nightwing flies again
Nightwing has stirred, and taken to flight
The silence is over, hes shattered the night
Life aint for giving and forgiving aint free
No soul will rest while the hunted run free
So tell every creature of the night
The kill is around the bend
Listen my friend
Nightwing flies again
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Kingfisher
On a gnarled piece on driftwood,
This plump little bird is silently sat.
It looks at me, then back at the river;
It looks all around, this way and that.
Its dark, piercing, beady round eyes
Are full of fierce intelligence and cunning.
The colour combination of its amber breast
And turquoise back, looks simply stunning.
It sits there statue-like, patiently waiting
For the right moment to finally arrive.
Then having spotted its unlucky prey,
It suddenly swoops and, into the river, it dives.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Hunter’s Song
RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.
Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.
Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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Nocturnal
As the light of day descends
and darkness falls like a shroud
covering everything, in its wake,
the night becomes alive
and the nocturnal creatures awake.
The shriek of an owl
swooping silently on wing,
and the shadows of a bat
silhouetted in aerobatics
under the moonlight.
Struggles of life and death
are hidden from our eyes
when the night becomes alive
and the nocturnal creatures
hunt to survive.
7 April 2012
poem by David Harris
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Sestina: A bird in the bamboo
The potter carried home a broken plate
and passing through a grove of tall bamboo,
some thing within disturbed the verdant sheen.
Intrigued, he stopped awhile to rest and wait.
A bird shot skyward, straight as arrow true,
turned somersaults and plunged back into green.
The bird had left the safety of the green,
to see from high the land as coloured plate.
An overview, to give perspective true.
Imprint in mind a map of home's bamboo
and then to hide and rest in patient wait,
before an insect hunt by thin moon's sheen.
The potter's wife delighted in the sheen,
of jagged shards of crackle-glazed jade green.
With supper not quite ready, while he wait,
he set about to mend the shattered plate.
When laid beside their wares of plain bamboo,
it's beauty shone and both declared this true.
The potter was perfectionist, it's true,
who long had strived to replicate the sheen,
of leafy shades of celadon bamboo.
One day, the kiln revealed translucent green.
The pottery's proud owner chose a plate,
as gift to Empress, hopeful then to wait.
Official staff with retinue in wait,
by Emperor's decree paid tribute true.
A portered chair arrived of fine gold-plate,
to honour maker of such lovely sheen.
Asway, the potter turned a sickly green
and gripped the shouldered poles of stout bamboo.
In city, thoughts returned to tall bamboo
and how it seemed the bird could hardly wait,
to fly back home within the dappled green.
The potter's mind was strong, his heart was true.
He learned of commerce, trade and coin's sheen,
but dreamt of home and wife and mended plate.
Back home, at last, amongst the green bamboo,
rich plate collectors, clothed in silken sheen,
confirmed that true rewards are worth the wait.
poem by Diane Hine
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One With The Sun
One with the sun
You in time with music of the universe
Doctor of mother earth
We are all one
We are all one with the sun
Reflecting words to say
Silently I want to be
With symphonies of stars
You came singing through my soul
I see you in the golden sunset
Glowing through my soul
We are all one with the sun
In the summertime we went to the sea
How smooth plate how calm against
These skies dancing in your eyes.
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Tigers and Owls
A hungry tiger
On a moonlit night waiting
For a tasty bite
The wise old owl howls
A cyclone is on its way
Tomorrow for sure
poem by Sandra Martyres
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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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Emigravit
WITH sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs.
Strange names shine out beneath her figure head.
What glad farewells with eager eyes are said!
What cheer for him who goes, and him who stays!
Fair skies, rich lands, new homes, and untried days
Some go to seek: the rest but wait instead,
Watching the way wherein their comrades led,
Until the next stanch ship her flag doth raise.
Who knows what myriad colonies there are
Of fairest fields, and rich, undreamed-of gains
Thick planted in the distant shining plains
Which we call sky because they lie so far?
Oh, write of me, not “Died in bitter pains,”
But “Emigrated to another star!”
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Me, As the Poet of the Night
The azure sky starts to darken
Stars dominate the clouds in the sky
Creatures of night are awoken
By the moon shining up so high
Troubles of the city slows down
And silence and peace of night reigns
Wind blows silently in the town
And it calms my heart and my brain
And my dreams now start to wander
As I walk on the moonlit road
Where my tears fall one after another
Like how the silent river flowed
But it's only now I realized
That after the trials, peace is my prize
- This is my example of Shakespearean Sonnet. Hope you liked it.
poem by James Ivan Almalvez
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A Garden In The Desert
So light and soft the days fall—
Like petals one by one
Down from yon tree whose flowers all
Must vanish in the sun.
Like almond-petals down, dear,
Odorous, rosy-white,
Falling to our green world here
Off the thick boughs of night.
One like another still lies—
Tomorrow is today.
Always the buzzing bee flies,
Who never flies away.
Ever the same blue sky rounds
Its chalice for the sun.
The mountains at the world's bounds
Their purple chorals run.
And ever you and I, friend,
Free of this mortal scheme,
Look out beyond desire's end
And dream the spacious dream.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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