The Common Question
Behind us at our evening meal
The gray bird ate his fill,
Swung downward by a single claw,
And wiped his hooked bill.
He shook his wings and crimson tail,
And set his head aslant,
And, in his sharp, impatient way,
Asked, 'What does Charlie want?'
'Fie, silly bird!' I answered, 'tuck
Your head beneath your wing,
And go to sleep;'--but o'er and o'er
He asked the self-same thing.
Then, smiling, to myself I said
How like are men and birds!
We all are saying what he says,
In action or in words.
The boy with whip and top and drum,
The girl with hoop and doll,
And men with lands and houses, ask
The question of Poor Poll.
However full, with something more
We fain the bag would cram;
We sigh above our crowded nets
For fish that never swam.
No bounty of indulgent Heaven
The vague desire can stay;
Self-love is still a Tartar mill
For grinding prayers alway.
The dear God hears and pities all;
He knoweth all our wants;
And what we blindly ask of Him
His love withholds or grants.
And so I sometimes think our prayers
Might well be merged in one;
And nest and perch and hearth and church
Repeat, 'Thy will be done.'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Related quotes
Jigsaw
Here we hear that a perch stands for fish or for pole, -
though this pole can be twenty four feet long or square –
or a pole upon which
a kingfisher can perch
before diving to fish for his dinner dish.
Don’t consider it rude if we add that a rood
is the same as a perch, or a pole or a rod,
and a rood is a Cross, so please don’t become cross
as we must get across that this cross can be square, -
and this square cross can lengthwise be measured – so there!
A pole, too, is a fish, somewhat flounderish
with fine fins which swish and a face like a dish.
Thus kingfisher must fish for his dish, and that dish is a dish,
so lets face it in anguish, - a dish is a dish is a fish!
As a face is a head, and a head is a poll
which tells who is ahead, or shows what each prole
thought of what someone said:
and a wat, as all know, is a temple Cambo –
all the sages who sow seeds of wisdom say, - oh,
to all this don’t say ‘No! ’
Then watt brings us a light which shines down in the night, -
though this seems ‘out of sight’, you should now see the light, -
that kingfishers alight as they perch on their pole
ere they pounce on their poll
for to search for their perch,
for the soul of the sole in the shoal.
What rude fishermen do
before rod poles align
with a line from their perch to their perch.
Like the kingfisher too, bird of brilliant hue,
is our parrot, Poll, who is no stranger to you.
When he’s not being rude he tends somewhat to brood
or repeat through and through, as in these lines I do.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Little Bird Of Love And Desire
little bird of love and desire
do not perch upon a twig so far from me
fly a little bit closer
my heart is full of love and desire too
come closer and hover on the soft spot of my chest
there is a nest there
where you can rest
where you can soundly sleep
come little bird live with me
sing me the songs of love for i am weary
sing, sing, sing little bird and live with me
for i am weak and weary
when my eyes close little bird
come and heed this lover's last bid
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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Take Me Under Your Wing
Take me under your wing,
be my mother, my sister.
Take my head to your breast,
my banished prayers to your nest.
One merciful twilight hour,
hear my pain, bend your head.
They say there is youth in the world.
Where has my youth fled?
Listen! another secret:
I have been seared by a flame.
They say there is love in the world.
How do we know love’s name?
I was deceived by the stars.
There was a dream; it passed.
I have nothing at all in the world,
nothing but a vast waste.
Take me under your wing,
be my mother, my sister.
Take my head to your breast,
my banished prayers to your nest.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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The Robin
MY old Welsh neighbor over the way
Crept slowly out in the sun of spring,
Pushed from her ears the locks of gray,
And listened to hear the robin sing.
Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped,
And, cruel in sport as boys will be,
Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped
From bough to bough in the apple-tree.
'Nay!' said the grandmother; 'have you not heard,
My poor, bad boy! of the fiery pit,
And how, drop by drop, this merciful bird
Carries the water that quenches it?
'He brings cool dew in his little bill,
And lets it fall on the souls of sin
You can see the mark on his red breast still
Of fires that scorch as he drops it in.
'My poor Bron rhuddyn! my breast-burned bird,
Singing so sweetly from limb to limb,
Very dear to the heart of Our Lord
Is he who pities the lost like Him!'
'Amen!' I said to the beautiful myth;
'Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well:
Each good thought is a drop wherewith
To cool and lessen the fires of hell.
'Prayers of love like rain-drops fall,
Tears of pity are cooling dew,
And dear to the heart of Our Lord are all
Who suffer like Him in the good they do! '
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Weird-Bird
from the wire chirp
on the wire chirp
frantic head
to and fro
to and fro
chirp, chirp, chirp
little bird on a wire
head and beak
to and fro
to and fro
ten times in a second
tail up, tail down, tail up, tail down
the tight feathered bodice
doing a twist
legs angled tight on tiny wire
a tightrope walker
chirp, chirp, chirp
looking for some fun
looking for a companion to share its day
chirp, chirp, chirp
inspired by
Weird-Bird
Birds are flyin' south for winter.
Here's the Weird-Bird headin' north,
Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin',
Cold head bobbin' back 'n' forth.
He says, 'It's not that I like ice
Or freezin' winds and snowy ground.
It's just sometimes it's kind of nice
To be the only bird in town.'
Shel Silverstein
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Cockatoo and the Kangaroo
The happy cockatoo asked the hopping kangaroo,
“Does everyone in your family have a purse like you? ”
The hopping kangaroo stopped and smiled at the bird,
Saying, “Calling it a pouch would be a better word.”
The happy cockatoo was interested in learning more
And asked, “A pouch? Please tell me what it’s for.
The kangaroo explained that she had become a mother.
This pouch was the home of this new precious other.
Out of the pouch the precious baby popped his head;
Looked at the cockatoo with a funny smile and said,
“You make me very nervous Mr. Happy Cockatoo.
Flying in the air with those arms on top of you.”
Mother kangaroo said, “Don’t be afraid of such things.
Since this cockatoo is a bird, those are called wings.
Just as we kangaroo hop on our legs to get around,
The cockatoo uses its wings to fly above the ground.”
The cockatoo said, “I guess it’s like my nest in the tree
Where I lay and hatch my eggs, then raise my family.”
Your ways seem strange. It’s different from what I see.
Though when I get to know you, you’re a lot like me.
We both have our babies and help them find their way
So they can love and raise their own families another day.
It’s this love we all share that shines brightly as a flame
Whether pouch, feather or wing, we’re all much the same.”
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Poor Little Girl
Poor little girl
With her head in the air
Theres a poorly sick world all around you
Poor horny boy
One thing on his mind
That poor little girl
He must find you
Chorus:
Theres a whole lotta love
Shaking inside of me
And I must figure out why its there
Theres a bottomless heart
Thats hooked into all of you
And its wondering how much you care
Poor little girl
With a whole in her heart
Theres a poorly sick world all around you
Poor horny boy
One thing on his mind
That poor little girl
He must find you
Theres a whole lotta love
Shaking inside of me
And I must figure out why its there
Theres a bottomless heart
Hooked into all of you
And its wondering how much you care
Poor little boy
Head in a whirl
Theres a phony slick world all around you
That poor little girl
With her head in the air
That poor little boy he must find you
Theres a whole lotta love
Shaking inside of me
And I must figure out why its there
Theres a bottomless heart
Hooked into all of you
And its wondering how much you care
Theres a need and desire I have
To express whats inside of me
I must figure it out while its still there
And an endless amout of
Of a joy that you touch me with
Thought its almost too much for me to bear
Poor litte girl
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Davie Gellatley's Song
Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
Old men's love the longest will last,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man will brawl at the evening board;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Green Bird, Golden Bird.
A tired green bird flew a very long journey,
Came to a stop in a beautiful valley.
There were many birds of all colours singing and playing,
Among them he saw a beautiful golden bird,
Her feathers shining in the bright sunshine,
And her voice echoed melodiously.
Within a short time the green and golden birds were close friends,
They knew each other deeply by heart,
Passing the days, flying from valley to valley,
And resting from tree to tree.
Then one sad day, golden bird must return,
She too had flown from across the vast ocean,
Even though it broke the green bird's heart,
But he was willing to let go, and before she left, .. he asked;
Golden bird, have I full-filled my promises to you?
That I would never hurt you,
That I would protect you with my life,
That I would share my provisions with you,
That I would make you happy and smiling always!
Is there any single word to describe all these?
Golden bird,
I will pray for your lasting happiness,
I will never forget your overflowing kindness,
You have nested permanently in my heart…and lastly,
I dream for us to be able to fly together again,
in unimaginable beautiful green heaven!
poem by Desert Life
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Breach Of Innocence-the Road Kill
One sunny noon, while chasing butterflies you &me,
Tried to unravel the mystery of the birds &the bees,
We stopped at some broken wings, lying on the ground, splattered,
Blackish red. To divert your attention I said,
“See! , There goes a butterfly in your favorite color,
Pink petals above your head hover.”
But you didn’t move &stood there
Watching, the first sight of destruction &its dark face.
Asked me where the bird went if it lay at your feet
Tattered like your ragged doll, with no tweet,
Its feathers spread, its face vacant, so still, awake.
You asked me, “If it still lay there within”
“Why it lay there so dirty, muddied.”
“Why doesn’t God clean it up? It’s a poor small bird.”
Questions I have searched answers for an entire life,
Your innocence springs open the Pandora’s Box.
In detail we inspect & see the ants have a galore,
You said, ” Kill the ants they are at the bird’’,
I said; “It doesn’t matter, now God has forgotten, ”
Puzzled you look at me, unsure, unsafe, and no longer protected.
Worried you ask me again –“Then where did it go? ”
I pointed to the skies &said –“It is with God- Up there! ’’!
You said looking up —“ I don’t see- where? ’’
I said—“God is there but prefers to remain anonymous”
Then you ask –“Then how would you know who he is? ”
“You say he could be anywhere, here –there, ”
I said –“Yes, he is here, I see him in you—your sweet smile”
Again you give me that quizzical look
And with tender hands my arm you took.
We let it be & went ahead instead,
Me in my daily pursuits, you withheld
By the wonders of childhood. Our separate ways,
It’s been three summers now,
Even today when unwell you scream-“A feather in my bed! ”
And again the same question stands,
And stares at me-bold, daring, emphatic! .
x-----x-----x
For Vaishu-Thank You, Once again.
2008
poem by Seema joglekar
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Can You Smell The Rain…This Is A True Story
A child was premature
Only after 24 weeks her mother gave birth
She was only 12 inches long
When she came into this world
Her mother and father
Were waiting for news
And as always
Doctors filled them with gloom
She will not live for very long
And if she does complications
Will unfold
She will be blind
She will be deaf
She will be retarded
She has not fully developed yet
Tears abashed as she cried in pain
Both parents distraught
At their tiny daughters plight
They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her
She survived 2 months
She was breathing still
They were fianaly able to hold her
Small tiny body in their arms
But still the Doctors said
She would not live long
And each time her parents
Would cry once more
This can't be true
She's breathing still
They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her
Two more months
Had passed on by
And still she breathed
And still she was alive
But alas the Doctors did say
She will not survive
Another day
Distraught once again
Her parents were sad
And once again they
Bowed their heads
They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her
Now five years on
She runs and plays
And does everything
A little girl does
And then one day
While out on a trip
With her loved ones
Her family and friends
She was chatting to mom
About things from the day
Of playing with friends
And her family
When suddenly she paused
And said out loud
Can you smell that?
Her mother concerned
Looked up to the sky
It was just about
To rain outside
She nodded to her
And said with a smile
Why yes little one
I can smell the rain
But shaking her head
She said no not that
Can't you smell that?
Puzzled she smiled
As she shook her head
Why yes my dear child
It's about to rain
Her daughter just smiled
And shook her head
Then patted her shoulders
And said out loud
It smells like him! ! !
Then her mother just wept
As her father smiled
And realized she was
Talking about God
The rain had stopped
The sun came out
She yelled with glee
I want to go play
She hugged her mom
Smiled at her dad
Its ok mom
It was just only God
Then ran off to play
poem by Kaila George
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Sympathy
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Our Bird In Your Cage
we have this bird
we both own it and love it and care for it
our bird
and you have this cage
that you only own
golden, new and strong and as you say it
so reliable
that when our bird is in that cage
it will be safe
and cannot escape
we feed this bird together
and give it water and birdseeds
and a place of twigs and swing
where the bird can play
and perch upon
like it is on a tree
days and years
we keep this bird in your cage
and we see it is dying
and wanting to be free
yet you say, this sickness is just temporary
time heals what has wounded it
and shall forget the power of its wings
days and more years
we keep this bird in your cage
and i have not listened at all
to the sad song of that bird
her waning chirps
her weakened wings
her way of losing hold to the dreams of its wings
today we see this bird is dead
but you have no sadness at all
you say, you will buy another bird
again to be kept in your cage
i could have told you
i am the bird in your cage and i too have forgotten the power of
my wings
i could have told you, i have long died
and have forgotten what freedom is, what love is, what i am
in the first place. How can i ever tell you?
you are my cage.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When the love is all around
The days are bright
No matter morn or night
Everywhere is shining light
Dreams of heaven came out
Everything is perfect
When the love is around
The angels upon With their white crowns
Are singing prayers upon
In their crystal veil covered ponds
The birds are blue
With the sky they flew
The sky is raining love
Is that true?
My soul wants to fly
Like the birds on the sky
When the blue peace wears the sky
To revive and sigh on the pities of lie
The world becomes so beautiful when the love empires hearts.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Tonight Tonight
tonight i am a tree filled with leaves
and you are the bird looking for a nest
i have my branches for you to perch
to rest and stay for the whole night
agains the cold and damp and dark
sleep little bird, feel my loneliness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When a Migratory bird soars up
If you agree my friend, then I could have hide my sad poem
Underneath your precious wings as I cannot fly with these iron feathers.
When you migrate to a better place perhaps someone picks it and reads aloud;
'When I was in the cradle my poor Mom asked; ' Do you want to be a man or a bird? '
I said; ' Mom! I want to be a man and fly as a bird in the sky.'
Then she said; ' You'll be a poet some day my dear son and crawl on this misery planet like a reptile.'
[ Migration is probably the most awe-inspiring natural phenomenon.- Collins Atlas of Bird Migration.]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Bird-Magic
Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes
Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour,
And brings where no bird wings,
Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.
What do I want when a woman can warm
Bird-magic from her bosom, her womanly arms?
Her lips that are petals, her thighs that are trees,
Boughful with blossoms of softness and ease?
What is the liquid that lingers with love
In her voice? Is the music that hangs in her eyes?
The dewdrop.that dangles from finger-tip touch?
The mellifluous magic that moves me so much?
This is no bird-magic:
This is woman, who with a sweep of her hair
Sends birds bursting to wings in the air.
This is woman, whose frown
Droops dark feathers down.
This is woman; her smile, her kiss, her holding in arms,
Hold more bliss for me than bird-charms.
poem by Tan Pratonix
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The Loneliness Of The Usual Churhgoer...
a man was sitting on the road
and this woman who is always the incurable churchgoer
passed by and the man asked her
why
what is in that church that attracts her
like a magnetic field
and she answered with an ironic twitch on her face
because i worship God and God is in that church
(Is God not everywhere? the man asked his heart and soul
but dared not to insult the woman
whose life is enclosed on those four walls and
old pillars
none of his business anyway but as he looked on the woman
who is not that old to still love he arrived at the conclusion that the
woman needed more love from
a lustful man than
her memorized prayers
but of course, it is none of his business for he is a lustful man
and lived in his silence and
loneliness too)
both are junctions and both have successfully traversed
their parting ways
sad world indeed, people not discovering the truths about
their longings
could have been perfect
but never.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Change
The other day I walked accross the street
i couldnt believe what I appeared to see...
as I looked at a poor boy who came to me
I asked him his name and he didnt know
he just asked me for change.
I asked where is your mum?
he just asked me for change
I asked where is your dad?
he just asked me for change
I asked will someone come?
he just asked me for change
I asked why are you sad?
with no response to my question there was a pause...
but then once again he asked me for change
see, as i watched him dissapear with his pain
I realised that he actualy asked me...
for a change.
poem by Daniel McCann
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