En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Kingfisher

Sitting still on the overhanging branch
this beautiful creation of bright colours.
Vivid Blue with a flash of Orange,
what a spectacular bird you are.
Then a quick lightening dive
coming back with little fish
what a terrific hunter you are.
Proudly you sit on your branch
brightening up the drabness
what a colourful bird you are.
Your such a wonderous sight
small but big on style
what a super bird you are!

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hypnagogic

a woman dreams that she turns
into an orange bird
and on the other hand the orange
bird seeing her so beautiful and complete
less the orange wings and feathers
dreams of having woman-hands
soft and a flowing body like a slender
river curving through along
the side of a big mountain where
the orange bird perches on a branch
of an olive tree beside it

convoluted, the thoughts unwind
themselves in sleep wanting rest
from all these warping of time
and seasons and images and swapping
between reality and dream
surreal and mundane

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I got one to lose the other

In the course of my journey
I entered a kingdom.
I invaded an enclave,
Where I found a bird,
Quite unlike mine,
So fresh, so strange.
I wished I had had her,
I went to capture the bird,
With the bird, her nest,
With nest its branch,
with the branch the whole tree,
The soil that holds it,
The whole enclave
With its inhabitants,
Plants and animals,
Bees and pests and worms and snakes.
An avaricious act

No more journey.
No home returns either.
What happened to my bird at home?
Who knows?
Maybe someone invaded.
Maybe someone captured.
29.08.2002

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Making Lvoe With Her Own Bed

you are just near me
but between us is a door
and between that door
is another door, and so
when you say a word
i have to figure out what
you really mean,

when i open the door
there is a glass wall and
i thought it was you
humming,

it is cold tonight
i am closing a window
out there
i see a black bird perched
upon a branch,

it is cold and i am shutting
myself for any
kind of significance like

what if the bird dies?
what if the bird is you
disguised as a bird?

tonight i cannot sleep
something bothers me
all these thoughts bother me
there is no note
that you are coming back
from that long trip
away from home

was it Sarah who said
that she is making love with her bed?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bird

(9/15/12)

I saw a bird perched on a tree
I looked at him and he looked at me.
The strangest bird that I ever did see
He had a tail about four inches long
With that body it did not belong.

He had a body smaller than a sparrow
With a beak long and narrow.
He made a sound that I never heard
Not like one you'd hear from a bird.

It was not like the sounds of a love bird
Canary, or cockatoo, but a soft whistle
Which filled the air, and with all
Living things it wanted to share.

It was like a hypnotic sound
And turned my head completely around.
His soft whistling cry was like
A call to the wild
Brought flocks of birds
Of every color and style.

Landing on every branch of the tree
And left no empty space that I could see.
This was the most beautiful sight that
I had ever saw, and I knew
I will see it no more.

© L. RAMS

poem by Louis Rams
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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A beautiful bird that got away

Help me cry for the beautiful bird
So full of life and spotless in nature
Help me cry for the beautiful bird
The one who found refuge and treat me with pleasure

I will cry for the beautiful bird
The bird who shield me with feather and showed me love
I will cry and cry again for the beautiful bird
My beautiful dream that left my heart in knots.

poem by Olufunmbi Aransiola
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Flower and Bird

Amongst the lonely branches of a tree,
Stood a lovely flower fragrant and free,
She was the sight of every passer-by,
'What a beautiful flower! ' people would cry.
The flower in the prime of its youth,
Couldn’t identify life and its real truth,
Proud by its fragrance and beauty it stood,
And thought that beauty was what made it good,
Impressed by its beauty a little bird would sing,
The tale of its love and the whole valley would ring,
Perched on the branch of the great oak tree,
The bird sings its love for the flower to see,
People would stop and look at this tale,
Of the beautiful lady and the gallant male.
And one day the bird let its heart out,
And the beautiful flower refused with pout,
The bird wanting its beloved’s heart,
Asked her, 'What do I do so that we don’t part? '
And the proud flower told the lonely bird,
'There is a flower down the valley, have you heard?
Its brilliant red, is said is more beautiful than me,
So dear bird, make me red, as red as I can be! '
The bird said, 'But your beauty is no match,
So beautiful are you that my heart, you did catch! '
The flower in its pride and anger,
Told the bird 'Oh! Don’t bother',
The sadness in its eyes, the bird couldn’t see,
And said, 'I gift the colour red to thee! '
Saying this he pierced his heart on a thorn,
And spilt the blood on her till he was torn,
And the flower indeed did become red,
With the love of the little bird’s blood,
People would stare at the beautiful flower,
And amongst the branches it would hover,
The people passing soon forgot the song of the bird,
But the silent lament of the flower was never heard,
The flower never forgot the love of its bird,
But the melody of the poor bird was never heard!

poem by Supriya Mothay
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The Mocking Bird On The Tree Fronting The House...

a mocking bird
sits on a branch of a tree
that fronts the house that
papa made

papa is gone.

a mocking bird left but one
sunny day

after the heavy rains for months
the mocking bird comes back

it is bringing silence
unlike all the other mocking birds
in town

the mocking bird is dead
a boy abandoned by his mother
stoned it

now the window if you walk a little
distant from the house
and sit on a bench across the road
looks like a Cheshire cat
giving Alice that fable smile.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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A Poem Of Syntax

A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree

The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue

The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog

I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue

I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Five Flights Up

Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions---if that is what they are---
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.

Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.

The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.

Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
---Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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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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This Little Bird

John d loudermilk
Theres a little bird that somebody sends
Down to the earth to live on the wind.
Born on the wind and he sleeps on the wind
This little bird that somebody sends.
Hes light and fragile and feathered sky blue,
So thin and graceful the sun shines through.
This little bird who lives on the wind,
This little bird that somebody sends.
He flies so high up in the sky
Out of reach of human eye.
And the only time that he touches the ground
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird dies.

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Crouching Low

Two men in ragged clothing
sat beside the road
alert and on the hunt.
Each watched a different direction
looking for game to emerge.
One espied a small bird
unknown to either of them
and its strutting attracted them.

' That bird, ' one man says
'we could kill and eat.
It does not look that fast
and would be easy prey.'

'Well it could work, ' the other man said
'but if we don't hunt him and instead capture him
we could keep him as a pet.'

'What good would that do? ' said the first man.
'We don't need pets.'
'No, no' said the second man
'lets keep the bird
and take its eggs and eat the babies! '

'Now 'said the first man' that makes sense.
The Bird listening to all this with his super hearing
crouched low and muttered 'Barbarians.'

Here comes the Age of the Carnivores.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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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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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
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A Bird of Ploy

In a meadow serene
Appears a sight seldom seen
A bird and a cat
Stand back to back
Take ten paces
Then stop and turn their faces
The bird suddenly draws a gun
The cat in panic leaves on the run
The bird laughing drops the 'toy'
For it was merely a clever ploy
Giving the bird space to fly
Rather than stand, fight... and surely die!

poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Eggs Of The Blue Bird On The Nest

the blue bird
takes care of its nest
all the white eggs
warm beneath its feathers

all those nights
and even cold days

and then when the eggs hatch
the fledgelings
prematurely spread their wings
fall off from the branch
where the nest hangs

on the following morning
you see the ants feasting on their flesh

ah! the blue bird sings again
readies itself for the rain

it escapes away from its sorrows
and flies away...far, far away

far, far away....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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