A migratory widow bird from Afghanistan
Her long black tail feathers and the somber color of its plumage
Gave me an impression of widowhood,
I try to listen her plea and it's sorrowful
The bird speak the language of human
But nobody understands.
'My innocent husband died in the poppy fields while searching food
A bomb dropped from the sky and I escaped and flew here,
Oh! It's a winter I forgot and I left my winter clothing at my husband's roost,
Don't know whether I could be friendly with the birds here? '
*Birds can be unite wherever they fly.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
My Baby Bird
Is it true birds fly south for the winter
Wish i was a bird for just one day
I would fly to and perch on your window
My baby bird flew away
I love you my baby bird
But i had to set you free
I watched you glide with the wind high above the trees
Maybe i could be a boat and sail to your shore
I miss my baby bird
So next winter i will move south
I will look for you in the sky
You are no longer a baby bird as you have grown
Do you now have baby birds of your own
I long to see you again my baby bird my best friend
I wish i was a bird for just one day
I would sore sore so high
Wishing is all i can do for now
How is my baby bird
Do you miss me for i miss you
Bye my baby but not goodbye
The Birds Chattering Inside Your Mouth...
the birds in your mouth
chatter, one bird has blue feathers
and it makes the sweetest song,
the white bird keeps mum over
all these caged noise,
perhaps it understands the language
of the soul,
there is a brick red sparrow
looking out the window
it is speaking in tongues
as i listen attentively and watch all these
within the fences of your face
i feel, but i have to be honest
there is nothing that i understand,
i do not wish to
i have had enough, of those blue, red,
and white birds.
but they must all agree that it is not the song
not their songs, but their
common cage, for not one of them
has uttered the nicest word in the
history of captives,
freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Triangles
Three triangles of birds crossed
Over the enormous ocean which extended
In winter like a green beast.
Everything just lay there, the silence,
The unfolding gray, the heavy light
Of space, some land now and then.
Over everything there was passing
A flight
And another flight
Of dark birds, winter bodies
Trembling triangles
Whose wings,
Frantically flapping, hardly
Can carry the gray cold, the desolate days
From one place to another
Along the coast of Chile.
I am here while from one sky to another
The trembling of the migratory birds
Leaves me sunk inside myself, inside my own matter
Like an everlasting well
Dug by an immovable spiral.
Now they have disappeared
Black feathers of the sea
Iron birds
From steep slopes and rock piles
Now at noon
I am in front of emptiness. It’s a winter
Space stretched out
And the sea has put
Over its blue face
A bitter mask.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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A Husband...
A husband should be
Loyal and honest
A husband should be
Strong and protective
A husband should be
Loving and romantic
A husband should be
Patient and understanding
A husband should know
When enough is enough
A husband should know
When to fight and when to cry
A husband should know
all your goals and dreams
A husband should know
your strengths and well as your weaknesses
A husband needs to be a true man
A husband needs to love you unconditionally
A husband needs to know your heart is forever his
poem by Sarah Holmes
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A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Other Side of the Fence Always Looks Green
I saw a bird
Sitting in the window
She looked
Calm and cozy
I told her
She was lucky
Could fly in the sky
Go from place to place
See the world swiftly
She replied
Other side of the fence
Always looks green
I have to save myself
From big birds
Preying on me
Human beings always
Trying to catch me
Hot summer, cold winter
Kills many of us
Throughout the day
I have to search for food
Cannot store food
Like you can do
Our nests are weak
Get easily destroyed
In rain and storm
To save my life from
A boy with a catapult
Searching for me
I am hiding
In the window
Near you
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Never let the 'Hope' die...!
Hopes are feathers, a wish is a bird
One may find this simile a little absurd
Hold on, do not lose patience
As I will explain to you the essence
Behind this there is a theory
I shall relate this with a story
Feathers, they keep the bird warm
Likewise hopes keep our wishes strong
Clip the feathers and the bird will not fly
Were it not for hope our wishes would die
My fellow beings, listen to what i have to say
Keep on hoping, what you wish for will come your way
Let your wishes, as birds, freely fly
As long as your hope, you never let die.
poem by Ravi Singh
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Adobe Feelings 01
Golden butterflies flying
Winter searching dreamy rose
Cool rainbow feelings
Midnight winter midst
Nocturnal birds crying around
Diary crawl under ribs
Winter smiles at night
Cuckoos consultation meeting
Spring sprouts on time-calyx
poem by Ashraful Musaddeq
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Ode on Winter
The Whispering wind blows beside me,
And the chirping birds softly sing their song,
The living leaves of Gaia no longer we see,
As winter has come and it seeks to live long.
The tunes of winter sung by wolves,
And its liveliness’ shown by fog,
The dance of winter preformed by ghouls,
Oh winter, thy shall now have thy own synagogue.
poem by Aditya Mudbhary
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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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Forest In Winter
Winter’s chill winds again, and the birds
wing silently through the white pine trees
searching the snow for food, scratching the ground
when they find signs of sustenance.
A blanket of whiteness deadens my footsteps
but seems to sharpen the whistling of the wind,
and is raised and gathered into gusts that rage
shrill and stinging against the trunks of the trees.
Like a cold steel knife
winter bites icily into the cracked bark,
and the forest sways,
but with proud fortitude,
for winter is a hard taskmaster,
but fiercely beautiful.
poem by Rory Hudson
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Little Birds
last posture
pink little sparrow
so still in its few feathers
(a dead bird i saw that moved me nearly to tears)
inspired by
Little Birds
Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters -
I've a Tale to tell.
Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam,
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters -
That is what I am.
Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile,
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirkle -
Mouth a semicircle,
That's the proper style!
Little Birds are sleeping
All among the pins,
Where the loser wins:
Where, I say, he sneezes
When and how he pleases -
So the Tale begins.
Little Birds are writing
Interesting books,
To be read by cooks:
Read, I say, not roasted -
Letterpress, when toasted,
Loses its good looks.
Little Birds are playing
Bagpipes on the shore,
Where the tourists snore:
'Thanks! ' they cry. ''Tis thrilling!
Take, oh take this shilling!
Let us have no more! '
Little Birds are bathing
Crocodiles in cream,
Like a happy dream:
Like, but not so lasting -
Crocodiles, when fasting,
Are not all they seem!
Little Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:
Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter -
Merely for the fun.
Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpet-bags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten -
Since our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.
Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold,
Pale with sudden cold:
Pale, I say, and wrinkled -
When the bells have tinkled,
And the Tale is told.
Lewis Carroll
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Ode 300: Sun and moon, listen to my grievance!
From: Book of Ode
Period: Spring and Autumn
Dynasty: Eastern Zhou
Section: Songs of Wei State
(Collected by Confucius)
Translated by Laijon Liu (2007.08.14)
Sun and moon, listen to my grievance!
Your great lights shining upon earth.
But I have never seen such man,
Who forgot his home and course.
He keeps not vow of husband and wife,
And why he refuses to come into my room?
Sun and moon, listen to my grievance!
Your great lights shining upon earth.
But I have never seen such man,
Who forgot my love and grace.
He keeps not vow of husband and wife,
Why he leaves me alone in my empty room?
Sun and moon, listen to my grievance!
Your great lights shining upon earth.
But I have never seen such man,
Who lost his honor and Heaven’s bliss.
He keeps not vow of husband and wife,
And I should forget him, away with sorrow.
Sun and moon, listen to my grievance!
You rise from east with shining rays.
Ah- my daddy and my mommy,
My husband loves me no more.
He keeps not vow of husband and wife,
And I will not suffer in sorrow any more!
Note:
The poet may be a young and just married wife lived in State of Wei. She complained about her husband that stopped loving her. And she eventually thinks wisely that “Anyway he does not keep his vow, so she gives up her sorrow, or maybe seeks a new beginning.”
From:
http: //laijonliu.blogspot.com/
poem by Laijon Liu
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One Day Nearer Spring
The weather cold this morning it is only two degrees
And a thick fog through the woodland, I can hardly see the trees
And the wildborn birds are silent there is scarcely any breeze
It's a day for woolly jumper though not cold enough to freeze.
For Winter in Victoria the weather seems quite dry
And the mornings foggy and quite cold allowing for July
And the fog doesn't lift till mid morning and the sun shines through the gray
And you see the grayness of your breath on a chilly Winter
day.
But only yesterday I saw male blackbird searching for a nesting site
On the ivy along galvanize fence in mid afternoon sunlight
And from there he flew to camellia tree as he pondered on where best
Might be the safest place for him and his mate to build their year's first nest.
The last leaves off of deciduous tree lay scattered on the ground
And in the grayness of the dawn the silence is profound,
The ghost like trees shrouded in gray and the birds refuse to sing
But every Winter day that dawns is one day nearer Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Bird’s Song
Swim through oceans of air
Birds keep time up there
And spend their days winging
Through forests of clouds, singing
Hymns of nature’s style
Fluttering away all the while
Dancing with angels in the sky
Dancing, dancing as they fly
Through fields of blue
Just to sing their song for you.
Mountains of clouds all about
Saviors in times of drought
Gather up the tears you cry
Into your reservoir in the sky
And listen to the birds sing
Listen for the song in everything
From the forests to the sea
From the bird to the bee
Listen and the song is there
Nature sings everywhere.
The sun rejoices each new day
But it rises in the usual way
To wake up the world with beams of light
And to conquer the darkness of night
But still the birds sing their song
A tribute to the day that’s long
And travel through fields of blue
Just to sing their song for you
And then when all has gone away
They’ll sing for you some other day.
poem by Jamie Collins
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Birds
On seeing Birds, shot in the air,
Falling half-dead to the ground,
I simply fume, ’Tis not fair,
For the hunter is the world!
Birds like only freedom,
They get it but seldom,
Caged are they so often,
Killed for no good reason,
Witness to the creation,
They glide and dart in fashion,
It is He that feeds them,
Not the world, I or them.
Why then disturb the plumes,
And feathers of the air?
They can bear no ill-will,
Nor do they complain still,
Birds are beauteous beings,
Innocent, habits so nice,
Render the air with music,
To ears, so pleasant and wise.
Birds have their courtship,
And times of hardship,
Changing seasons, Sun and food,
Prefer to live as they should.
poem by John Celes
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Winter
Autumn leaves blow around
slowly Winter creeps on forward
bringing an icy chill to the air.
Frost in the morning carpets the fields
above the Blue skies change to Grey
darkness moves on in early.
As winds whistle a song in the trees
below Squirrels squabble with birds over food
Snowdrops pop their heads out of the earth.
This is Winter the cold season
the prelude to Spring
to some harsh and bleak
others very beautiful.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Don't die this winter
Don't die this unfriendly winter and interrupt it
Unfriendly people should speak and go
It's a cold winter seasons are cousins
They visit one, at the time
Even the world is trembling
is in white dress
Smoke oozing from its mouth
Its cold dry winter
And all the seasons are on succession
It's a windy winter
Its hard to live
This winter is unusual
It freeze the pockets of the pocketers
Is a cloudy winter and sun is scarcity
We are all out for it
We all hunt it like hunters
And hunted like an animal
When we find it
We lean on the walls like lizards
Its winter of winters
All our cloths are on us and still freezing
It's a Monday of this winter
No one in school and everywhere else
Coldness blare our idea
No birds and animals out
It's freezing to death
Don't die this winter
If you die you might be buried with ice
And snore will be the congregation
Wind will be a choir
It's a winter of questions
If you die today
You will not receive attention you need
Peter will be on fire and other gatekeepers
No one will welcome you in heaven
When you go to hell
Devil will be unfriendly too
he doesn't like visitors on winter
he will ask you to light up your own fire
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Immortal Autumn
I speak this poem now with grave and level voice
In praise of autumn, of the far-horn-winding fall.
I praise the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tall
Unanswering branches where the wind makes sullen noise.
I praise the fall: it is the human season.
Now
No more the foreign sun does meddle at our earth,
Enforce the green and bring the fallow land to birth,
Nor winter yet weigh all with silence the pine bough,
But now in autumn with the black and outcast crows
Share we the spacious world: the whispering year is gone:
There is more room to live now: the once secret dawn
Comes late by daylight and the dark unguarded goes.
Between the mutinous brave burning of the leaves
And winter’s covering of our hearts with his deep snow
We are alone: there are no evening birds: we know
The naked moon: the tame stars circle at our eaves.
It is the human season. On this sterile air
Do words outcarry breath: the sound goes on and on.
I hear a dead man’s cry from autumn long since gone.
I cry to you beyond upon this bitter air.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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