The Kiwi
And why oh why Kiwi, you a bird we must call
When you don't have a wing that you can say you own
There's nothing I can do but it was nature's joke
That I be without wings, just run or only walk
My scientific name's Apteryx Australis
A name I owe to Carl von Linne and to the Greeks
'A-' is to mean devoid, having none or without
And 'pteryx' is the wing oddly I do not have
But regret I have none about my anatomy
For being without wings is not an infamy
And unto wonderment, yes, I do give my share,
My nostrills at the tip of elongated bill
So I can very well worms and crawlers smell
Whiskers I also have just like any feline
So I can feel my way in the dark anywhere
My egg's one-fourth my weight, three months to incubate
To form a sisngle one, one month for me it takes
Twice more than the usual I have always to eat
Two-thirds of it is yolk and so heavy a load
And it is very big, leaving no space for food
Before one I can lay for three days fast I should
Once laid, my partner sits on it, three months he would
Loses one-third his weight, quit nor complain he won't
A belly with an egg, sore and swollen becomes
Relief is to wallow in a stream or a pond
My overstretched belly always touches the ground
I have to part my legs, so I can move around
Although I am only a waddling, flightless bird
In the hearts of many, I have a special place
Products, money, people and fruit my name they take
In the animal world, I am sans duplicate
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Flightless Bird
My world is caged in,
I can not fly away,
I can not soar in the clouds,
With the wind and the angels.
I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.
I sit here day in and day out,
I watch so many people coming in and going out,
They stay here so happy so proud,
And they leave again without any care in the world.
I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.
I remember each face,
I remember them all saying hi waiting for a reply of hello,
They don’t understand how it feels,
They don’t understand what it’s like.
To be a flightless bird with clipped wings.
Wings tucked and head held high I sit here,
I wear a smile on my face and I keep myself beautiful and happy,
But inside all I can see are the bars that surround me,
I can’t get past them I can only sit.
I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.
My world is a room full of people myself the center of attention,
Although I should not complain for this is my life,
And I make them smile I make the children laugh and look in my eyes,
And sometimes they look into my eyes and see my world through my eyes.
They know I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.
They’ll stand and watch me as I walk around in my cage,
They’ll be there with me and try to understand.
Then they’ll have to leave and they’ll look over their shoulders.,
And they look into my eyes one last time,
Before they fly away into the world to bring back stories for the flightless bird with clipped wings,
They are my connection to the world,
They show me what they see through their eyes,
They show me wonders and beauties of a world I’ve never seen,
They are my window to the outside,
In their mind I can be a flightless bird in a world of wonder and of flight.
I am only a small bird in a cage that sits in a hotel,
Sits and watches as the world around me fly’s by,
I wait for the occasional stranger who looks into my eyes with knowing,
Maybe a person who is like me like a flightless bird in a cage,
They are my wings, the wings of a flightless bird who’s wings are clipped.
I sit in my own world and watch as it all moves by,
Day after day I watch and I say what is expected of me,
I sit in my world and I go on my own steady journey,
A journey in which I am a silent observer,
A flightless bird with clipped wings in a world of ever changing skies.
By: Bethany Maxwell
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Bird In Your Cage
we have this bird
we both own it and love it and care for it
our bird
and you have this cage
that you only own
golden, new and strong and as you say it
so reliable
that when our bird is in that cage
it will be safe
and cannot escape
we feed this bird together
and give it water and birdseeds
and a place of twigs and swing
where the bird can play
and perch upon
like it is on a tree
days and years
we keep this bird in your cage
and we see it is dying
and wanting to be free
yet you say, this sickness is just temporary
time heals what has wounded it
and shall forget the power of its wings
days and more years
we keep this bird in your cage
and i have not listened at all
to the sad song of that bird
her waning chirps
her weakened wings
her way of losing hold to the dreams of its wings
today we see this bird is dead
but you have no sadness at all
you say, you will buy another bird
again to be kept in your cage
i could have told you
i am the bird in your cage and i too have forgotten the power of
my wings
i could have told you, i have long died
and have forgotten what freedom is, what love is, what i am
in the first place. How can i ever tell you?
you are my cage.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Tame Bird Was In A Cage
THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, 'O my love, let us fly to the wood.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Come hither, let us both live in the cage.'
Says the free bird, 'Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?'
'Alas,' cries the caged bird, 'I should not know where to sit perched in the sky.'
The free bird cries, 'My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands.'
The cage bird sings, 'Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned.'
The forest bird cries, 'No, ah no! songs can never be taught.'
The cage bird says, 'Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands.'
There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, 'Come closer, my love!'
The free bird cries, 'It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.'
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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VI
The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the
cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread
one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the cage bird, "I should not know where to sit
perched in the sky."
The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the
woodlands."
The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of
the learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the
woodlands."
Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing
to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to
know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my
love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of
the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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The Cuckoo Clock
The cuckoo flew out of the clock
and landed on the arm chair.
It looked me in the eye and said,
“I’m not going back in there!
People expect too much of me,
going back and forth all day.
I’m not going back inside.
No! Never! No way.
The clock’s none stop ticking
has made my head feel sore
Calling ‘cuckoo’ 24-7 it’s too much,
I’m not doing it any more.
I want to breathe the fresh air,
and feel the rain and sun.
I want to be able to fly around
and enjoy proper cuckoo fun.
I should be leaving my eggs
here, there, and everywhere.
Eating lots of juicy worms,
and being free without a care.
What do you mean I’m not real
and I’m only made of wood?
Of course I am; I call out ‘cuckoo’
like every cuckoo should.
Just put me on the windowsill
and I’ll show you how I can fly.
Why..? I can’t move my wings,
no matter how much I try.
And I can’t call out ‘cuckoo’,
my ‘cuckoo’ cry has gone.
My head and body won’t move,
and my wings won’t open.
Oh dear, what am I to do?
I’m just a piece of wood.
I’ve been shaped like a bird
and my paint job’s not so good.
I’ve a spring sticking out my bottom
and my feathers aren’t feathers at all.
I haven’t a sound to call my own,
and when I try to fly I fall…
Will you please put me back in the clock?
It’s the only place I can call my home.
I’ll be happy to remind you of the time,
and I promise never again to moan.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Heart Of Stone
A broken wing, and a broken bone
Of a bird, that met a stone
Lied helpless And was bit despair
Looked above If god was there.
Short of food And short of breath
Was silently waiting For his death
Asked his wings If they could fly.
Yes they said why don't you try
He gathered his strength and wiped his tears.
And soon he stood Without his fears
His eyes stared at the Dark blue sky
But just then when he was about to fly
they grabbed his neck they grabbed it hard
with all his strength he could move a yard
and yes those hands did hurt his bone
he had met a heart of stone
some ugly hands and a beautiful bird.
He cried for help But no one heard.
His wings were flawed And his muscles were stiff.
He begged them to throw him off a cliff
oh dumb bird, don't you get,
look at you, it's a stone you met.
To this, the half dead bird replied
So what, if I die
Just for once I ll meet the air.
And also see if god was there.
Stories of wisdom, that were once told
But now this world had been so cold.
He wished if those blind eyes could see.
The bird was dead though his soul was free.
poem by Kanav Justa
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I Must Go On A Diet!
Yes, I must go on a diet! I really, really must!
Yes, it's true I'd loathe to try it, but if I don't, I'll bust!
I know it's hip, this losing weight, to join a gym and such,
But exercise, I'd simply hate, as I don't like it much...
My belly's not worth looking at, it bulges now and then...
I'd merely roll, flat on the mat and not get up again...
I'll make a stand and walk it off, at double time, I guess!
Who cares if others stare and scoff, if I weigh less and less?
I've never run a marathon and know I never will.
I'd simply say, I can't go on! No stamina or skill...
I'll walk the streets or buy a bike, until my belly's right...
I'll give up all the cakes I like, chew carrots day and night!
I'll switch to fruits and vegetables... I'll do the best I can,
I'll overcome all obstacles to look like Peter Pan!
Ta-ta to sweet treats, smokes and beers! I'll live temptation free!
Who knows? It may take months! Or years! Or decades! Goodness me!
Too late to talk me out of it! My mind's made up, my friend...
I'll get this weight off, bit by bit, on that you can depend!
I'll tone up muscles here and there... I'll fight the flab each day!
Before and after! Please compare... The diet's worked O.K.!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flight
When the sacred kingfisher is flying,
It is frantically flapping its wings to
The sand of the sea,
In a form of a deep curve as a rainbow.
Its flight is most like a deep, steady wing beat
To fly higher and higher.
Its wing seemingly bites the air.
So skilled at flying
Is the sacred kingfisher
And so naturally suited to the sky
That it can frantically flap its wings to
The sand of the sea.
In a form of a deep curve as a rainbow.
From that deep curve comes its screaming
And the white bleeding rain,
While the bird is frantically flapping its wings to
The sea water
To eat its silent prey
And to become a broken winged bird,
That cannot fly
Any longer.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Flightless Bird
Slavery was the nature, caged within,
Seeing the sun rays penetrate it wonders,
Upon which strategy shall I escape this cage,
Upon which wisdom shall I,
See the sun and not the rays,
The bird with fluffy feathers did ponder,
Unto its master it cried,
Brought food but it seeked freedom,
To cage the bird was love he claimed,
To be caged, such love was hate it pondered,
Caged without hope, the flightless bird
Such freedom was vain for the bird,
That prison cell used to be a shelter,
To be loved, in a different way,
Engulfing itself in its loose wings,
Dreaming things it never saw,
Seeing life it never experienced,
Searching peace which it never had,
To rest in that moment of anguish,
The master said to cage is to love,
The bird cried to cage is to slave
My thoughts were painted all over,
Looking there, she might just cove over,
Feeling the passion when she came closer,
Will she ever set me free, in this cage I suffer
Unto to me is like a flightless bird,
Caged in vacuum I feel so bad,
To love me you ought to think instead,
To leave me you ought to think you had
The more the sky is seen,
The more the ray come unto my sight,
The more you hold the cage,
The more I desire a rescue,
Unto that day shall I wait,
To fly and see the sky and the sun
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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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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Sympathy
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals--
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting--
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Lighter birds can Soar high, Heavier can only Run on Legs!
Life itself is that eternal bird,
building the nest of clay,
When safety becomes its priority,
Closes windows and doors,
Only to feel itself in darkness,
depriving itself of fresh air!
Smaller and narrow will be its nest,
Where in, It can sing in darkness,
The song of its pain heard by no one!
Learning leads to plan its home,
With wider doors and windows,
Open to light and fresh air,
Its happy song liked by all,
Little heart full of love,
Wider than world as world feels,
Still the bird want more light,
Leaving the nest,
flying long and wide,
Wide will be its vission,
Wide will be space its eyes can see,
Great view of world makes it happy,
Only happy bird can sing melody,
The eternal tune of wisdom,
evergreen song that every life wants to sing!
Deep into space it can see,
Vision beyond galaxies,
nay, vission beyond narrow boundaries of human heart,
The bird's eye surely full of visions,
Free of views and thoughts,
heart has only one religion,
'soar as high as possible,
Less weight of sorrows,
less light of opinions,
Higher it can soar, ,
With lighter and efficient heart,
lighter, yet efficient
Heart,
Embedded in Lighter skeleton,
Less weight of head,
Strong heart make the flight easy,
Heavier the skeleton,
Inefficient heart,
Can only make the bird flightless,
It can only run on legs away from truth,
Never can fly, how can it soar high?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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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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386
if there is no place that can accommodate
your sadness,
i know how sweet is the
feeling of departure
you are prepared to spread your wings
but your heart is still as heavy as the weight
of your legs
but then you have the right to fly away
from sorrow
to drift away from lament
happy trip my friend
i send you my blessings
i wish you all the luck to finally reach your destination
happy flying with your wings
but before you finally go
let me know
the secret of your having grown
those pair of big and strong wings
tell me which part of your body
are you hiding your hands
for soon if i have some
i may fly away from
sadness too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hunger, The Pang
Our mother earth gives
For one good grain sown
Hundreds of fresh grains
For our food in return.
How many sweet fruits
For a life time she gives
For one seed she takes
As one tree it grows?
Any animal on the land
Or any bird on the air
For its morrow's food
Does it take all the care?
For the food on the ground
How a crow makes a sound
Of 'caw' to call crows around
Just to share what it found?
When big cooked rice balls
An elephant in its mouth takes
A part of it on the floor spills
That feeds hundreds of ants.
But when a have on this earth
For his self, the food he hoards,
Doesn't the have-not's mouth
Go unfed for days countless?
The food in a pompous feast
A junk of it goes as rubbish.
If this goes to the poor atleast
Will that not fulfill God's wish?
The worst pain in the world
Is what the hunger gives
But this can be solved
If all follow the crows.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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The Bird
A wounded bird stripped of flight
Upon the ground hopped and sang
A call to help a despairing plea
‘Oh please let belief bring a saviour to me’
It sang so beautifully and so sweet
While cradling its broken wing
The eyes which darted saw so much
To know and behold a world so vast
Then she came as though from nowhere
A girl with the tender touch to heal
Softly she took into her hands
And nursed so gently while she sang
‘Singer of beauty fly once more
Do not cry nor feel afraid
It is the belief you call out to
Which brought my heart to you’
Into a cage the bird was placed
And ate, sang then rested safe
The wing did heal so to fly again
She opened wide the cage
To see the bird fly away into the sky
She smiled and said goodbye
Some things are to be kept
Others are only meant to fly
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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
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Bird's Wings
The bird's wing levels for the summation,
It dived once more but now it flies straight;
This evening is its dinner and lunch,
Killing itself and its kids, forming a nest.
The wings of an animal work for the better,
Injured ones last not, they do not last at all
For the flight of a bird is accompanied by all.
Mighty winds sever the flight so wild and free,
In order to pack the several costumes of the breeze.
Freedom comes from everything and all of our guns
Are shooting the air like a bird's flight and its freedom.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Weight
Against the day I am powerless
so I rise
to face it
in the mirror.
Finding
a vaguely
familiar face
I wash it,
shave it,
prepare it
for a world that will not see it.
The children are first off the mark.
They are young
and carry
less weight.
When does it change?
When will they feel
gravity as if for the first time?
My wife is next to leave.
She carries
the weight
so gracefully
it looks
effortless.
The strength
of this Woman
keeps it all
from collapsing in on us.
The weight that is mine comes in pieces
I
can
barely
lift.
They are
in my chest,
on my back,
arms
and legs.
Without crutches
I am hopeless, cannot walk out the door.
This weight is not the same for you and me.
This weight
has a cost.
This weight
demands
its due.
This weight
exacts its toll.
This weight
commands
we each have our own price to pay.
poem by Ronald Shields
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I have been trying to lose weight for the last two-three months and it has gone really well. In the last 6-12 months I have been in the best form in quite a while.
quote by Shane Warne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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