Where the freer delicate birds are destined to fly?
Please make a significant mark on the seamless pale blue sky
As the marvelous invisible Master painter who never leaves at least a brush mark for them to see the road?
My dear fragile birds it's advisable to fly in the daylight.
Oh! This horrible night sky, do you think the proud star would guide you or the haughty moon would have a kind word with you?
Though the Sun is cruel or prodigal,
Anyway he gives you the light equal as a parole to see the opaque destination.
* [A wingless migratory bird flies towards the Syrian sky in search of the poetess Suzie.Gharib.As a formality, does the responsible authority inquires the relevant papers from this biting bird? ]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Little Bird Song
Theres a little bird
Somebody sent down to earth
To live along the wind
Blowing on the wind
And she sleeps on the wind
This little bird, somebody sent
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
And the only time that she touches ground
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird dies
song performed by by Jewel
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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Moon, We Look to You.
Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight –
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright,
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.
Moon, despite the clarity of sky,
Metaphors of cloud that fluff with grey
Drift across your rounded face to spy;
Feeding back, there's awfully much to say.
Moon, you have a role to play up there –
We below must bear the earthly pain.
Duty bound, we shoulder sorrows fair –
You are free from our grotesque disdain.
Moon, we depend on you to shine
When the sun retires down below.
Add to that your grandest role divine:
Tidal Lord, to keep the seas in tow!
Moon, I hope you take to heart our plea –
Needless is the reason for your blue.
Beaming, you should give the night its glee:
We're despairing – so we look to you.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parting
He. Dear, I must be gone
While night Shuts the eyes
Of the household spies;
That song announces dawn.
She. No, night's bird and love's
Bids all true lovers rest,
While his loud song reproves
The murderous stealth of day.
He. Daylight already flies
From mountain crest to crest
She. That light is from the moon.
He. That bird...
She. Let him sing on,
I offer to love's play
My dark declivities.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Name this bird
Name this bird
If you are.
If you wish
Go there.
Geography
I do not like.
History
This bird
is not feathery.
See the word
Search the bird.
The bird I saw
Above the rulrs
Above the law.
If you wish
Go and tell
But please
Do not say
The bird is in sleep
And not here to clip.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crippled Bird
A broken heart like a broken wing
It must have its time to mend
I am like a crippled bird
In hopes one day to fly again
I loved you so and I was faithful
I cared more than words could say
But love is cruel and life is hateful
Now youve gone and flown away
Chorus:
Oh, to die, twould be a pleasure
Slow to heal, but quick to cry
Fragile as a sparrows feather
Crippled bird too blue to fly
Oh, the loss is cold and shameful
And the grief so deep and sharp
There is nothing quite as painful
As a true blue broken heart
Repeat chorus
Fragile as a sparrows feather
Crippled bird too blue to fly
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Blue Bird Sings
oh! the wind cries with it
when the blue bird begins to sing
when the night is so cold
when the moon hides behind
the clouds
oh! the leaves begin to hush
and sympathize
but the blue bird does not stop singing
and then it stops
at dusk
it is no longer there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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A Song Of The Sea.
Here within the half-light 'tween the night and day
Upon the sands I lie, with thoughts that idly stirr'd
Seem, as in a dream, with life and death to play,
As o'er the sea there flits a pale white bird.
In my heart I hear it, the murmur of the sea,
Ah! and memories of other lives are stirr'd,
As somewise there came a mystic voice to me
As o'er the sea there flits a pale white bird.
Who but knows that in me is a ghost that hears
A voice it heard of old in the primeval word —
A memory so dim, it like a dream appears
As o'er the sea there flits a pale white bird!
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A skew of a Skylark
I see my haughty star's profile and for your information
I am a runner-up; Run-of-the-mill in the mysterious blue sky.
My high-spirited heart-string strums a sad tune in highly-strung.
This hermit's hermetic heart is open for your kind perusal
And if if you just peep through your hideout that's greatly appreciated.
I search the unattended umpire to get his kind permission to unbolt your secret door.
* A humble dedication to the poetess Linda.Ori
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I want to fly!
yes, you do.
where do you want to go?
i am looking for a new home
how does one grow wings?
i want to fly...
it is the most quiet conversation.
the man begs to understand
why the mouth he is blest with does not take the shape of a beak.
the bird sings of many lands
the man has not yet been to
the little brown bird's heart is a ray of sun
but the man does not know
inside the wars are all in the making
outside it is still calm
the bird and the man kiss
the bird flies
the man falls asleep
the man flies
the bird is dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Break o’ Day
You love me, you say, and I think you do,
But I know so many who don’t,
And how can I say I’ll be true to you
When I know very well that I won’t?
I have journeyed long and my goal is far,
I love, but I cannot bide,
For as sure as rises the morning star,
With the break of day I’ll ride.
I was doomed to ruin or doomed to mar
The home wherever I stay,
But I’ll think of you as the morning star
And they call me Break o’ Day.
They well might have named me the Fall o’ Night,
For drear is the track I mark,
But I love fair girls and I love the light,
For I and my tribe were dark.
You may love me dear, for a day and night,
You may cast your life aside;
But as sure as the morning star shines bright
With the break of day I’ll ride.
There was never a lover so proud and kind,
There was never a friend so true;
But the song of my life I have left behind
In the heart of a girl like you.
There was never so deep or cruel a wrong
In the land that is far away,
There was never so bitter a broken heart
That rode at the break of day.
God bless you, dear, with your red-gold hair
And your pitying eyes of grey—
Oh! my heart forbids that a star so fair
Should be marred by the Break o’ Day.
Live on, my girl, as the girl you are,
Be a good and a true man’s bride,
For as sure as beckons the evening star
With the fall o’ night I’ll ride.
I was born to ruin or born to mar
The home wherever I light.
Oh! I wish that you were the Evening Star
And that I were the Fall o’ Night.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of God-Makers
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That night the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
‘If he speak two more words,' they said,
‘The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
‘The stars are under the sea.'
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
‘Lo, let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.'
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
‘Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.'
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
‘Thou art the prince of all,' they sang,
‘Ocean and earth and air.'
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man's hair.
‘Thou art the son of the world.' they cried, `
‘Speak if our prayers be heard.'
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man's hair
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world's last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And a bird flew out of the dead Christ's hair,
And lit on a lemon tree.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Blue Bird And The Old Man Under The Tree
and the old man with a sigh murmurs upon himself
'little bird, little bird,
how sweet is your song
how i wish i can listen
some more time'
and the little blue bird high on the tree stops to sing
and looks at the old man with pity
tweeting
'my dear old man
would you like to be a little blue bird some other time? '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Moon Why Are We So Gray?
the skys are black tonight and theres a blue moon above my head
the sky seems sad tonight and now the moon is bleeding red
i look up to the sky
i feel so small
asking it for the answers
but all it ever gives me is silence-all you ever give me is silence
i ask you dear moon 'what's wrong with me y are all my colors gray? '
but u dear moon never answered my question
as the light began transforming night into day
i said 'dear moon why must you be this way? '
and finally you answered much to my delight
u sent a shooting star to chase away the night
and moon u did answer
from your pearch high in the sky
you said to me dearest moon 'i am you and you are i'
so i said 'well y so quite moon? '
and she said 'well y so quite girl? '
and then i had my answer.
everything looks gray in the stars light and you my Love will always be my star.
The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove
It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.
It is a cool night.
The bird is asleep.
The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.
And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Blue Bird...
THERE is a blue bird
nesting inside my belly
there are butterflies in
there too,
THERE is nothing that
comes out from my belly
there is nothing that
flutters in there
nothing flies away
there is nothing
that comes out from
my mouth
THERE is only a blue bird
in my belly
the butterflies do not
last
only the blue bird
yes
this blue bird
this silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of God-Makers
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That right the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
'If he speak two more words,' they said,
'The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
'The stars are under the sea.'
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
'Lo; let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.'
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
'Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.'
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
'Thou art the prince of all,' they sang,
'Ocean and earth and air.'
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man's hair.
'Thou art the sun of the world,' they cried,
'Speak if our prayers be heard.'
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man's hair,
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world's last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And the bird flew out of the dead Christ's hair,
And lit on a lemon-tree.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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From Dusk to Dawn
As the end of the day takes on a stillness,
and the daylight blue changes to grey.
The twilight suddenly becomes quite noisy
as the birds have their last say.
They flutter for position on the branches
and disturb the stillness of the leaves.
Squabbling for their night-time roosts,
with the magpies dominating with ease.
It takes quite a while for the birds to settle,
but there's a disagreeable one,
and that one brings mayhem to the treetops,
until persuaded it's time to move on.
As dawn approaches there's a movement,
a bird changes its place of stay.
An early bird welcomes in the new morning
as it gets its first sight of day.
Early hours and the treetops are waking,
the magpie tidies its wings and tail.
Yesterday’s bread is much too hard to swallow,
so it swoops down, and wets it in the pail.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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