Robin’s Secret
’T IS the blithest, bonniest weather for a bird to flirt a feather,
For a bird to trill and warble, all his wee red breast a-swell.
I ’ve a secret. You may listen till your blue eyes dance and glisten,
Little maiden, but I ’ll never, never, never, never tell.
You ’ll find no more wary piper, till the strawberries wax riper
In December than in June—aha! all up and down the dell,
Where my nest is set, for certain, with a pink and snowy curtain,
East or west, but which I ’ll never, never, never, never tell.
You may prick me with a thistle, if you ever hear me whistle
How my brooding mate, whose weariness my carols sweet dispel,
All between the clouds and clover, apple-blossoms drooping over,
Twitters low that I must never, never, never, never tell.
Oh, I swear no closer fellow stains his bill in cherries mellow.
Tra la la! and tirra lirra! I ’m the jauntiest sentinel,
Perched beside my jewel-casket, where lie hidden—don’t you ask it,
For of those three eggs I ’ll never, never, never, never tell.
Chirp! chirp! chirp! alack! for pity! Who hath marred my merry ditty?
Who hath stirred the scented petals, peeping in where robins dwell?
Oh, my mate! May Heaven defend her! Little maidens’ hearts are tender,
And I never, never, never, never, never meant to tell.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Related quotes
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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Inspired by Issa - Abandoned nest
chirp, just one chirp
mom comes with feed
for chick
abandon nest
mother bird and its chick
having grown up
inspired by
alone he cries
the motherless bird...
autumn dusk
-Issa,1803
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Poem about Poetry - the bird belting out a poem
twilight amusement
the different IQs
that make their way
to my room
dividing the world
in the form of chirp
chirp, chirp, chirp
twitter, twitter, twitter
in so many styles
and tones and syllables,
some extended,
some short broken notings
as diverse as the blooms in the garden
warbling, twittering, twit, tweedling, chirping
chirping, chirp
the singing IQ chart
try, try, try, you never know
how good you are if you never try
the varying quality bird songs
from the large garden tree
each bird's chirp
a humble contribution
from a little creation
each chirp divides the world
at morn, at dusk
what a delight to the ears, mind
simple short noted twitter
long extended mutli-toned varied tweedle
the varying quality poems
those chirpy nature poems
by celebrity birds
the like of sylvia plath,
and proletarian birds
the like of impoverished citizens
of the world
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Silent Answer
'Can't you take me with you'
asked the worm of the bird?
Chirp, chirp and gulp
was the last he ever heard.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Child's Talk In April
I wish you were a pleasant wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
We'd rise and go to bed at eight
Or it may be not quite so late.
Then you should see the nest I'd build,
The wondrous nest for you and me;
The outside rough perhaps, but filled
With wool and down; ah, you should see
The cosy nest that it would be.
We'd have our change of hope and fear,
Small quarrels, reconcilements sweet:
I'd perch by you to chirp and cheer,
Or hop about on active feet,
And fetch you dainty bits to eat.
We'd be so happy by the day,
So safe and happy through the night,
We both should feel, and I should say,
It's all one season of delight,
And we'll make merry whilst we may,
Perhaps some day there'd be an egg
When spring had blossomed from the snow:
I'd stand triumphant on one leg;
Like chanticleer I'd almost crow
To let our little neighbours know.
Next you should sit and I would sing
Through lengthening days of sunny spring;
Till, if you wearied of the task,
I'd sit; and you should spread your wing
From bough to bough; I'd sit and bask.
Fancy the breaking of the shell,
The chirp, the chickens wet and bare,
The untried proud paternal swell;
And you with housewife-matron air
Enacting choicer bills of fare.
Fancy the embryo coats of down,
The gradual feathers soft and sleek;
Till clothed and strong from tail to crown,
With virgin warblings in their beak,
They too go forth to soar and seek.
So would it last an April through
And early summer fresh with dew,
Then should we part and live as twain:
Love-time would bring me back to you
And build our happy nest again.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Poem about Poetry - The Real Poets
poets are birds
birds are poets
and the latter
are the truest poets
singing - from dawn till night and night till dawn
crowning the world
with their exuberant,
health giving and never ending poetry slam
first to flag off
the daily slam
would be the cockerels
sending our heart reeling
with the precision of
their poetic clock
they crow until the sun
has no choice but
to rise to the occasion
and then a thousand
other of their kinds
a million colourful plumes
in pomp and pageantry
high on cool shaded
majestic green podiums
begin their rumbunctious slam
their songs as diverse as their shines
every bird chips in
to make their slam the most powerful kind
some squawk,
some squeak
some chip chirp chap
some cry, crow, caw
some whistle, peep, screech
bark, croak, grunt, grumb
some plain quack
the best poets
chirp simple
mersmerising songs
slicing through
the first light
with their varying
tone, scale, metre, rhyme
cheering up the day
with full throated optimism
that could cure
any depressed heart
some twit delightful songs
chirp, chirp, chirp
chit chit chit chit chit chit
chi chiu chiu chiu chiu
twi wee twi wee twi wee
yer er er er eeeeeeeeer
so tenuous
and true
these feather poets
are in their art
they could put their
human cousins
in the novice basket
when it comes to
the world of poetry
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Red Bird Lives
A red bird lands to rest
Upon a tree branch.
The red bird chirps
For his sibling,
The cat takes notice, quietly
It watches his prey,
The cat figure it had his
Dinner..
Slowly the cat takes aim
And leaps for the red bird.
The red bird takes flight to
To join his sibling.
The cats loses,
But the red bird lives to chirp
Chirp another day..
The cat meow while his stomach
Growls,
The cat watches for another
Chance to feed his hungry
Stomach..
So, the cat meows hoping
For a meal,
To cure his empty stomach..
poem by Carolyn Sears
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Lady button-eyes
When the busy day is done,
And my weary little one
Rocketh gently to and fro;
When the night winds softly blow,
And the crickets in the glen
Chirp and chirp and chirp again;
When upon the haunted green
Fairies dance around their queen -
Then from yonder misty skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Through the murk and mist and gloam
To our quiet, cozy home,
Where to singing, sweet and low,
Rocks a cradle to and fro;
Where the clock's dull monotone
Telleth of the day that's done;
Where the moonbeams hover o'er
Playthings sleeping on the floor -
Where my weary wee one lies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Cometh like a fleeting ghost
From some distant eerie coast;
Never footfall can you hear
As that spirit fareth near -
Never whisper, never word
From that shadow-queen is heard.
In ethereal raiment dight,
From the realm of fay and sprite
In the depth of yonder skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Layeth she her hands upon
My dear weary little one,
And those white hands overspread
Like a veil the curly head,
Seem to fondle and caress
Every little silken tress;
Then she smooths the eyelids down
Over those two eyes of brown -
In such soothing, tender wise
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes.
Dearest, feel upon your brow
That caressing magic now;
For the crickets in the glen
Chirp and chirp and chirp again,
While upon the haunted green
Fairies dance around their queen,
And the moonbeams hover o'er
Playthings sleeping on the floor -
Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies
Cometh Lady Button-Eyes!
poem by Eugene Field
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Ode to the bird in the cypress tree
Ode to the bird in the cypress tree
~
I wish to be like the bird in the cypress tree
shaded from the heat of the midday sun
yet still free to ride upon the ocean breeze
whenever it chooses to blow from time to time
I wish to be like the bird in the cypress tree
and chirp my own little song aloud to the world
or to fly amongst the clouds so high above
and look down to watch the world below
I wish to be like the bird in the cypress tree
for all my wishes and day bought dreams
I am here and I am still me writing a poem
about that lucky bird perched in the cypress tree
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Fowl Politics
Sit in your light and sing to me little bird.
Sing of all the things in the world, right and wrong.
Chirp, Chirp, deceit in each sugar-coated word.
A ballad of battle a dangerous song.
I know your intent, you’re more hawk than sparrow.
Anything to win and to hell with the cost.
An elected man more mighty than Pharaoh.
It’s a democracy, but you’re the boss.
A little bird who can make so many die.
You expect me to believe what you say?
Even a child can tell that you lie.
Whatever you say, you lose every way.
A hawk and sparrow are both fowl, its true,
but so are the donkey and elephant too.
poem by Matthew Morgan
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Good-Night!
Good-night! Now dwindle wan and low
The embers of the afterglow,
And slowly over leaf and lawn
Is twilight's dewy curtain drawn.
The slouching vixen leaves her lair,
And, prowling, sniffs the tell-tale air.
The frogs croak louder in the dyke,
And all the trees seem dark alike:
The bee is drowsing in the comb,
The sharded beetle hath gone home:
Good-night!
Good-night! The hawk is in his nest,
And the last rook hath dropped to rest.
There is no hum, no chirp, no bleat,
No rustle in the meadow-sweet.
The woodbine, somewhere out of sight,
Sweetens the loneliness of night.
The Sister Stars, that once were seven,
Mourn for their missing mate in Heaven.
The poppy's fair frail petals close,
The lily yet more languid grows,
And dewy-dreamy droops the rose:
Good-night!
Good-night! Caressing and caressed,
The moist babe warms its mother's breast.
Silent are rustic loom and lathe;
The scythe lies quiet as the swathe;
The woodreeve blinks in covert shed,
The weary yokel is abed,
The covey warm beneath the wing,
And sleep enfoldeth everything.
Forsaken love, its last tear shed,
On the lone pillow lays its head,
And all our woes are respited:
Good-night!
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Wren’s Nest
I TOOK the wren's nest;--
Heaven forgive me!
Its merry architects so small
Had scarcely finished their wee hall,
That, empty still, and neat and fair,
Hung idly in the summer air.
The mossy walls, the dainty door,
Where Love should enter and explore,
And Love sit carolling outside,
And Love within chirp multiplied;--
I took the wren's nest;--
Heaven forgive me!
How many hours of happy pains
Through early frosts and April rains,
How many songs at eve and morn
O'er springing grass and greening corn,
Before the pretty house was made!
One little minute, only one,
And she'll fly back, and find it--gone!
I took the wren's nest:
Bird, forgive me!
Thou and thy mate, sans let, sans fear,
Ye have before you all the year,
And every wood holds nooks for you,
In which to sing and build and woo;
One piteous cry of birdish pain--
And ye'll begin your life again,
And quite forget the lost, lost home
In many a busy home to come.--
But I?--Your wee house keep I must
Until it crumble into dust.
I took the wren's nest:
God forgive me!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Morn birds, noon birds
the joyous chirp
of a sparrow
in the morn sky
sends a heaven into me
for a moment
i am the piano
and the chirp
a finger that sends
pleasant notes
reverberating
through my soul
this afternoon
heard the more
sedated chirps
of a bird on a wire
the halcyon noon
where the sun and
comfortable temperature
entice you to bed
note after note
the bird sings
wheeling nauseatic
nostalgic images
through my brain
school days,
childhood friends
and those days
that reminded us
of dream chasers
in a land of honey
the colour of light brown amber
inspired by
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Pity Me, Loo!
On the sunset borders of the mountains I stray,
Of a dear home dreaming 'yond the snow peaks far away,
While the bubbling brook beside me goes dancing along,
As it seeks the "Golden Gate" of the ocean blue;
And a lone bird murmurs in the bush-top his song--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
Tra la la la, la la la la
From mate to mate the carol rings:
Tra la la la, la la la la!
la la la la
A thousand valleys through;
Yet the lone bird sorrows as he plaintively sings--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
'Neath the rocks I'm treading there are treasures of gold,
But by far more precious is my own native mold.
Nevermore, in search of Beauty need Fancy take wings:
Here is beauty, here is grandeur, at ev'ry view;
Yet my heart grows heavy, and the lone bird still sings--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
In the green-clad valley where the wayward brook mends
There are homes most charming--there are warmhearted friends.
Lovely dell! it seems an Eden, afloat in mid-air,
As if God had sent from Heaven a creation new;
But its charm is broken, for my heart is not there--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Twitter!
I am a bird with no feather,
Still I can fly with no fear,
Up in the sky and through the river,
The Eternal bliss that found in neither,
Flutter in the hearts, chirp in the mind,
Nestling of super ideas that evolve,
I go in group to target the caves,
Where the darkness pitifully rules,
Escape from the annoyance,
Just walk on the peaceful grass,
Sometimes green, otherwise clueless,
Pecking the juicy fruits and breaking the nuts,
I am a bird with no feathers, but a tweet.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Knowing You're There
Snow melts in the warm sun
My streams flow to you
No one should be this lonely
Birds call in the forest
Red, blue, yellow
The song of spring
They find their sweet mate
Nests in the forest
Blue robins eggs
Why do we hurt one another?
Love is such fire
Are you there?
Can you hear me?
Acorns grow
Rivers swell with love
Hope makes me look for you
Roses haunt me
Starlight kisses the sea
I am twisted
Filled with yearning
I need you
I am growing old
Please find me in time
Hearts need dreams
I am comforted
Knowing you're there
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Branches and Roots
When this bird is flying
let it fly.
Let that singer flit where she will.
Sweet chirper.
Chirp and sing and fly.
There's time enough for the tree's branches
and the tree's roots.
poem by Meli Secret
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Without The Chase
August 31,2009
Pink to blue, to yellow,
to monstrous purple clouds looming on the horizon;
My horizon, layed out before me.
I step out, look up and it flies away.
You fly away. I jump for you
and I am leaping, bounding,
stretchng beyond my limits into pink and blue,
and pink and blue.
But you're gone.
I settle again, shrug, and look
to the monstrous purple clouds.
I could fly away without the chase,
theres just no desire for me to have it any other way.
I blink, and look up again to purple,
lavender, yellow, clouds of the deepest grey.
Dusk settles.
All of a sudden, I can hear everything.
Crickets, every far off chirp in trees.
I smile as I step back in.
Back into sheltered silence.
poem by Monica O'Connor
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Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law
`Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law,
Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will;
And when, at callow-time, you think to find
The sparrow's stationary chirp, lo! bursts
Voyaging voice to glorify the Spring.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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Cricket
Cricket, cricket
chirping all the night.
Why don't you sleep
until the morning light?
I lay there abed
listening to you.
Sometimes you stop.
I think you are through.
But no, chirp, chirp
you start in again.
I'm up searching your sound
but it's then
you are silent
'til I'm back in bed.
You are relentless
and so it is I dread
another sleepless night.
I'll find you in the morn
and when I do,
You'll wish you'd not been born.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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