Hidden watcher. For M'; lady Francesca
Hidden watcher.
The salt marsh stretches endlessly
and forms a perfect habitat
Where migrant birds nest in safety
to brood and raise a family.
Few hunters ever venture here,
because they fear the boggy ground
That’s noted for its treachery.
So most prefer to hunt elsewhere.
Bird watchers come the whole year round.
They only shoot with cameras
and they avoid the boggy ground
They know that rare birds can be found.
In the salt marsh beside the sea.
It is a twitcher’s paradise
They record meticulously
each and every bird they see
The salt marsh lies beside the sea.
As it has done since time began.
A panorama of rare beauty
That is changing constantly.
It changes as the seasons change.
I does not stay the same for long.
Nature can and does rearrange
to make the landscape look quite strange.
An eerie place and frightening
when covered by a dense sea fret.
When you can see and hear nothing
above the roar of waves breaking.
There’s nowhere I’d prefer to be
Than esconced in my favourite hide.
To watch the birds in secrecy
I can see them They can’t see me.
Sunday,15 August 2010.
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Short term gains experimental form
A great grey/green expanse of mud.
Covered twice daily by the flood
when the high tide comes flowing in.
Where does land end and sea begin?
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
They recognise no boundary.
For they are free to come and go
between the salt marsh and the sea.
They know all that they need to know.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
Here they can live quite easily
safe from most land based predators
protected by the friendly sea.
The wading birds parade in force.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
To men a bleak unfriendly place.
To wading birds a paradise
providing them with a safe base
which guarantees their food supplies.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
Until men choose to interfere
and build dykes to hold back the sea.
The mud flats slowly disappear
The denizens are forced to flee.
For men adapt their habitat
so they can live more comfortably.
Though nature wins eventually
she will regain that which men claim
as theirs by waiting patiently.
She knows that she will win the game.
Though men adapt their habitat
it’s only temporarily.
The works of man though built to last
are not immune to nature’s laws.
They’re undermined and overcast
by years that slowly pass of course.
Nature restores the habitat
back to the way it used to be.
The birds return to their domain
as if they’d never been away
What man once held the birds regain
as Mother Nature gets her way.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
22-Feb-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flying lessons for M'lady Ernestine.
The swallows have successfully
raised up their fledging family.
The little ones now have to try
out their wings and learn to fly.
Although at first reluctantly.
They seem to know instinctively,
the freedom of the sky is theirs.
But only for the bird who dares
to leave the nest and try their wings.
Despite the anxious twitterings
of parent birds who have the right.
To watch their first attempt at flight.
They fly because they know they can.
All part of Mother Natures plan.
Sunday,13 June 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strange Bird
Strange bird
By: jimmy buffett, jay oliver
1989
Half fast and seldom seen
He dont blip the radar screen
On the deck below the dune
Under the commanders moon
Strange bird from a different nest
Flying low not like all of the rest
God only knows where the strange bird goes when hes flying
Everybodys trying to find him
But they dont know where to start
The ornithologist lady says that he has wings on his heart
Chorus:
Strange bird from a different nest
Flying low not like all of the rest
If you cant catch him you cant name him
If you cant see him you cant claim him
Stay on the ground or he will shoot you down
Wings on his heart, hes a strange bird
Frequent flyer, seldom seen
High above the caribbean
In my day Ive met a few but hes the strangest bird thats true
Chorus:
Strange bird from a different nest
Flying low not like all of the rest
If you cant catch him you cant name him
If you cant see him you cant claim him
Stay on the ground or he will shoot you down
Wings on his heart, hes a strange bird
But hes in love with the lady of the waters
And she lives somewhere up around cheauxvan
Hes gonna circle high above her runway of love
Until she gives him her permission to land
Chorus:
Strange bird from a different nest
Flying low not like all of the rest
If you cant catch him you cant name him
If you cant see him you cant claim him
Stay on the ground or he will shoot you down
Wings on his heart, hes a strange bird
Watch out girl, hes a strange bird
Strange bird flying low
cross the gulf of mexico
Strange bird not like all the rest
Watch out girl hes a strange bird
Shoot you down, hes a strange bird
Its a bird, its a plane, its a strange bird
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Remembrance
As a child I saw the sun
hanging over the marsh,
when it caught the first red rays.
In that marsh land
long-tailed widow-birds
glided deeper into the reeds.
Plover’s pretending
to have broken wings,
tried to entice me away
from their nests.
In life’s marsh
there were enemy soldiers
that was stone-dead,
while I had hidden deeper
into the reeds.
Groups of enemy patrols
cut past following the river,
to find my comrades and I.
Every time that the sun
hanged new over the reeds,
the enemy became less
and the chance to catch us diminished
and mosquitoes swarmed around me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Always blue
I am nature’s lover
Staunch supporter and believer
I venture out to hear morning calm
I find trees but do not look at palm
So much height and beyond reach
Can not impart anything or teach
I find calm sea at beach
More to learn and less to preach
I hear calm echo in morning
It has opened up with new beginning
Lots of birds still resting in nest
Maya come out any time to serve the best
Have you not heard?
I said “M blue bird'
why you still wait?
You may get late
Smile on her face for while
when I had walked for miles
I heard beautiful voice
I did not think but made a choice
With lots of friend around
No similarities found
Love bird seemed to me very sound
Now I search for breeding ground
I know we will find a home
With happiness to welcome
New beginning with lots of thing in mind
You were generous enough to be very kind
I can fill in the gap
I think it as right step
I have nothing think for right or wrong
She is ideal and one of the best among
I loved the way you responded
I had not sent a word or corresponded
It was appearance of rare bird
What a magic voice was heard?
I was just lost with natural echo
It tore apart silent zone long ago
I wondered to have found a rare bird
Still lost with music never heard
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nothing New under the sun
The sunlight shimmers on the sea.
Its light reflects from white wave crests
The waves which roll in endlessly
engaged upon their ceaseless quest.
Twice every day the tide comes in.
Twice every day the tide flows out.
It fights a battle it can’t win
That is the truth without a doubt.
The sea and land each have their place.
Although the boundaries can change
and very often leave no trace.
Except to make the shore look strange
Not quite the way it used to be
for it is changing constantly.
14/05/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Magpie's Nest, Or A Lesson Of Docility
A FABLE
When the arts in their infancy were,
In a fable of old 'tis exprest,
A wise magpie constructed that rare
Little house for young birds, called a nest.
This was talked of the whole country round,
You might hear it on every bough sung,
'Now no longer upon the rough ground
Will fond mothers brood over their young.
'For the magpie with exquisite skill
Has invented a moss-covered cell,
Within which a whole family will
In the utmost security dwell.'
To her mate did each female bird say,
'Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;
If she will but teach us the way,
A nest we will build us up here.
'It's a thing that's close arched over head,
With a hole made to creep out and in;
We, my bird, might make just such a bed,
If we only knew how to begin.'
To the magpie soon every bird went,
And in modest terms made their request,
That she would be pleased to consent
To teach them to build up a nest.
She replied, 'I will show you the way,
So observe every thing that I do.
First two sticks cross each other I lay'-
'To be sure,' said the crow; 'why, I knew
'It must be begun with two sticks,
And I thought that they crossëd should be.'
Said the pie, 'Then some straw and moss mix,
In the way you now see done by me.'
'O yes, certainly,' said the jackdaw,
'That must follow of course, I have thought;
Though I never before building saw,
I guessed that without being taught.'
'More moss, straw, and feathers, I place,
In this manner,' continued the pie.
'Yes, no doubt, madam, that is the case;
Though no builder myself, even I,'
Said the starling, 'conjectured 'twas so;
It must of necessity follow:
For more moss, straw, and feathers, I know,
It requires, to be soft, round, and hollow.'
Whatever she taught them beside,
In his turn every bird of them said,
Though the nest-making art he ne'er tried,
He had just such a thought in his head.
Still the pie went on showing her art,
Till a nest she had built up half way;
She no more of her skill would impart,
But in anger went fluttering away.
And this speech in their hearing she made,
As she perched o'er their heads on a tree,
'If ye all were well skilled in my trade,
Pray, why came ye to learn it of me?'-
When a scholar is willing to learn,
He with silent submission should hear.
Too late they their folly discern;
The effect to this day does appear:
For whenever a pie's nest you see,
Her charming warm canopy view,
All birds' nests but hers seem to be
A magpie's nest just cut in two.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful Bird
I saw beautiful bird
'Cuckoo' by name and with lovely voice cord
Always there to bring about some cheers for human being
As they love the nature and in praise sing
I saw the pain and dryness in bird's voice cord
The bird watched towards sky and jumped forward
This was not good omen and I feared some bad fallout
I thought of certain short fall in rain resulting in draught
Dark clouds were no where seen
With little sweet melody you can witness the scene
I helplessly observed no change
As bird felt it and could hardly raise
Some people pick the sense and raise the concern
They too predict something bad and speak it in turn
Rain God may not be kind this year
If it is to be believed in ears
Birds give good indication of seasons
Their arrival in time with reasons
They pick it with their hidden sense
They express joy with their presence
Take morning stroll if you can
You may feel freshness of air without fan
It blows gently to instill new energy
A real blessings and chance from almighty
I always to see beautiful things around
Cool breeze to feel and dews on the ground
It is really wonderful to think of best friend
Nature as such is our close ally to stand by
Let us be with birds to celebrate
Enjoy its presence and strongly relate
We have to share more burdens
As we have lost some ground and faith is shaken
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
And no bird sings fot new friend Mel
.
The breeze which rustles in the trees
assisted by the birds and bees
Whose interlacing melodies
produce pastoral symphonies
Which vary as the seasons change
and the musicians re-arrange
the notes to suit their vocal range.
I think it would be very strange
if suddenly there ceased to be.
The music which can set us free
from worries temporarily
and silence reigned; permanently.
The sound of silence echoing
instead of song birds carolling.
13/04/2007
Revised
18/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com /poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Days of Purple Haze
In the month of April they arrive
Across fields they glide and dive
Thousands of insects they devour
Day after day, hour after hour
To and fro in the sky, they soar in hoards
They nest in communal houses and gourds
Their young they hatch and raise
All summer long they hunt under the sun’s blaze
Farmers best friends
Till the growing season ends
In August, millions gather from all the east coast
NJ’s Maurice River marsh is their host
At sunset birders come to see the sight
Of millions of swallows on homeward flight
Now overhead across the evening sky
We watch the birds and say Good Bye
Their long journey south they are startin’
Such is the life of the Purple Martin
poem by Nancy Chambers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Down At The Marsh
Down at the marsh
weavers rock up and down,
down at the marsh
your lips are soft against mine
when a big dog barks far away
and your right knee has lost some skin
down at the marsh.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I was a child
When I was a child
I saw fireflies,
fly passing secretly at night.
The world was full of wonderful things
and there were trees
with bird nests and eggs
of white and pink and blue
and with spots on them.
I could shoot a true shot with my kettie
and the blue fishing rod
took carp, blue kurper, yellowfish
and catfish from streams.
Doves or fish fillets
from glowing wood embers,
tasted delicious
and the world was a great place.
At the marsh plovers jumped up and down
and like wounded birds, as if with a broken wing
tried to entice you away from their nests
Aloe and protea bushes were all over the kopjes
and prickly pear, wild peach, mispil and stamvrugte
were everywhere on the ridges.
The world of a child faded away with time.
But when I went back as a adult;
a highway runs right through the hillocks
and there are houses where there was marsh
and the streams are full of rubbish and litter
and I see how progress has destroyed nature.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The springtime of Lovers has come
The springtime of Lovers has come,
that this dust bowl may become a garden;
the proclamation of heaven has come,
that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls,
the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar,
the stone becomes a ruby from the mine,
the body becomes wholly soul.
Birds
On seeing Birds, shot in the air,
Falling half-dead to the ground,
I simply fume, ’Tis not fair,
For the hunter is the world!
Birds like only freedom,
They get it but seldom,
Caged are they so often,
Killed for no good reason,
Witness to the creation,
They glide and dart in fashion,
It is He that feeds them,
Not the world, I or them.
Why then disturb the plumes,
And feathers of the air?
They can bear no ill-will,
Nor do they complain still,
Birds are beauteous beings,
Innocent, habits so nice,
Render the air with music,
To ears, so pleasant and wise.
Birds have their courtship,
And times of hardship,
Changing seasons, Sun and food,
Prefer to live as they should.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Guardian?
Guardian.
Surreal scenes of beauty lie
silently beneath the sky
You find them unexpectedly.
If you are lucky you will see.
Scenes seldom seen by human eyes
A veritable paradise
.
Which nature has successfully
managed to keep completely free.
From outside interference.
Secrecy her best defence..
Now you have glimpsed this paradise.
You will forget if you are wise.
Where you have been what you have seen.
You know too well what it would mean.
If it should become well known.
Instead of leaving it alone.
Some businessman would surely buy.
In search of profit he would try.
To sell it off as building lots.
A common fate of beauty spots.
What can you say to convince me
You will maintain the secrecy.
If you cannot then you must die
and with the other strangers lie.
I will kill you reluctantly
to maintain the security.
Of this secluded beauty spot
Have I the right or do I not?
Friday,09 July 2010
http; // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seasons In The Sun
Goodbye my friend its hard to die
when all the birds are singing in the sky
And all the flowers are everywhere
Pretty girls are everywhere
Think of me and I'll be there
Goodbye, Papa, please play for me.
I was the black sheep of the family.
And I don't know the ... all these words.
I have boggy turds.
With my B.B. gun I would kill birds.
We had joy. We had fun.
We had seasons in the sun,
but the hills that we climb
were just seasons out of time.
All our lives, we had fun.
We had seasons in the sun,
but the hill that we reached
were just starfish on the beach
Goodbye Michelle my little one
I was the apple of the shiny sun.
And la la la la hill we reach.
All my tears are salty.
I think now I will start to read.
We had joy. We had fun.
We had seasons in the sun,
but the hills that we climb
were just seasons out of time.
We had joy. We had fun.
We had seasons in the sun,
but the hill on the beach
were just starfish on the beach
We had joy. We had fun.
We had seasons in the sun,
but the hills that we climb
were just seasons out of time.
I've had joy. We had fun.
We had seasons in the sun,
but the stars that we reached
were just starfish on the beach
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
There And Back Again For Jt Ellison
The river flows unhurriedly
on its long journey to the sea
Sometimes flows fast and sometimes slow.
It does not matter really though
.
All rivers will eventually
become part of the great salt sea.
From whence they came as clouds and rain
to which they must return again
The sea and Sun co operate.
Evaporate, precipitate
Recycling water constantly.
All rivers flow into the sea.
Where they evaporate and rise
as water vapour to the skies.
The chill will change its state again
from water vapour into rain.
Which falls upon the earth below
to nourish all the plants that grow
Without the rain then there would be
no rivers flowing to the sea.
The world be a desert place
of growing plants no single trace.
A world of grey and brown and dun
Defeated by the burning sun.
Although the rain can be a curse
no rain at all would be much worse.
Accepting philosophically
the rain must fall and frequently.
Though sometimes inconveniently
Without the rain where would be
Extinct I think without a doubt
I much prefer the rain to drought.
Though it may rain on your parade
and spoil the plans which you have made.
You should be thankful for the rain,
you have small reason to complain.
Nature recycles constantly.
water the prime necessity.
If she did not then we would die
Beneath a blue and cloudless sky.
6-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Wish I Had Been Born A Bird...[Personal; Birds; Humor]
My parents were both humans, so I am human too,
but I'd wish to be a bird, if I could be born anew.
Though I 'love' birds, you may think my wish absurd.
But more absurd wishes I'm sure you have heard.
Of course I'm not a bird and never will be.
But if I could talk to birds I could better see
if the life of a bird would really satisfy me.
Eating seeds and bugs and such, and sitting in a tree.
My bird of choice? How would I pick a winner?
Not a penguin, who has to dress for dinner.
Not an ostrich, another flightless bird.
And a strutting peacock might just be absurd.
Perhaps an eagle, soaring high above you,
or a hummingbird, acrobat of the blue.
Or perhaps a mighty swan swimming gracefully,
or a nightingale whistling a concert, free.
For certain I would not choose a caged-life,
though, uncaged, dangers for me might be rife.
I think I'd prefer fresh-kill to old road kill,
and a nest in tree rather than on window sill.
If a bird, I'd not have had to deal with military draft.
Or had others think sometimes that I am daft.
All sorts of human signs and laws I could spurn.
And there'd be no reason to file a tax return.
I'd have no need to wear or ever change diapers,
no need to get gas or change windshield wipers,
no need for lawyers or too many teachers,
no need to listen to rehashing preachers,
no need to plan for death or watch my cholesterol.
As a bird I'd just have to listen to Mother Nature's call.
(September 2009)
poem by Bri Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
WElcome Guest, story poem
Harried by hounds the stag is spent.
He is worn out and terrified.
Enters my gates by accident,
In search of somewhere he can hide.
He finds safety in a stall
which has long been unoccupied.
He’s found his haven after all.
Because I instantly decide.
To bar my gates against the hounds
and to the idiots who ride.
They will not trespass on my grounds.
The law is firmly on my side.
The stag is safe and free to stay.
I will ensure he is not harmed
until the hunters go away.
He has no cause to be alarmed.
I’ll set him free to go his way
when he regains his energy.
They must forego their kill today.
The Stag is no mans enemy.
I hate the men who hunt for sport
the harmless creatures of the wild
Who they can kill without a thought.
Our views can not be reconciled
They will return from whence they came
slowly and dejectedly.
Because I spoilt the little game
They’ll ban me from their company.
A ban that will not worry me
although they are convinced it will.
I much prefer the company
of the wild deer they hope to kill.
The Stag appear to understand
although it watches warily.
That it is safe by my command
and he is resting easily.
When it grows dark I’ll turn him loose
back to the freedom that he knows.
I am quite sure he won’t refuse.
Though I’ll be sad to see him go.
He was not born to be confined.
He has a nobler destiny.
Protecting his small flock of hinds
and raising up a family.
I think he knows I wish him well
and looks at me before he goes.
He has no tongue in which to tell.
But I am certain that he knows.
Tuesday,16 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!