Childhood Sky
childhood sky is always bright
flying with colourful birds
one exotic hornbill missed
its way to jungle, flew to town
to rest on a neighbour's roof
exhibiting its full splendour
and forever painted itself in
my memory in refreshing
red yellow, horn and all
a migrating egret flew to
a tree right in front of our house,
stayed there like an old wise
white haired man before
flying away my heart with it
the varied coloured pigeons
that turned the roof into their paradise
mating on chimneys, their wings flapping,
crowning in triumph over a female
and their signature rush to build
their nest, holding a straw in their beaks
the way a scintillating professor
out to build a sky of knowledge
for his brood, would
a few of the pigeons even flew
a few kilometres back after having been
given to our cousins holding dear
our hearts high up in the sky
one magpie sang each morn
away on a little chimney provoking me
to speak with it in excited nurseries
a forlorn pigeon waited and
waited till dusk for its companion
to emerge from the ground
disappointed and flew away
a grey world of disappointment*
childhood sky is
always bright with tales
and rains down memories -
sweet, sad, and joyful
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Once I Flew
Once I flew
And it made my fingertips sing
I was more like a God than a king
Now I cant believe that was true
Once I flew
Though you dont believe me I know
You look where Im standing now
You cant believe I left the ground.
Look up to the bright blue sky
Cant you feel life passing by
If you could wouldnt you
Try to soar over everything?
All the pain this world can bring
Once I flew now Ive lost my wings
Now Im down here with you
Now Im down here with you
Once I flew
And the angels were my friends
They would grant me every whim
Now I cant believe that was true
Once I flew
Though its easy to forget
I dont seem to have managed yet.
And I dont think I ever will
Look up to the bright blue sky
Cant you feel the life passing by?
If you could wouldnt you
Try to soar over everything?
All the pain this world can bring
Once I flew now Ive lost my wings
Now Im down here with you
Now Im down here with you.
And in my dreams I am happy again
Youre in my arms and were flying
Again, flying away.
song performed by by White Town
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sun Bird
The sun bird flew high and high
for its destination was sun
but as it drew near its wings did burn
from the heat of the sun but it did not die
it fell down on the earth
and waited till its wings took rebirth
it again flew only to burn its wings and fall
towards the earth but its hope stood atall
for mythology says its divine love for sun
has given it power not to die from burn
so with patience infinite again it flew
with hopes full and wings anew
towards the sun only to burn
but it got up again and flew
towards the sun
towards its destination
poem by Anjesh shekhar
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The Magpie and the Young Dove
On the ground they struck each other
with their wings out stretched.
But the dove was so much smaller
and couldn’t evade the magpie’s pecks.
As feathers flew, it held down the dove
with its powerful grasping claws.
Once, twice, three times, it pecked,
and again several times more.
The tired dove’s resistance vanished
as the magpie took one hop back.
It stood admiring the results of its conflict
before making its final attack.
This brief encounter was nearly over,
the dove turned to face the magpie,
but then a dog approached the scene
and the magpie flew into the sky.
Keeping a close watch over its prey,
it waited in a nearby tree.
The dog lost interest and sauntered away,
giving the magpie opportunity.
One hop then two, it approached for the kill,
but the dog returned to save the day.
This time the magpie didn’t come back,
and the dove recovered to fly away.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I flew through the sky
I flew through the sky I knew I could fly people asked me why they all got the same answer as I flew through the night I felt like a kite with a personality of my own I flew through the sky I hear someone yell like a cry I flew through the sky it was my mom she missed me much I flew through the sky as I heard crys I lowered down and held her hand we flew through the sky.
poem by Zaraya Berry
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Flying
All life through
Just the two -
Two birds freely flying
Two birds tacitly trying -
Together they always flew
Because they always knew
To not fly
Was to die -
Therefore, together, they always, always flew...
Right up until,
The very day their lives were through...
When they were gone
Friends gathered to sing them this love song:
'Birds of a feather were they
Always flying together unto the last day -
For what they knew is true,
Birds of a feather
Die fearless, and freest, together -
They never stopped flying,
They never stopped trying,
Until dying
They went forever together,
To freely fly
And never more die,
Nor even part -
Eternally connected, soul to soul,
And heart to heart. '
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle
eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out
eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''
eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''
Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''
Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Morse Moose & The Grey Goose
Right on down at the bottom of the sea
Tell me are you receiving me?
My name is morse moose and Im calling you
The grey goose was a steady boat
People said shes never float
One night when the moon was high
The grey goose flew away
As we were sailing round the rocks
The mate took out his compass box
And said the wind is like a fox
But the grey goose flew away
When out upon the open sea
The admiral, the mate and me
Prepared to face eternity
But the grey goose flew away
She flew into the stormy sea
Davy jones was calling me
But heading for tranquility
The grey goose flew away
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pigeons
There are many pigeons in the Cascais evening park and
see one I remember, the one that trips stylishly around
looking for crumbs, it looks at me, to see if I´m eating.
In May it was a baby on my terrace trying out its wings,
one day it succeeded and flew off.
A pigeon doesn’t remember its childhood, so it doesn’t
has the burden of remembering infancy, blames no one
when things go wrong. Two women come and sit on my
bench, talk about offspring who will not listen; pity they
have not understood, like a pigeon mother, to let go.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Terry And Rihana's Trauma
'Terry here, have it, take it and go! Leave!
Make sure you reach Antuwana before sunset, , you'll find me there at the hills of Monafa waiting for you..and from there, I'll fly away with you to my paradise'...
that was rihana, offering her wings to terry, an angel that the young lad terry happened to meet while he was fishing and he made a wish that he wanted to fall in love with an angel, , he wanted an angel to be his first love...
Love struck so hard
The angel surrendered her wings just to have him earned
His life on the line as he flew and backtracked
An untold love story just about to emerge
He waited and waited
So long that he doubted
If he was enchanted
By that witch that he hated
But the angel rihana soon entered
In her arms he wanted
To build his refuge till he fainted
And breath his last breathe
Turning white as she cries
Shaking him while she tries
To wake him up but the dice
Turned against her as she iced
Left this world and in her vow lies
She won't return for she's hurt!
poem by Khalifa Mustapha
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Again and Again
poetry in progress
childhood days are roses and thorns
they comprise memories light as
the roll of one marble as well as
heavy as a bag full of the blue white
gleaming rolly pollies sitting so
quietly in the old store room
childhood is full of schemes
marbles - we made sure the other boys
are emptied of theirs
kites - we made sure the string of
their kites snap, kite flying away
like a helpless chinese princess
pigeons - one was downed by us so that
its mate waited for it one whole day
on the precipice of a roof
one memory i wish to tear to shreds
dragonflies - in my hands they ate
each other up
childhood is festooned with lessons
both inside and outside the classroom
with the two legged, four legged, the hornbills,
doggies, and those with no legs but then
morphed into the best hoppers - frogs, toads
and grasshoppers to teach us never
to underestimate the poorest of anything
arithmetics, music, football or paintballs
childhood lane
a ball floating and sinking
a patch here and there, a lake, a stream,
a river - so many fishes had splashed
their tails and now only concretes
to make the memory jump
a cry, a lane, a walk, a pet, a church,
a school, mother's hand holding so tight,
shaking, and still elucidating her
discomforts, and those yelps of puppies
there, here, here there we had more than
five doggies all those years
winding through there, here
a range of sepia, black and white, chromes,
working themselves into an abstract
marbles rolling onto empty canvas -
light and ever so desirable these bonuses
at children's alleyway dates
- rolling ever still rolling
the drive that reels and roils the mind
going back is the same as moving forward
there is never a point in time we can rest on
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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History Of the Airplane
And the Wright brothers said they thought they had invented
something that could make peace on earth
(if the wrong brothers didn’t get hold of it)
when their wonderful flying machine took off at Kitty Hawk
into the kingdom of birds but the parliament of birds was freaked out
by this man-made bird and fled to heaven
And then the famous Spirit of Saint Louis took off eastward and
flew across the Big Pond with Lindy at the controls in his leather
helmet and goggles hoping to sight the doves of peace but he did not
Even though he circled Versailles
And then the famous Yankee Clipper took off in the opposite
direction and flew across the terrific Pacific but the pacific doves
were frighted by this strange amphibious bird and hid in the orient sky
And then the famous Flying Fortress took off bristling with guns
and testosterone to make the world safe for peace and capitalism
but the birds of peace were nowhere to be found before or after Hiroshima
And so then clever men built bigger and faster flying machines and
these great man-made birds with jet plumage flew higher than any
real birds and seemed about to fly into the sun and melt their wings
and like Icarus crash to earth
And the Wright brothers were long forgotten in the high-flying
bombers that now began to visit their blessings on various Third
Worlds all the while claiming they were searching for doves of
peace
And they kept flying and flying until they flew right into the 21st
century and then one fine day a Third World struck back and
stormed the great planes and flew them straight into the beating
heart of Skyscraper America where there were no aviaries and no
parliaments of doves and in a blinding flash America became a part
of the scorched earth of the world
And a wind of ashes blows across the land
And for one long moment in eternity
There is chaos and despair
And buried loves and voices
Cries and whispers
Fill the air
Everywhere
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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The Mother's Soul
When the moon was horned the mother died,
And the child pulled at her hand and knee,
And he rubbed her cheek and loudly cried:
'O mother, arise, give bread to me!'
But the pine tree bent its head,
And the wind at the door-post said:
'O child, thy mother is dead !'
The sun set his loom to weave the day;
The frost bit sharp like a silent cur;
The child by her pillow paused in his play:
'Mother, build up the sweet fire of fir !'
But the fir tree shook its cones,
And loud cried the pitiful stones:
'Wolf Death has thy mother's bones!'
They bore the mother out on her bier;
Their tears made warm her breast and shroud;
The smiling child at her head stood near;
And the long, white tapers shook and bowed,
And said with their tongues of gold,
To the ice lumps of the grave mold:
'How heavy are ye and cold!'
They buried the mother; to the feast
They flocked with the beaks of unclean crows.
The wind came up from the red-eyed east
And bore in its arms the chill, soft snows.
They said to each other: 'Sere
Are the hearts the mother held dear;
Forgotten, her babe plays here!'
The child with the tender snowflakes played,
And the wind on its fingers twined his hair;
And still by the tall, brown grave he stayed,
Alone in the churchyard lean and bare.
The sods on the high grave cried
To the mother's white breast inside:
'Lie still; in thy deep rest bide!'
Her breast lay still like a long-chilled stone,
Her soul was out on the bleak, grey day;
She saw her child by the grave alone,
With the sods and snow and wind at play.
Said the sharp lips of the rush,
'Red as thy roses,O bush,
With anger the dead can blush !'
A butterfly to the child's breast flew,*
Fluttered its wings on his sweet, round cheek,
Danced by his fingers, small, cold and blue.
The sun strode down past the mountain peak.
The butterfly whispered low
To the child: 'Babe, follow me; know,
Cold is the earth here below.'
The butterfly flew; followed the child,
Lured by the snowy torch of its wings;
The wind sighed after them soft and wild
Till the stars wedded night with golden rings
Till the frost upreared its head,
And the ground to it groaned and said:
'The feet of the child are lead!'
The child's head drooped to the brown, sere mold,
On the crackling cones his white breast lay;
The butterfly touched the locks of gold,
The soul of the child sprang from its clay.
The moon to the pine tree stole,
And silver-lipped, said to its bole:
'How strong is the mother's soul !'
The wings of the butterfly grew out
To the mother's arms, long, soft and white;
She folded them warm her babe about,
She kissed his lips into berries bright,
She warmed his soul on her breast;
And the east called out to the west:
'Now the mother's soul will rest!'
Under the roof where the burial feast
Was heavy with meat and red with wine,
Each crossed himself as out of the east
A strange wind swept over oak and pine.
The trees to the home-roof said:
' 'Tis but the airy rush and tread
Of angels greeting thy dead.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Recollection - First Poetic Impulse
my first poetic impulse
was in my pre school days
i must have been only four
years old lying sweet on the
kitchen floor one fine morning
sucking on my milk bottle
out on the tip of a pointed roof
a magpie had gathered itself
comfortably and started singing
its heart out to the sun just beginning
to warm up the new day
its song was edged like the roof
pointed here and there
in the rhythm and fractured tone
of a disconcerted soul
complaining all the world's
injustices to the heavens
like a chirpy woman crying mad about
poor treatments of her in laws
it sang for so long i was
provoked to ask the bird
what it was pining all about
about the black and white
of its days?
i asked and it sang
i asked and it sang
beak pointed to the sky
i asked and it sang
i asked and it sang
until it thought it was done
and flew away without a note
leaving a trail of silence and
melancholy on an empty
roof, the morning and -
an unrequited heart
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Bird Watching
Bird Watching
Two sparrows, on roof of my car, noisily chirped, five
more sparrows came, tweeted too and showed no debate
culture, then they flew off and left the couple to it.
One, the male, I think, flew off and left, I assume, her
alone; not for long, he came back peeped and left again;
did this three times, finally she flew off with him, but
she deeply sighed. A drama had passed, that I had seen
and judged with a human’s limited understanding of
the life of other spices. Bird dropping on the car roof,
I had witnessed a love story, good as any seen on TV,
and as afternoon soaps must, had ended blissfully.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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
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Love of Flying
Houston Texas I was there,
when war planes flew in the air.
Yes, an air show with fighter jets,
flying through the air on many bets.
Making it safely to the ground,
pilots landing with no frowns.
Taking photos with pilots
who flew,
Chucky posed smiling gracefully too.
Chucky at 75,
learned to fly.
Yes, he would leave a message
saying he was in the air,
flying over Krendoll island without a care.
How I wish he was still here,
like Jean for they both share.
The love of flying now Everywhere.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.9,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Comfort
comfort
i see it in the
smart morn doves
hastily picking up grains
courtesy of a
grocery store shopowner
i see it in three pigeons
cleaning themselves
in the most charming manner
in a puddle
pulling their heads in and out of water
rinsing, splashing,
without a care of the world
comfort
i see in a mating
male pigeon
flapping with ecstasy
on a rooftop as its back
sweeps down towards the female's
comfort
i see it at a shop's verandah
mother cat licking its newborns
one by one
its nipples, limpy, pinkish and red
from the heavy suckling
comfort
i see them in childhood river
after rain
fishes splash, leap
all the way out to sea
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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All About Two Friends
Two true friends they were.
A kite and a sparrow living in a tree.
They chit-chatted all day long
And forgot the rest of the world.
None an nothing could separate them
There came a dark and short man once
Who smiled and smiled at the sparrow and
Said aloud, 'It can`t be, how is it that you are here now?
The sparrow turned pale and looked at his friend, the kite.
The little man was looking into a foliage now.
Two true friends they were.
The kite murmered into the ears of his friend,
'Fear not my friend, I shall take you to another tree high and tall
And save you from this dark and short brute..come with me'.
As they flew off unto a far away tree, the'brute'down still smiled.
Two true friends they were.
The kite made the pal sit on a tall branch and said,
'It`s safe here, let me go back and ask that brute who he is? '
The bigger winged beauty flew back to old tree and the'dark brute'
And he hovered around both for some time.
The dark and the short man heard the kite speak,
'Who are you to speak to my friend and why did you speak such words? '
The smiling 'brute'said, 'Oh bird, I am the god of death and as per my book
Thy friend, the sparrow should be on the top of a far off tree
And should have been eaten by a huge snake by now, and therefore alone
I spoke to your friend words'.
Shocked, the flew back to the tree high and tall,
His friend the sparrow was not there on any branch!
Down across the shrubs was moving a big python after feasting on the prey.
The kite flew off unto the skies infinite next.
He and his late friends were two true friends.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Black Crow (in answer to Ted Hughes)
Crow flew up into the air
looking, always searching
with a keen eye
roving down to earth from the sky
with wings flapping
under the blazing sun
almost blurring in
their quick movement
and flying from the blinding sun
with paws folded in
but at a time he had to dropp down
like lightning falling from the sky
to find something somewhere
a mouse, a rat or a bigger rabbit
to feed with claws ripping
with blood oozing red under them.
Blacker than the night,
spreading his wings
again he challenged the sky
thinking about being supreme
and that was his undoing
as he flew up as high as eagles do
against bare cliffs to a nest of their young
and faster than light, was pierced, was flung from it
dropping down from the heights
and heard the screaming roar
of a eagle’s triumphant song
just before death ended everything for crow.
[References: Wodwo and Crow (extract) Two legends by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Love Of Flying
Houston Texas I was there,
when war planes flew in the air.
Yes, an air show with fighter jets,
flying through the air on many bets.
Making it safely to the ground,
pilots landing with no frowns.
Taking photos with pilots
who flew,
Chucky posed smiling gracefully too.
Chucky at 75,
learned to fly.
Yes, he would leave a message
saying he was in the air,
flying over Krendoll island without a care.
How I wish he was still here,
like Jean for they both share.
The love of flying now Everywhere.
Written by Christina Sunrise on Feb.9,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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