Different Attitudes.
A cascade of bird song descends.
From a songster in the sky.
One of our small feathered friends
Who greets the morning joyously.
When she takes wing and starts to sing.
She lifts my heart and makes me smile
This feather songstress of the sky.
Displays her own distinctive style.
A tiny bird with a sweet voice.
She flies aloft reminding us
That we have reason to rejoice.
When we hear the morning chorus.
But humans rise reluctantly
and greet the day begrudgingly.
Friday,09 March 2012/
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chorale for M' lady Penny
The black bird sweetly tunes his throat.
A stream of liquid notes which float.
As if suspended somewhere
in between fact and fantasy.
Thus starts the morning symphony
The throstle warbles his reply,
the skylark joins in happily
from his position in the sky.
Each song bird now will raise its voice
in interweaving melody.
To demonstrate that they rejoice
because the morning brings release
from the terrors of the night.
Their morning chorus My delight.
27-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Divine Bird
i would skp the best musical concert
to listen one more time to this morning bird
it makes me regret for not having been
a bird watcher and getting to know the name
of every bird and how every bird makes sure
they shine their best in voice rather than feathers
for feathers are just for a show of form but the
voice how well they have cultivated themselves
with the bountiful freedoms strewn below their wings
it was only two mornings ago, i first heard him
sing in among the many trees lining the boulevard
outside my condominium, the Crescent Court
the enchanting haunting notes of his song shocked
me into wondering whether it was really a bird that
sang those pristine notes, notes that seemed to have
streamed out of the sacred sanctum of God, so many
diverse notes, so well handled, they sounded
like a song written by the Divine for one special bird
one most holy entree to the dawn of a new day
i prayed to the Divine to allow me hear that bird
again, a bird that has sung his way into my my poem,
a bird probably from another realm where birds could
understand the workings of the heavens better than men
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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On A Morning In Late September
Above the sunlit paddock just like a small speck in the sky
The little brown skylark is carolling as up to the high clouds he fly
On a beautiful morning in September approaching the prime of the Spring
On bushes and trees all around me the nesting birds whistle and sing.
Each species of bird distinctive by their voice Nature is a marvellous thing
The skylark to proclaim his borders is obliged to take to the wing
In a tussock of grass quite well hidden her eggs kept warm by the heat of her breast
Incubating the next generation his partner she sits in her nest.
A small mob of kangaroos hop through the paddock to the scrub dotted with trees nearby
Away from prying eyes they feel safer their privacy they too enjoy
They stay in cover till twilight and as night fall nears they venture out
And under the cover of darkness they feed and go on hop about.
On a morning in late September the lark o'er the paddock in song
Even by his voice he is distinctive a bird one can never get wrong
And kangaroos hopping to cover they are not often seen by day
Amongst the scrub surrounded by gums and wattles hidden from prying eyes in safety they lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Morning Bird
This morning bird likes to sing
She likes to hear the morning bells ring
This morning bell is nice and clear to me
This morning bird shows no sympathy
This morning bird is very calm
But not calm enough when it
Comes to cruelty and bombs
So be careful and be calm to this morning bird
Because her sounds are the best things u ever heard
poem by Va Rockeya Foy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Green Thicket
All in a green thicket I heard a bird sing,
And blithe though his song was it made the tears spring,
To hear a bird sing as he swung on his spray,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
All in a green thicket his song it did pour
That told of the Springs that shall come nevermore,
That sang of sweet blossoms, now faded and dry,
All in a green thicket in Aprils gone by.
All in a green thicket that morning in Spring,
I smelt the sharp scent of each young growing thing,
I smelt the sweet herbage all drowned with the dew,
And the time that's gone from me was with me anew.
All in a green thicket at break of the day
It was like the dear voice of a friend far away,
It was like the kind touch of a hand that I know,
And the smile and the tears of dead Aprils ago,
All in a green thicket one morning in Spring,
For to smell the young woodland and hear the bird sing,
Oh, long did I loiter and dream by the way,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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There Is A Voice...by jojobean & David Harris
There Is A Voice
Written by JoJo Bean and David Harris
There is a voice in every form
A song in every breeze
Just listen to the thunderous storm
The wind that whistles in the trees
Or have you heard the oceans cry
And the hush of a bird on wing
Happiness in the morning dawn
And sadness that the end of day brings
Listen with your senses
At the voices all around
And hear about our world
Through the voices of its song
Learn to listen
With your mind’s eye
Whenever you watch a small bird
Wing its way across the sky
16-17 January 2008
To a Skylark for M lady Ernestine
On fragile wings the skylark soars
up to the heights form whence he pours
his early morning orison.
He greets this day and every day
as if his duty is to pay
his respects to the risen sun.
This feathered songster fills the sky
with liquid flowing melody.
To the delight of everyone.
Who has the wit to listen to
the skylarks song forever new.
Before the fleeting chance is gone.
I choose to rise from my warm bed
to tread the dew wet grass instead.
To hear his morning orison.
While slug a beds still sleeping lie
deaf to the glorious harmony
of sky larks singing to the sun.
24-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Bird
Little Bird up in the tree
won’t you sing a song for me,
something sweet and romantic say
before you wake up and fly away.
Little bird don’t be shy,
please sing me a song of love
before you fly way up above.
Little bird some joy bring
before you take to the wing.
Little bird up in the tree
please sing a song for me.
27 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Voice
One feather is a bird,
I claim; one tree, a wood;
In her low voice I heard
More than a mortal should;
And so I stood apart,
Hidden in my own heart.
And yet I roamed out where
Those notes went, like the bird,
Whose thin song hung in air,
Diminished, yet still heard:
I lived with open sound,
Aloft, and on the ground.
That ghost was my own choice,
The shy cerulean bird;
It sang with her true voice,
And it was I who heard
A slight voice reply;
I heard; and only I.
Desire exults the ear:
Bird, girl, and ghostly tree,
The earth, the solid air--
Their slow song sang in me;
The long noon pulsed away,
Like any summer day.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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A Tiny Bird In Fear
a tiny bird comes
inside my room
delicate as a feather
when i arrive
this morning
it suddenly flies away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New every Morning for M'lady Ann Beard
The Blackbird leads the dawn chorus.
His feathered cousins harmonise.
Their morning music glorious.
As if the song birds realise.
The opalescent light of dawn
provides them with the perfect cue.
To greet the new day newly born
as they are well equipped to do.
Each songster adding something to
the melodies that intertwine.
A ritual forever new
as they instinctively combine
into a choral symphony
Their every note blends perfectly.
Friday,29 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Evensong
It is late, on a cold, dark, wintry afternoon;
Up high in a tree, a small bird merrily croons.
Trade in the town, has now begun to wind down,
And taking centre stage, is the bird’s sweet sound.
Like an operatic singer, his voice soars high,
And his song delights many, as they pass by.
Your ears can not help, but hear his loud call,
As the sun, once again, sets and darkness falls.
He sings for joy, at the very top of his voice;
To listen to his song, you have little choice.
He sits at the very top of the tallest tree,
Singing so loudly; his heart full of glee.
His plaintive call pierces the cool air,
As he sings his song, without a care.
A pure quality, his sweet song holds,
And he sings it out, so bright and bold.
His singsong attracts many a nice comment;
His performance appears to be Heaven sent.
Of his captivated audience, he is unaware;
His song boasts beauty, beyond compare.
Like a church choir, as they sing evensong,
This small bird sings so very keen and strong.
Through the dark streets, home, I wearily wind;
Sad to be leaving the bird’s sweet song behind.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gift
A poor orphan girl named maria
Was walking to market one day
She stopped for a rest by the roadside
Where a bird with a broken wing lay
A few moments passed till she saw it
For its feathers were covered with sand
But soon clean and wrapped it was travelling
In the warmth of marias small hand
She happily gave her last peso
On a cage made of rushes and twine
She fed it loose corn from the market
And watched it grow stronger with time
Now the christmas eve service was coming
And the church shone with tinsel and light
And all of the townfolks brought presents
To lay by the manger that night
There were diamonds and incense
And perfumes
In packages fit for a king
But for one ragged bird in a small cage
Maria had nothing to bring
She waited till just before midnight
So no one would see her go in
And crying she knelt by the manger
For her gift was unworthy of him
Then a voice spoke to her through the darkness
Maria, what brings you to me
If the bird in the cage is your offering
Open the door and let me see
Though she trembled, she did as he asked her
And out of the cage the bird flew
Soaring up into the rafters
On a wing that had healed good as new
Just then the midnight bells rang out
And the little bird started to sing
A song that no words could recapture
Whose beauty was fit for a king
Now maria felt blessed just to listen
To that cascade of notes sweet and long
As her offerings was lifted to heaven
By the very first nightingales song
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Paradise in a little house
Good morning Lord...
Thanks for this beautiful morning
I still can hear the song of bird
I can see sun shines touch my skin
I can feel the wind ease my pain away
I can see my little son smile and say 'good morning'
I can hear my husband lead to pray
Thanks for everything you have done
So, i can feel this little house as a paradise
Needs Must
When the skylarks rise up singing.
Their morning hymn to greet the day
Praise songs set the welkin ringing.
Because they know no other way
To show their heart felt gratitude.
A very different attitude
from men who rise reluctantly
And curse their waking bitterly.
The see no reason they should sing
They are convinced the day will bring.
Back breaking work to earn their bread.
When they would rather stay in bed.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When on a Summer's Morn
When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.
And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
And one that's all my own.
poem by William Henry Davies
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sing Me to Sleep…
After a long, long day,
All I want to hear is your voice,
Your soothing, calming voice,
Sing me to sleep,
My bird,
Sing me to sleep,
Let me bask in your music’s light,
For after a long, long day
Sleep still won’t come,
All I want to hear is your sweet bird song,
You song of love and sorrow,
Written just for me,
Sing me to sleep…
poem by Sage M. Gold
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Summer Morn
Season of mist and mellow fruit,
Of blossom and scented air.
Bird song and busy bee,
seem to inhabit everywhere
Grass green horizon,
velvet blue morning sky.
A little bird with a sweet song,
is singing on wing high in the sky.
Dew laden petals sparkle,
under the new day’s sun.
While somewhere in the distance,
children are laughing and having fun.
3 Nov 1978
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Voice
Speak to me my darling.
Let me hear your voice.
It always soothes my beating heart
and says to me 'Rejoice.'
The tone it has quiets me
and lulls me into bliss.
Sweet happiness is mine to keep
like a lingering kiss.
There are no other voices for me
that make me want to sing
a song of love for all to hear,
a song to take on wing.
Let the world know how I feel
when you speak to me.
Near or far, wherever you are
your voice will stay with me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Karl’s Brew Café In Buhangin
You were singing the joys of your life
In a small café cramped with friends
And some just curious for your voice
And some who knew you can sing
And sing so beautifully
Like a magical bird
Like a mythical bird
Crowded you showered them with
All your love
My three friends texted
“It is sad why you are not here with us
My son danced with her song
He lifted my chair so I will dance too
And oblige to sing one of those songs
He really loved”
Tess I see enjoyed the show very well
And we heard something beautiful
“Without you”, because as you said
You are always “busy somewhere else”
It was that injustice which you did
That we cannot explain to Cynthia
Always your unexplained absence
Always your disappearing act
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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