Hawk Revisited III
with any but imagination's eye.
Yet nothing but a hawk it was
the hawk I saw just then-
and will probably see again
that loves its element and breaks no law
and, capable to start a dream or two
offers for itself its best excuse.
How should I conclude?
In the welter of opinion
your own is good and just as probable:
everything in time-
and loving truth, detesting lies,
even useful ones
know that what you saw you saw
and where and when and why.
What you see you see-
the next time people disagree
don't be so polite.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Related quotes
Hawk Revisited
Told of the hawk on the rail
friends wink.
'A hawk? In the Barrio'?
Not knowing what to think
they glance at each other, first, then at their knees,
stare at the vacant rail, then back at me
as if I'd claimed to see
an elf in Bermudas sipping a Sea-Breeze;
hasten to agree
concluding my mistake, if any, harmless-
the sort of thing that happens every day,
'Goodbye', say, and quickly slip away.
Till I conclude the raptor on the rail
the ruins of a burst balloon
snatched by the wind from some child's bouquet
caught, now, on the rail's disjointed finger;
or, drifting in place
an expirant shred of sooty plastic;
some out-the-window flung
sheer article of lingerie;
a wretched mistake-
an hallucination
a figment of imagination,
indigestion-
anything but the hawk it was.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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The Goshawk
The turning hawk suddenly breaks its flight
with claws stretched out,
it falls like thunder from the sky.
The turning hawk suddenly breaks its flight
and even when its prey is anxious
.it falls as if it is drawing into the earth;
the turning hawk suddenly breaks its flight,
with claws stretched out.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hawk IIII
So I sat up and stared at the place the hawk had been-
rose, shuffled to the window, in fact
the Barrio was still the Barrio, in every respect:
the Projects not going anywhere fast,
the cars still parked along the curb
yellow, black, red and green
the little tree empty of wrens.
'Well', I thought,
present or absent
a hawk makes nothing different.
Difference, the mis-en-scene, the meaning
being the human part, and up to me. The hawk
was just a hawk sitting in a place where you don't normally
expect to see a hawk, that's all.
But I couldn't help thinking of the way
the halk made the neighborhood quite wonderful-
here: a flyway, and gone,
just a desolate, hawkless tract.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Ballades V - Of His Choice of a Sepulchre
HERE I ’d come when weariest!
Here the breast
Of the Windberg’s tufted over
Deep with bracken; here his crest
Takes the west,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover.
Silent here are lark and plover;
In the cover
Deep below, the cushat best
Loves his mate, and croons above
O’er their nest,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover.
Bring me here, Life’s tired-out guest,
To the blest
Bed that waits the weary rover,—
Here should failure be confest;
Ends my quest,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
ENVOY
Friend, or stranger kind, or lover,
Ah, fulfil a last behest,
Let me rest
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Hawk And Buckle
Where is the landlord of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Master Straddler this hot summer weather?
He's along in the tap-room with broad cheeks a-chuckle,
And ten bold companions all drinking together.
Where is the daughter of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Mistress Jenny this hot summer weather?
She sits in the parlour with smell of honeysuckle,
Trimming her bonnet with red ostrich feather.
Where is the ostler of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Willy Jakeman this hot summer weather?
He is rubbing his eyes with a slow and lazy knuckle
As he wakes from his nap on a bank of fresh heather.
Where is the page boy of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of our young Charlie this hot summer weather?
He is bobbing for tiddlers in a little trickle-truckle,
With his line and his hook and his breeches of leather.
Where is the grey goat of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of pretty Nanny this hot summer weather?
She stays not contented with little or with muckle,
Straining for daisies at the end of her tether.
For this is our motto at old Hawk and Buckle,
We cling to it close and we sing all together,
'Every man for himself at our old Hawk and Buckle,
And devil take the hindmost this hot summer weather.'
poem by Robert Graves
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You Are A Human Being
You don’t float because
Your father is a carpenter
He floats well in water because
His father is a duck
On the other hand, he flies
Well in air, not because his
Father is a vulture, it is obvious
He looks like a hawk and acts like a hawk
It is obvious,
He is a hawk himself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The sparrow flying behind the hawk thinks the hawk is fleeing.
Loves true meaning!
Loves True Meaning
Take time to compromise
If you have to criticise
Choose words that are wise
Or you may have to pay a price
Indulge in patience
Try to experience
the good and the bad
and make reference
to everything without pretence
Show each other respect
Rather than detect and inspect
What you do not like
Your different ways
You must accept
There has to be an element of trust
telling lies is the worst
The truth always comes out eventually
and then you are bust
Love with a passion
Give it your all
Do not ration
Use your imagination
Spice it all up
Work your way from
the bottom to the top
And don't you ever stop!
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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I don't think radio is selling records like they used to. They'd hawk the song and hawk the artist and you'd get so excited, you'd stop your car and go into the nearest record store.
quote by Herb Alpert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Easy To Forget
Somewhere the truth lies still and frozen
why can’t we measure ourselves?
Measure the unseen depth?
Not for gain, not for bliss.
For inner tranquility, moving into the time
where living and dead meet.
The silhouette of cicrcling hawk was frightening
the Sun was wilting
and I had entered into a lonely sky.
The flash of insight burned my thoughts.
I must count my gifts.
Time was ruining my creases.
Here was a naked truth
unclothed by time
beyond the innocence of age.
You were walking on the planks of emptiness,
inviting death.
Was it so easy to die?
Easy to forget the unforgetful?
Your loaded years falling away?
poem by Satish Verma
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There Is No Us
frankly, there is no us.
there is only me and there is only you.
that is the truth,
the bitter truth, but there was a time
oh, it was rare
when i tried to imagine,
oh, imagination goes everywhere i think,
there is no limit to imagination they say
but thinking has
it has walls and fences, thinking limits
where tolerance lies,
there was a time when i imagine us
hand in hand, arms around arms,
forgive my imagination, but there was a time
when i imagine that we made love beside the river
that we were so exhausted after and that we made a promise
to live forever, us, us, together,
but as i told you, in that dream, imagination has no limits
it is crazy, but thinking is sane, it puts a limit to my illusions
and my own delusions about love and togetherness,
about us, but thinking says, and it says with straightforwardness
of a man decisive about an ending
and so i ended it, because i agree, and i definitely agree,
our situation is sky and earth, floor and ceiling,
we do not meet, even halfway on some compromises
there is no us, really, just you and me,
at the end, i love myself much better than i love you,
and so here i am,
gone for good, away from you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Birdie on the Seventh Hole, Shoot like a Pro
John Henry (Tripp) Isenhour III is a real jerk,
He was at the Grand Cypress Golf course,
Where he had been taping a television when there was a sound,
Not a “Fore”,
not car,
not a cow
or a horse,
Tripp was furious,
-no, not Linda Tripp,
he had to silence the source.
It was a red-shouldered hawk got Tripp upset when he had to do another take.
Tripp waited and waited for right shot to silence the squawking bird.
Tripp drove the golf ball 75 yards to the birdie.
The hawk was silent; the golf ball struck its mark,
The blood from the bird’s nostrils did not make the killing fake.
Usually birds are killed with baseballs or M1 Abrams Tanks,
(see Observation Farewell to Feathers) ,
But this was feat that was terrible for the red shouldered hawk,
and later Tripp,
Because the hawk is a protected species.
Tripp was arrested and faces 2 years and $1,500 in fines,
I hope he is found guilty and gets the maximum sentence.
Enough time for him to finish his subject on Man’s Endangerment t to Wildlife thesis.
(3-7-2008)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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Hawk I
There was a hawk on the porch rail this morning
the span of your arm.
suddenly, out of nowhere it was there:
not unknown in Central Park, maybe,
but here in East Harlem-rare,
sitting asquat the gleaming, sun-licked bar.
You could see the projects over its wing-shoulder
the Babel-like water-tower.
You could see the cars parked down the block
like never because of mister or miss hawk.
Never have I seen a hawk so up-close.
I could feel the slight tilt of its reddish head,
its feral, yellow eye, led
it seemed, by genuine interest
to range along the neighborhood
sampling each scene as from a smorgasboard of views-
a bite of this, of this. An eye feast.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Hawk Pride
My Hawk Pride
Will Never Die
For as long as I Live
It will forever Fly
For I am not an Eagle
I am not a bird
I am a Hwak
That lead's a Herd
I am the Hawk
That walk's The Sky
This Pride Will Never Die
poem by Damien Smith
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Have A Good Time
Words & music by paul simon
Yesterday it was my birthday
I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My lifes a mess
But Im having a good time
Oo, Ive been loving and loving and loving
Im exhausted from loving so well
I should go to bed
But a voice in my head
Says ah, what the hell
Have a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
Paranoia strikes deep in the heartland
But I think its all overdone
Exaggerating this and exaggerating that
They dont have no fun
I dont believe what I read in the papers
Theyre just out to capture my dime
I aint worrying
And I aint scurrying;
Im having a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
Maybe Im laughing my way to disaster
Maybe my race has been run
Maybe Im blind to the fate of mankind
But what can be done?
So God bless the goods we was given
And God bless the u. s. of a.
And God bless our standard of livin
Lets keep it that way
And well all have a good time
Repeat and fade:
Have a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
Have a good time
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Circle
A rain hawk circles in the dawn.
The dawn uncovers the trees;
the trees lead to a forest.
The forest sinks into the damp earth;
the damp earth waters the stones.
Stones are under a rain hawk -
a rain hawk circles in the dawn
a rain hawk circles in the dawn.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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When Love Breaks Down
My love and I
We work well together
But often we're apart
Absence makes the
heart lose weight, yeah
'Til love breaks down,
love breaks down
Oh my, oh my
Have you seen the weather
The sweet September rain
Rain on me
like no other
Until I drown, until I drown
When love breaks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When love breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
My love and I
We are boxing clever
He'll never crowd me out
Both be free as old confetti
And paint the town, paint the town
When love breaks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When loves breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
we join the wrecks
Who leave their hearts for easy sex
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
My love and I
We were high and climbing
Into the sky of blue
Loud with colours
of a rainbow
A changing view
Changing view
When love breoks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When love breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
we join the wrecks
Who leave their hearts for easy sex
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unknown
Ye aspiring ones, listen to the story of the unknown
Who lies here with no stone to mark the place.
As a boy reckless and wanton,
Wandering with gun in hand through the forest
Near the mansion of Aaron Hatfield,
I shot a hawk perched on the top
Of a dead tree.
He fell with guttural cry
At my feet, his wing broken.
Then I put him in a cage
Where he lived many days cawing angrily at me
When I offered him food.
Daily I search the realms of Hades
For the soul of the hawk,
That I may offer him the friendship
Of one whom life wounded and caged.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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He Is Poor
she picks her
from mud
he tells her
he loves her
and she believes him
and dresses and feeds him
and he tells her more that
he loves her truly and that
he will love her forever
he needs her
that is nearer to the truth
and she is the most hopeless romantic in town
and thirsty for love
many years back when she had an attempt
of taking her life
she is still suicidal
he loves ease and comfort
that is nearer to the truth
and she knows that well too,
he loves another but she loves him more than that
she keeps what she knows
he hides what he can
and they live in one house
and sleep in one bed and dream
and learn to survive
in this kind of situation
loving and pretending
and keeping that matter within themselves
for how many years
since then?
12 years and there will be more
time passing by
like a stranger fitting
his night in a motel
that is the truth, and they
do not mind it anymore
'who cares? ' their theme.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Recluse
He says he wants to remain a Recluse
May be work stress and time constraints
are the real Reasons.
Or may be, he wants to use these
as an Alibi or an Excuse
for staying away -
and warding me off his Life.
Whatever may be the Reason or Excuse
for his wanting to remain a Recluse.
Nice Formalities we exchange
in this Relationship of Formalities.
Hi, Hullo, Take Care, Bye
How Informal can it all be -
Greetings and Pleasantries
of Thanks and Welcome
as if we are striving to be
Courteous and Polite all the way.
Being Frank and Outspoken
doesn't really help -
in this Formal Friendship.
Should not speak one's Mind
Keep clutching our hearts
lest we commit the age old
adulterous mistake
of giving in to Impropriety.
Let us be Moral, Ethical, Judicious
and Justified.
In this Society of Thinkers and Doers.
Lest these Thinking and Doing People
in the name of Social Reform
accuse us of Blasphemy.
B'cos they Seem to be the Judges
of what is Right and what is Wrong.
So let's listen to their dictates
and silence our yearnings
B'cos we live for them
and they exist to tell us
how do we make our lives worth living.
Yes, we need to restrain and limit
ourselves -
and bury those feelings in our bodies
Acting as Robots to their Rules
So much so for social respectability.
And of course, zeroing on to him
I guess he is telling me the truth
of his wanting to be a Recluse
and the reasons are Real
not just an Excuse.
Though even if he fibs and lies
How am I supposed to know?
You see, I am No God.
Yes, he does ask me to trust him
at face value -
take his words to be the ultimate truth.
Well, I do or I do not
Does it really matter?
If one loves, love shall he
be there trust or treachery.
For me, love is forever...
and a Beloved is for life.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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