Bird in hand
Be content with
Whatever you have got
A bird in hand is
Better two in the bush.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A bird in hand is a certainty. But a bird in the bush may sing.
quote by Bret Harte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
quote by Miguel de Cervantes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A bird in the hand is worth more than ten in the bush.
A bird in your hand is worth two in the bush.
There was an Old Man who said, 'Hush!
I perceive a young bird in this bush!'
When they said, 'Is it small?'
He replied, 'Not at all!
It is four times as big as the bush!'
quote by by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mystic And The Realist
in his poem 'To the Cuckoo' Wordsworth described the bird as a mysterious thing
As if a bird's voice without a bird out of nowhere did sing
As he told he searched for the bird on bush and sky and tree
And yet that voice to him remained as a great mystery.
John Clare the poet from Helpston where he lived when he was young
Once got so close to the cuckoo that he even see her tongue
A leading student of Nature's ways Nature he did not mystify
He never told of searching for a mysterious bird in bush and tree and sky.
Poor John Clare had a mental illness by life he was given a raw deal
But he did see Nature for what she is he see Nature as real
The birds and animals that lived around him he intimately knew
And to the reality of Nature till death he remained true.
The Mystic and the Realist they see things differently
What was a real bird to one to the other was a mystery
What makes us all interesting is that we are more different even than we realize
And we see the World around us through very different eyes.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emma's Dell
A poet roamed by rushing brook
Early springtime morning. The sound
Seemed softer than it should,
Tempered by, tempering,
Eager buds, new greens all around.
Still bare trees, they tempered too.
Contrast breeds content.
Then round a turn mad rushing brook
Maddened beast and bird.
Sound seemed of the air-
Like air, would never cease.
Green seemed of the rocks.
Content is content.
A cottage overlooked the brook.
'My thoughts at least are mine.
I've told them to the shepherds.
How contrast can contain content.
How content is content.
Pondering perhaps my words
Years after we are spent
They'll call the dell not what I call it,
They'll call it WILL'S DELL EMMA.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I believe that the brain has evolved over millions of years to be responsive to different kinds of content in the world. Language content, musical content, spatial content, numerical content, etc.
quote by Howard Gardner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A loving bird is a singing bird.
Don’t try to win her heart.
Instead, try to win her head.
Once she lost her head,
She slips down to your tread.
She might elude in dread
But furtively would give her heart.
A loving bird in a bush
Is worth a pet at hand.
29.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Incredibles 2
Samuel L. Jackson, Sophia Bush, Holly Hunter, Jonathan Banks, Catherine Keener, Bob Odenkirk, John Ratzenberger, Isabella Rossellini, Craig T. Nelson, Brad Bird
by Brad Bird from Incredibles 2 (2018)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ay De Mi
O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
With touch that seem'd to speak,
And ask a tender 'yes' -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
O tender downy breast,
And warmly beating heart,
That beating seem'd a part
Of me who gave it rest -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When the Bush Begins to Speak
They know us not in England yet, their pens are overbold;
We're seen in fancy pictures that are fifty years too old.
They think we are a careless race - a childish race, and weak;
They'll know us yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
'The leaders that will be', the men of southern destiny,
Are not all found in cities that are builded by the sea;
They learn to love Australia by many a western creek,
They'll know them yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
All ready for the struggle, and waiting for the change,
The army of our future lies encamped beyond the range;
Australia, for her patriots, will not have far to seek;
They'll know her yet in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
We'll find the peace and comfort that our fathers could not find,
Or some shall strike the good old blow that leaves a mark behind.
We'll find the Truth and Liberty our fathers came to seek,
Or let them know in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweetheart
Sweetheart, in my hand is this bird
Of desire
It sings a song from the bottom
Of my heart
On my shoulder it hovers
On my head it flies
Round in circle inside
My mind
On my hand this bird returns
With so much kindness
And grace
This bird sings again
About the love
It knew It found
Now nestling in the warm leaves
Of your memories
Sweetheart, undress yourself
For love has so desired us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To a Child
When I was a child I saw
a burning bird in a tree.
I see became I am,
I am became I see.
In winter dawns of frost
the lamp swung in my hand.
The battered moon on the slope
lay like a dune of sand;
and in the trap at my feet
the rabbit leapt and prayed,
weeping blood, and crouched
when the light shone on the blade.
The sudden sun lit up
the webs from wire to wire;
the white webs, the white dew,
blazed with a holy fire.
Flame of light in the dew,
flame of blood on the bush
answered the whirling sun
and the voice of the early thrush.
I think of this for you.
I would not have you believe
the world is empty of truth
or that men must grieve,
but hear the song of the martyrs
out of a bush of fire-
'All is consumed with love;
all is renewed with desire.'
poem by Judith Wright
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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One beats the bush, and another catches the bird.