Ode To Bird Watching
Now
Let's look for birds!
The tall iron branches
in the forest,
The dense
fertility on the ground.
The world
is wet.
A dewdrop or raindrop
shines,
a diminutive star
among the leaves.
The morning time
mother earth
is cool.
The air
is like a river
which shakes
the silence.
It smells of rosemary,
of space
and roots.
Overhead,
a crazy song.
It's a bird.
How
out of its throat
smaller than a finger
can there fall the waters
of its song?
Luminous ease!
Invisible
power
torrent
of music
in the leaves.
Sacred conversations!
Clean and fresh washed
is this
day resounding
like a green dulcimer.
I bury
my shoes
in the mud,
jump over rivulets.
A thorn
bites me and a gust
of air like a crystal
wave
splits up inside my chest.
Where
are the birds?
Maybe it was
that
rustling in the foliage
or that fleeting pellet
of brown velvet
or that displaced
perfume? That
leaf that let loose cinnamon smell
- was that a bird? That dust
from an irritated magnolia
or that fruit
which fell with a thump -
was that a flight?
Oh, invisible little
critters
birds of the devil
with their ringing
with their useless feathers.
I only want
to caress them,
to see them resplendent.
I don't want
to see under glass
the embalmed lightning.
I want to see them living.
I want to touch their gloves
of real hide,
which they never forget in
the branches
and to converse with
them
sitting on my shoulders
although they may leave
me like certain statues
undeservedly whitewashed.
Impossible.
You can't touch them.
You can hear them
like a heavenly
rustle or movement.
They converse
with precision.
They repeat
their observations.
They brag
of how much they do.
They comment
on everything that exists.
They learn
certain sciences
like hydrography.
and by a sure science
they know
where there are harvests
of grain
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Related quotes
Listen to The Song of Invisible Bird!
Listen to The Song of that invisible bird,
The Song of great singer several souls heard,
Sings sitting on tree of life, hidden under every leaf,
Its song go unheard by those pretend deaf,
Ever tuned to that great music,
Everytime it sings same song,
But with different lyrics and different words,
Autumn may come followed by spring,
Leaves may fall to make way to new,
Each leaf has that song, the bird flies under cover of green leaf,
When old yellow one fall,
Green leaves should learn from the fall of the old!
One can wait flowers to bloom,
Or can reap all fruits mature,
or remove immature buds or raw fruits,
The tree of life spread to several worlds,
One parallel to other,
Makes one world happy by another,
some may cross and intersect,
only to give or take life!
Come an sit near a flower,
Look at frog waiting for insects to come,
The invisible bird sings its song,
May it be heart of the flower,
It is flower for you,
source of nectar to insects,
place where frog gets its food!
It is cage for that bird ready to fly,
enters as nectar into insect,
and it enters frog as insects,
and moves along food chain,
It may be invisible to these eyes,
Yet it has its flight can be seen,
Look at your heart, the same bird sing,
Who knows when and where is its next flight?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Bird-Magic
Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes
Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour,
And brings where no bird wings,
Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.
What do I want when a woman can warm
Bird-magic from her bosom, her womanly arms?
Her lips that are petals, her thighs that are trees,
Boughful with blossoms of softness and ease?
What is the liquid that lingers with love
In her voice? Is the music that hangs in her eyes?
The dewdrop.that dangles from finger-tip touch?
The mellifluous magic that moves me so much?
This is no bird-magic:
This is woman, who with a sweep of her hair
Sends birds bursting to wings in the air.
This is woman, whose frown
Droops dark feathers down.
This is woman; her smile, her kiss, her holding in arms,
Hold more bliss for me than bird-charms.
poem by Tan Pratonix
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The last thing I have, to offer you
Not long back
I was standing tall with
My branches spread
Upwards, downwards and
In all directions sideward
It was green all around my trunk
My leaves glittering in the bright sun
They fell just after winter
Only to strike again with full vigour
I used to blossom in yellow
With pendant like red dots in the middle
And my flowers shared in secret
The whispers of young lovers in my town
Some offered my flowers to their gods
And felt blessed by the divine
These flowers attracted insects
And colourful butterflies
Who returned intoxicated
Totally nectar drunk
I bore cherry red fruits
They were feast to sparrows
Squirrels and crows
Children of the town
Squeezed my fruits
And enjoyed the sweet flesh
Coated over the big seed inside
My branches housed nests
With young birds waiting for
Their mother's return to feed them
And my thin branches helped
These young birds launch their
First flights under their mother’s guard
At times over my dark rough bark
Snakes ran up to the nests
To prey on the eggs and young ones
I was happy never once these snakes succeeded
My roots were ever busy
Tapping soil nutrients and
Sending them up to each of my tip
My leaves waved and ensured
Regular flow of oxygen rich cool air
Adding comfort to those who chose
To rest a while beneath my mammoth shadow
It was all pleasure for me
To see many around me in comfort
With whatever I can offer to them
All these came to a sudden end
When an unkind lightning struck me
I received the shock of my life
A hot wave ran through the entire me
From the top to the root bottom
And what happened
All functions in me
Came to an abrupt end
My leaves turned yellow and brown
To leave me and they fell in silence
My branches dried and turned black
The fruits did not ripe
I started drying up with no more
Supply of water from the ground
I am stark naked standing like a
Threatening skeleton
Birds, insects and people
Do not visit me
Am I turning useless
But let people know I have some thing
Also to offer
Delay further not and cut me
Burn me and enjoy the warmth
Of my heat and of my burning heart
The last thing I have, to offer you
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Paraphrase Of Heine
(LYRIC INTERMEZZO)
There fell a star from realms above--
A glittering, glorious star to see!
Methought it was the star of love,
So sweetly it illumined me.
And from the apple branches fell
Blossoms and leaves that time in June;
The wanton breezes wooed them well
With soft caress and amorous tune.
The white swan proudly sailed along
And vied her beauty with her note--
The river, jealous of her song,
Threw up its arms to clasp her throat.
But now--oh, now the dream is past--
The blossoms and the leaves are dead,
The swan's sweet song is hushed at last,
And not a star burns overhead.
poem by Eugene Field
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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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That Morning Years Ago
the chickens just jumped
from the branches
where at night they are
birds
the white magnolia just
bloomed
such a nice scent spread
in the air
the bamboo leaves start
to dance with the
wind from the hills
the sun is about to shine
we are two bodies
making the river sing
on the crystal waters.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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May Song
BIRDS in the green of my garden
Blackbirds and throstle and wren,
Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's
And so to your singing again!
Birds in my blossoming orchard,
Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark,
Preen your bright wings, little happy live things;
The May trees grow white in the park!
Birds in the leafy wet woodlands,
Cuckoo and nightingale brown,
Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground--
The rain on green leaves dripping down!
Fresh with the rain of the May-time,
Rich with the promise of June,
Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part,
Love, like a bird, sings in tune!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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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
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The Ring of Stars
In order to make a star with five branches
Where six would have been the same
A circle must first be drawn
In order to make a star with five branches ...
A ring!
One did not take so many precuations
In order to make a tree from many branches
Trees that hide the stars
Trees!
You, full of nests and song birds
Covered with branches and leaves
That you lift as far as the stars!
poem by Robert Desnos
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Divine Bird
i would skp the best musical concert
to listen one more time to this morning bird
it makes me regret for not having been
a bird watcher and getting to know the name
of every bird and how every bird makes sure
they shine their best in voice rather than feathers
for feathers are just for a show of form but the
voice how well they have cultivated themselves
with the bountiful freedoms strewn below their wings
it was only two mornings ago, i first heard him
sing in among the many trees lining the boulevard
outside my condominium, the Crescent Court
the enchanting haunting notes of his song shocked
me into wondering whether it was really a bird that
sang those pristine notes, notes that seemed to have
streamed out of the sacred sanctum of God, so many
diverse notes, so well handled, they sounded
like a song written by the Divine for one special bird
one most holy entree to the dawn of a new day
i prayed to the Divine to allow me hear that bird
again, a bird that has sung his way into my my poem,
a bird probably from another realm where birds could
understand the workings of the heavens better than men
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Sonnet – Don’t Be
Don't be the fallen leaves, so young and green;
Don't be the buds that never can flower;
Don't be the twigs that always remain lean;
Don't be the flow'rs that dropp with each shower.
Don't be the branches growing very long;
Don't be the tree that never blooms at all;
Don’t be the nests that disallow Bird-song;
Don't be the fruits that hit the Earth by Fall.
Don't be the trunk hollowed by Birds, white-Ants;
Don't be the crown that can't get Sun or Rain;
Don't be the tree that grows not straight but slants;
Don't be the roots that prop the tree in vain.
Don't be the tree that grows on marshy-land;
Just be a tree secure in Maker's Hand.
poem by John Celes
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A Day In The Life Of A Tree
Feel the wind burn through my skin
The pain, the air is killing me
For years my limbs stretched to the sky
A nest for birds to sit and sing
But now my branches suffer
And my leaves dont bear the glow
They did so long ago
One day I was full of life
My sap was rich and I was strong
From seed to tree I grew so tall
Through wind and rain I could not fall
But now my branches suffer
And my leaves dont offer
Poetry to men of song
Trees like me werent meant to live
If all this world can give
Pollution and slow death
Oh lord I lay me down
No lifes left to be found
Theres nothing left for me
Trees like me werent meant to live
If all this earth can give
Is pollution
Trees like me werent meant to live
(oh lord I lay me down)
If all this earth can give
(my branches to the ground)
Is pollution and slow death
(theres nothing left for me)
Oh lord I lay me down
My branches to the ground
Theres nothing left for me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bell Birds
By channels of coolness the echoes are calling,
And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling;
It lives in the mountain, where moss and the sedges
Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges;
Through brakes of the cedar and sycamore bowers
Struggles the light that is love to the flowers.
And, softer than slumber, and sweeter than singing,
The notes of the bell-birds are running and ringing.
The silver-voiced bell-birds, the darlings of day-time,
They sing in September their songs of the May-time.
When shadows wax strong and the thunder-bolts hurtle,
They hide with their fear in the leaves of the myrtle;
When rain and the sunbeams shine mingled together
They start up like fairies that follow fair weather,
And straightway the hues of their feathers unfolden
Are the green and the purple, the blue and the golden.
October, the maiden of bright yellow tresses,
Loiters for love in these cool wildernesses;
Loiters knee-deep in the grasses to listen,
Where dripping rocks gleam and the leafy pools glisten.
Then is the time when the water-moons splendid
Break with their gold, and are scattered or blended
Over the creeks, till the woodlands have warning
Of songs of the bell-bird and wings of the morning.
Welcome as waters unkissed by the summers
Are the voices of bell-birds to thirsty far-comers.
When fiery December sets foot in the forest,
And the need of the wayfarer presses the sorest,
Pent in the ridges for ever and ever.
The bell-birds direct him to spring and to river,
With ring and with ripple, like runnels whose torrents
Are toned by the pebbles and leaves in the currents.
Often I sit, looking back to a childhood
Mixt with the sights and the sounds of the wildwood,
Longing for power and the sweetness to fashion
Lyrics with beats like the heart-beats of passion --
Songs interwoven of lights and of laughters
Borrowed from bell-birds in far forest rafters;
So I might keep in the city and alleys
The beauty and strength of the deep mountain valleys,
Charming to slumber the pain of my losses
With glimpses of creeks and a vision of mosses.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Or Existence
look at you
you take pride of myriad leaves
of branching twigs
of a sturdy trunk
you are saying you are
well rooted
and strong and no
wind is good enough
to uproot you
look at me
i have no roots
i am bald for i have not
a single leaf
from my imaginary
branches
from my twigs which you say
do not exist at all
you laugh and take pride
with what you are
and what you own andwhat you keep
i am invisible and i have no word
that i own
i am not even a wind
since i do not touch your leaf
and cannot let you feel
i do not doubt that it is my mere silence
that horrifies you
and i thank myself
for just being this way
i have no name
i have no self
i merely pass by
and i do not come
back
and so beyond myself and all these
you are nothing too
as i perceived myself to be
not a wind not a sound
nothing about roots
or existence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If Nature Survives
Once upon a time dense forest
Now stands open field with no trees to rest
No green branches and no noise of birds
It has become rare chance for melody to be heard
Where has our cuckoo gone?
Why has she deserted morning tune?
What have we done to her go in exile?
I thought she has lost her refuge for a while
The sparrows have disappeared too
Quite in numbers could be seen through
In window hole or in little hide out
They were happily seen to be heard about
They have gone too and become extinct
Probably to far off places and in interior districts
Now villages too have adopted same way
Little trees and forest is done away
You find no crows, owls or eagles
Sky is seen barren and no formation of love triangles
Nature has turned off its kind eye
Not enough of birds could be seen to fly
Deforestation is on rise and on high side
Gap is apparent and looks very wide
We are doing enough of damage to wild culture
As if we have taken out right control for future
Who to be blamed for this outrageous act?
Earth has tolerated it but so far refused to react
Of late natural calamities are on rise
It may spring anytime big surprise
Large population insects and birds stay in forest
It is their birth place and permanent refuge for rest
We need not disturb ecological balance
Let each tree cut be replaced by more to make it dense
If nature survives we survive too
In defiance we fell apart and disintegrate too
No one can survive long its absence
Nature is our mother and real essence
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Place Of My Dreams
Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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May Day
A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.
Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.
Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?
poem by Sara Teasdale
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From the Forests
Where in a green, moist, myrtle dell
The torrent voice rings strong
And clear, above a star-bright well,
I write this woodland song.
The melodies of many leaves
Float in a fragrant zone;
And here are flowers by deep-mossed eaves
That day has never known.
I'll weave a garland out of these,
The darlings of the birds,
And send it over singing seas
With certain sunny words -
With certain words alive with light
Of welcome for a thing
Of promise, born beneath the white,
Soft afternoon of Spring.
The faithful few have waited long
A life like this to see;
And they will understand the song
That flows to-day from me.
May every page within this book
Be as a radiant hour;
Or like a bank of mountain brook,
All flower and leaf and flower.
May all the strength and all the grace
Of Letters make it beam
As beams a lawn whose lovely face
Is as a glorious dream.
And may that strange divinity
That men call Genius write
Some deathless thing in days to be,
To fill those days with light.
Here where the free, frank waters run,
I pray this book may grow
A sacred candour like the sun
Above the morning snow.
May noble thoughts in faultless words -
In clean white diction - make
It shine as shines the home of birds
And moss and leaf and lake.
This fair fresh life with joy I hail,
And this belief express,
Its days will be a brilliant tale
Of effort and success.
Here ends my song; I have a dream
Of beauty like the grace
Which lies upon the land of stream
In yonder mountain place.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Springs Arrival and Winter Thaw
the sun rises to greet the morning
the ground dew only winters thaw
soft to the touch of the hand
leaves and flowers spread out
centre picture of the setting scene
springs arrival postcard of the season
birds return to roost in trees
naked branches now filling up
rainfall fresh and awakening
its a new beginning, new life
something to grow into
the daylight lasts longer
and the air smells fresher
winter melts away slowly
with the arrival of spring
poem by Matthew Holloway
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