A Kingfisher On A Dead Tree
on a glass pond
a dead tree stands
perched is a kingfisher
on one of its weak twigs
i sit alone on a
rock thinking about nothing
i must have been lost
this day
blue wings and some
white feathers on the neck
black sharp beak
the kingfisher looks at me
a leaf falls on the glass pond
the eyes of the kingfisher
and my eyes ride on the ripple
like small paper boats
going nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A matured Kingfisher and a smarten Carp
A Kingfisher rests on a tree top
And listens to a sad song,
A small carp in a muddy pond
Floats and sings; ' My relatives live in a big river
And why should I suffer here.'
Then Kingfisher mutters;
'Hey! My tiny brother if you cooperate
I could have taken you to that river safely.'
'Certainly I would like to accompany my big brother,
But I had a nightmare yesterday a blue bird has taken my relatives
from the river to a lonely ground and eaten them one by one.'
'Those are dreams and we're friends'
Kingfisher whispers while flying to another tree.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Way To Live
a little fish rises from the
water to
eat a bubble of
air
from the tree a
kingfisher with an eye
for fish
swiftly dives and
with its sharp long black beak
catches the
little fish
a boy with a rubber sling
aims at the blue kingfisher
hitting it with a
stone crushing its
round head and
sharp long and black beak
to the ground
a ripe coconut falls
from a tree and
hits the head of the
boy below
the lizard that climbs
the coconut tree
looking for brown beetles
at the top
does not notice how
all these events
happen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A kingfisher and a tiny scalloped fish
'Hey! My buddy what's your name please? ' kingfisher questioned from a leafless tree top.
'My name is small king in the muddy pond.' tiny fish replied humbly.
'Oh! Then we are in the same genius family it seems and let's fly together to see our kind neglected relatives abroad.' The scallywag kingfisher requested politely.
Tiny fish sings in the flight; 'Oh! What an amazing sunrise in the broken sky when the depressive election drew nearer.'
* Tiny fish grumbles to publish this in the site as a dedication for the Labor day.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Untitled 24
outside the window
this early morning
blue clouds hover
on the green hill
like the curly hair
of a little boy
on the guava tree
a twig without leaves
a bird sings
with blue feathers
the kingfisher
below it a pool
of rippled waters
a fish is seducing
its black beak
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The mom kingfisher
A mom kingfisher
Tried to catch a fish from pond
But dropped it at last!
poem by Asif Andalib
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What We Write Are On The Ground Still Alive
what we write are all about those which are still alive
worms wriggling on their hollow places of the earth
mudfish hibernating on the parching, dried mud waiting for the rain
the kingfisher perched on the tree without leaves
thinking where to fly where to dive and make its beak useful
the snail pacing slowly from the rising river up to the smooth edge
of the nipa palms
this little brown boy replacing the bait of his fishing pole
waiting for the catch on the pond
these dragonflies hovering on the soft reeds where the ants
are finding new ways to reach to the other end of the pond
the frogs croaking anticipating the coming rains and hoping
to catch and swallow the grasshopper or the cricket resting on
one of the blades of a tall grass
the butterflies coming out from some cocoons taking the
first air of their new wings and then flying away
to the new blooms of flowers nearby
this is the pulse of my pen in this my heart beats
my mind remembers and then imagines
what if these are not true? what if these are not real?
what if my eyes are but another illusion not seeing
that which grows and breathes and spreads and flies away?
meanwhile, a mosquito bites me, sucks my blood, fills itself,
i hear it sing, i feel the pain, the loss, the deception, and then
i am convinced, all these must be true and real
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Azul....
Shades of blue confronts the
man in blue, so blue, but not
electric blue, the blue in faded jeans
saddening blue, the blue in marble,
glossy, but sadder still, the faint
blue of a heavy sky, laden with rain
some restraints, falling suppressed,
the blue in that deserted lagoon,
those blue Spanish eyes gone,
the navy blue without an address,
the blue lips, lesser in oxygen
content,
the bluebird perched upon a twig,
kingfisher blue without a fish,
a blue heart, pastel blue shirt
torn blue, blues, blue bruises....
the puerto azul....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Child's Plea....!
I am that kid,
Sometimes wise,
Sometime innocently
foolish,
But remaining ever curious to learn,
Anyone including you,
Be my teachers,
Clouds and rain, rainbow and trees,
Rivers and mountains,
fishes and lakes,
Kingfisher and woodpecker,
Even birds and flowers too!
I wonder at this dream world,
Wonderful stars shining in eyes,
Please be kind enough,
Let my child and its grand child,
Also wonder at beauty of this
world, Please kill not colourful animals
and birds,
Spill not the nature's gift, this
beautiful world is always
beautiful with colours of life
shining everywhere!
You may create beautiful glass
tree,
No bird will nest on it,
No bird can sing happily and perch its beak
its beak on it,
You may create artificial flowers,
Never liked by bees and butterfly,
you may create toy butterfly,
but that can't bring me thrill,
Come out to garden,
Let us play,
Promise me,
no life you ever try to slay.
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Morning World
this morning world of mine
used to be calm and peaceful
like my secret pond
where the only guests are
the blue kingfisher and the
yellow fish
on a predator-prey relationship
on a stalemate of who's gonna
eat who at the end
of the day
don't get lost for i am not through yet
i may be lost myself
these few days but i still have a hold
of the rope that they hang
on the beam of the ceiling of my
house
this morning the world is giving
me the sounds of thunder
with flashes of lightning like
a disco house enclosed to
rock loud music,
i prefer to be naked again
and go back to sleep.
the signs are bad and i do not want
to be part of any rage
any anger any pain anymore
i do not want to be a part of this
conspiracy to inflict
to eat what i cannot swallow
to digest what poisons me
i prefer to make love with you
rather than scream and be one of those
bad souls in a devil's party.
i hate conflagrations.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jigsaw
Here we hear that a perch stands for fish or for pole, -
though this pole can be twenty four feet long or square –
or a pole upon which
a kingfisher can perch
before diving to fish for his dinner dish.
Don’t consider it rude if we add that a rood
is the same as a perch, or a pole or a rod,
and a rood is a Cross, so please don’t become cross
as we must get across that this cross can be square, -
and this square cross can lengthwise be measured – so there!
A pole, too, is a fish, somewhat flounderish
with fine fins which swish and a face like a dish.
Thus kingfisher must fish for his dish, and that dish is a dish,
so lets face it in anguish, - a dish is a dish is a fish!
As a face is a head, and a head is a poll
which tells who is ahead, or shows what each prole
thought of what someone said:
and a wat, as all know, is a temple Cambo –
all the sages who sow seeds of wisdom say, - oh,
to all this don’t say ‘No! ’
Then watt brings us a light which shines down in the night, -
though this seems ‘out of sight’, you should now see the light, -
that kingfishers alight as they perch on their pole
ere they pounce on their poll
for to search for their perch,
for the soul of the sole in the shoal.
What rude fishermen do
before rod poles align
with a line from their perch to their perch.
Like the kingfisher too, bird of brilliant hue,
is our parrot, Poll, who is no stranger to you.
When he’s not being rude he tends somewhat to brood
or repeat through and through, as in these lines I do.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Flying Away?
i like to see the image of a lone bird flying away from me
two steady wings carrying a very light body of blue feathers
a kingfisher flying away against the morning sun
moving nowhere getting farther until it becomes a blue dot
dissolving in the distance that your eyes can no longer see
i sometimes like to think i am that bird flying away
from where i am
because this place is sad and cruel
i like to fly away
to leave everything behind me and then simply forget
and make new beginnings
as easy as that
sometimes however i ask myself:
where shall i go?
nowhere?
just nowhere?
where is nowhere?
just fly away and go
and leave and
then what?
i ask myself these real questions
calling for rational answers
begging
that i be reasonable enough with my life
and the life of others
who also depend
on me
it is not an easy stuff,
just flying away to nowhere and destruct
everything i build here:
a nest, an odor of familiarity,
a sense of home
(though sad and cruel)
a name for myself
a reputation
a family history
an ancestral domain
shall i go then and be foolish?
i am not a bird, i am a man
that is a very serious existence apart from those feathery wishes and dreams
with responsibilities, i have no wings just arms, i have no feathers
but this body
i am not just a bird, i have a soul
and so i decided to stay
with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beach Liaison
Foamy, frothy blue-green silk sea drapes over freckled, speckled skin
A face bare, wet and rough, a complexion bleached by sun, sea, salt
Barren on the surface yet life breathes free in cracks and crannies
Underneath the craggy covering he hides in slender shell
His caramel body is smooth, supple as he slips into the
Spiral sheath to the sharp pointed end of the day when, at tides
Edge, the sea caresses pink coral reef sky as day submits
To darkness, concealing intimate silhouettes of lovers
Embracing among the shadows of sea grapes and dune grasses
At dusky brink between day and night sea birds flit
Kingfishers’ white feathers flutter away from lapping sea tongue
A salty kiss on parched lips and on sandy cheeks communicates
A silent poem song in language like Sanskrit scratched out with
Bird claw quills on sand skin a dry and rough parchment while the small
Kingfisher flock pecks away without wit into gritty flesh
To slurp up his mollusk body like salt-water taffy pulled
Out of its wax paper wrapped up tight but never feeling safe
Sharp pecking beak finds his soft snail soul plucked from firm, corkscrew case
In bird beak swallowed whole he prays: I’ve already been in heaven
Though tragedy sweeps away all that is real and some things imagined
Always in my heart I will carry sunshine and silken sea.
poem by Laura Pariseau
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At a koi pond in a nursery
When her fingers
lightly ripple the water,
a row of fishes
dart to come to investigate.
Fins cut through the water
and big eyes,
come to look
near to the surface.
Big and small bright coloured koi’s
dash past through the water,
while dark fresh water crayfish
crawl on the bottom of the pond.
The ripple on the water
rings out wider and wider,
till where it disappears in to eternity.
.
In my hart the sound
of the beautiful day resounds,
while I stand fascinated
at the fish pond.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Swan ~ A Villanelle
Floating upon the crystal pond
She kept wearing her diamond crown
While the other white swan was gone
Never doubting their fierce loving bond
As the leaves went from reddish to brown
Floating upon the crystal pond
Her blue eyes searching far beyond
Couldn't see that he'd recently drowned
While the other white swan was gone
So curling, becoming withdrawn
When ten suns in the sky settled down
Floating upon the crystal pond
She talked to the geese that were blond
And asked where he was with a frown
While the other white swan was gone
They cared not and didn't respond
In the reeds was a kings golden crown
Floating upon the crystal pond
While the other white swan was gone
poem by Sara Fielder
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The Chirping Birds Of The Town
seldom do they come here
because most of the trees are already cut and there is no place
for the seasons of nests
but here comes a blue heron with a white breast and a black beak
perched upon a palm
alone and we find ourselves staring at each other
there is no pond here and there is therefore no fish
there is nothing that shall make it stay
and so after a while it flies away until it becomes a mere dot
and then gone
and what is left is the mirage of distance
on a reflection, i am more like it when you are not with me
in this journey
this search of place where i could have sung a song
the one that you like
when you first gave me that hug that kiss.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View
driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible
above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb
and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands
a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The grasshopper flies about, but the kingfisher watches him.
The Birds
the birds, sparrows and robins
and some herons
are flying on the blue sky
you watch them
a robin comes near you
and makes a stare
the white heron glides
past your face and flies
away without much ado
a sparrow feeds on your palm
and after all the grains are
consumed it goes its way
north and finally the kingfisher
which is late tries to give
you its catch, a small fish.
you see the difference
and then you go south,
i mean, the difference,
towards another direction,
that one that gives and not
the one that takes,
the one that thinks about
others
and not more about oneself.
you are supposed to be that
a giver not a taker.
one bird has shown you
with a very small fish and
that was enough to feed
you in another long and lonely
journey: south.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Kingfisher
From a close distance
Watching the prey’s every move
The kingfisher dives!
poem by Asif Andalib
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