En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Guess Who?

From billabong or pond
he serenades the moon
upon his small bassoon;
the moon does not respond
but in the hope she might
he keeps it up all night.

The meatworker in magpie suit
goes home and practices his flute
ten times on end he will begin
the Bridal March from Lohengrin,
or make the Kookaburra smile
by his attempts at Fairest Isle.

He needs both industry and skill
the satisfy his hunger
did he run up that monstrous bill
of his at the fishmonger?

In arrogance and outward show
but not in brains he's strong;
olive above and white below
with either eye a crimson glow
he's waiting here, for figs to grow
upon a currajong
in intellect no less than colour
the female bird is even duller.

1. Bull Frog
2. Butcher-Bird
3. Pelican
4. Fig Bird

poem by John Streeter Manifold
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove

It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.

It is a cool night.

The bird is asleep.

The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.

And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'

poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Now Little Bird?

what now little bird?

you look around you
the nest is empty
and mother bird is far away
and siblings
have taken the first jump
to the pond
to learn to float
and then
fly

you think that mother-bird
comes back
to feed you with another worm?

no, little bird
no one is coming back for you
you do not even
know if you have a father-bird
to save you

no, little bird
do not wait
do not waste your time
the sun shines
and it is time
for you to go too

fly now
little bird
find the real meaning of your wings....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Bird Of Texas

The last time I spoke to my aunt before she died
She was describing to me this incredible owl
That was sitting in a tree
It meant nothing to me
But it means a lot more now
Because Im waiting, Im waiting, Im waiting for the bird
Im waiting, Im ready, I know it is my turn
All those cigarettes, alcohol, this bodys through
Youre gone for sure when the bird comes for you
And the last time I spoke to my uncle before he died
It was the very same week, but one year before her
He was sitting alone in his study, on the phone
When a giant hawk flew by
Said, Im waiting, Im waiting, Im waiting for the bird,
I didnt expect to be noticed or heard.
Oh, elizabeth, help me, I cant find the room,
Youre gone for sure when the bird comes for you.
And, oh, it is scary
And, oh, it is cold to the bone
My bodys not ready for my mind to learn
I have just been consigned here to rot in the earth
Said, Im waiting, Im waiting, Im waiting for the bird,
It comes in and takes you away from this world.
Gate twenty-seven, I cant find the room.
Youre free to board now, theyre waiting for you.
Im waiting, Im waiting, Im waiting for the bird
Ive seen it three times now, theres nothing to learn
And dont be surprised if the skys bright and blue
And the white bird of texas comes barreling through

song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I want to fly!

yes, you do.
where do you want to go?
i am looking for a new home

how does one grow wings?
i want to fly...

it is the most quiet conversation.
the man begs to understand
why the mouth he is blest with does not take the shape of a beak.

the bird sings of many lands
the man has not yet been to

the little brown bird's heart is a ray of sun
but the man does not know

inside the wars are all in the making
outside it is still calm

the bird and the man kiss
the bird flies
the man falls asleep
the man flies
the bird is dead.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Love This Land Australia

I love this Land Australia of gum and wattle tree
This vast and sunlit Continent is home from home for me
And though I come from a distant Land when I have had my day
Than underneath Australian soil where better place to lay.

I love this Land Australia home of the kangaroo
Of echidna and wombat, platypus and cockatoo
Of lorikeet and rosella, koala, possum and emu
And other unusual birds and animals as I've mentioned just a few.

I like Australian people if poor man make good they say
The man he is a battler, good on him anyway,
In Land of wedge tailed eagle there's rooom to spread one's wings
And in the lucky country the battler is a king.

I love this Land Australia it's home from home for me,
Home of the kookaburra and gum and wattle tree
And bell bird and bell magpie who through the Winter sing
A Winter oft times milder than Ireland in the Spring.

I love this Land Australia of sunshine and bird song
And with each passing day my love for this great Country grow more strong
And though I come from a distant Land when I have had my day
Than underneath Australian soil where better place to lay.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bird's Wish

The bird asks me
What I’d do
If I am a bird.
I tell him
High and high I’d soar
So high that I’d see the earth no more
I’d be a bird on the tree
I’d be a bird that’s free!
What you’d do bird
If you’re a man?
To be fair
It’d be my only prayer to God
Don’t be so hard
Make me once again a bird!
Saying this the bird sings
And spreads its wings to a sky
I can never fly!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Night Sound

Out there
in the tranquillity of my night forest
there is a squeak
of a small animal
or bird
or frog.

I hear it above the intermittent swish
of tyres on the distant highway
and the gentle zing
of crickets below my window
and the deep contented breathing
of the dogs at my feet.

And I need to share the squeak
of the small animal
or bird
or frog
with you.

(14 September 1986)

poem by Diana van den Berg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Little Child And The Small Bird

THE LITTLE CHILD AND THE SMALL BIRD
When I was a little child
Once in my hands
A small bird I held
Maybe too tight

The small bird didn't move
It had just died
And all now I did
Sorrowfully I cried

My dearest child
Mother gently smoothed me
Your love must have been too strong
The little bird couldn't hold on

And so life goes on
But never could I forget
The little bird's tragic end
When I was a little child

Now when spending time with you
My fear is the same
As my love might be too strong
And I am terrified
Like a little child

Mencita Monoï Angel

poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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T-birds

Circle high, circle low.
Jammers fly, t-birds.
You show, you show, whiplash go.
You show, you show, t-birds. mighty bird.
T-bird, my mighty bird.
On the dot in the slot, tie the knot.
On the dot timed kisses.
In the slot on the dot, tie the knot.
In the slot, no misses.
Mighty bird.
T-bird, my mighty bird.
T-bird, mighty bird.
Black sun conquerer.
Two thousand years ago... a great race... warriors... lived in... they had many gods... mayans... gods... mazatlan... (if you can fill in these blanks please email [email protected])
Black sun worshipper.
Coil it up, wind it out, strike it hot!
Coil it up plumed serpent.
Coil it up, wind it out, strike it hot!
Coil it up, my t-bird.
Serpent curl.
T-bird, rule the world.
T-bird, mighty bird.
Black sun born again.
Oh I love my t-bird, t-bird.

song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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The Bird that dances by tail

Swallow.the bird that goes into cattle byre
And no bird that goes into cattle byre
Wow white black bull
The bird that goes into cattle byre

Swallow, the bird that crosses ocean
And no bird crosses ocean
Wow whhite black bull
The bird that crosses ocean

Swallow, the bird that dances by tail
And no bird that dances by tail
Wow white black bull
The bird that dances by tail

poem by David Aoloch Bion
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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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Early bird

Early bird
catches worm.

Small bird sing earlier
Bird that see first
Break the dawn.

The bird tells
How to be a winner
In the long run.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Leo And Honey Bird

u like to be a leo man
but i like to be a honey bird
i am honey bird
iam honey bird
may u are strong
may u are tough
but the little bird
is too smart too
and u are alone
and u never care
but this happy bird
has many friends
the life is to share
the life is too short
let we share this short
to share within love
then we are proud
to share our home
with the little bird
not with u -leo no
although u in share
with us in the earth
i am not proud
how we are alone
but about honey bird
we are all
proud

aboutthe little bird.

poem by Sallam Yassin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I’ve Drafted The Moon Sickle (Drafts)

And the maps seen through its rays
I’ve drafted a bird knocking her flightful head
Against the Moon sickle edge
I’ve drafted an inward and an outward star
And it’s something one cannot turn into a painting
The colour would blur the surreal truth
Of the black and white and in between shades

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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When The Blue Bird Sings

oh! the wind cries with it
when the blue bird begins to sing
when the night is so cold
when the moon hides behind
the clouds

oh! the leaves begin to hush
and sympathize
but the blue bird does not stop singing
and then it stops
at dusk
it is no longer there

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little White Bird

little white bird
now that i have set you free
from my hands

to the winds you shall go
to its whims shall you be

search the skies
map out your freedom
be carefree

little bird
do not look back
i am in the prison walls of my mind
still thinking about your white wings
feeling each feather
in every patch of my skin

little bird, little white bird
how pure was that love?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moon Glow

The darkest night, flows with a
wind hush through open blackness.
Ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Rivulets spill with water
across the mountain plains;
as liquid rolls down along the steep slope-
ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Stars glitter through sparkles
of the darkest night.
Wind cold breeze swifts;
swiftly into space.
Laughter engulfs the moon light.
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Moon light angles corners,
as sweet melodies swell into air,
of silence.
You ever sight the bird dance,
as shadow flicker
upon the moon?
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?

poem by Celine Berghmans
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