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A Tiny Bird In Fear

a tiny bird comes
inside my room
delicate as a feather

when i arrive
this morning
it suddenly flies away

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Different Attitudes.

A cascade of bird song descends.
From a songster in the sky.
One of our small feathered friends
Who greets the morning joyously.
When she takes wing and starts to sing.
She lifts my heart and makes me smile
This feather songstress of the sky.
Displays her own distinctive style.
A tiny bird with a sweet voice.
She flies aloft reminding us
That we have reason to rejoice.
When we hear the morning chorus.
But humans rise reluctantly
and greet the day begrudgingly.

Friday,09 March 2012/

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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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A feather is just a delicate thing when removed from a bird because it carries the bird everywhere in the world.

African proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Hypocrisy And Ignorance...

cutie the little chihuahua
lives inside the bath tub
near the music room of
tom,

the whole night the chihuahua
barks asking for
a hot-dog
for supper but cruel tom

listens to rock
and hears nothing about the tiny barks
of the tiny dog,

the following morning
tom gets wild
why his tiny dog died

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chinese Paper Knife

For the first time ever, and only now
(Long waiting where I should see)
The tiny carved bird, the bony bough
Start sharp into life for me.

Why not until now, why suddenly now
This recognition? Replies
The bird must know who from that bough
Holds me with staring eyes:

The owl once more, but this time found
In foliage strange to me.
Fantastic branches warp around
From the scaly uptwisting tree.

A trifle, ah yes: but the carver achieved
A forest dream where flies
In and out the boughs so various-leaved
This bird with the pinhead eyes.

Then praised be this today whose light
Revealed this fabulous tree
And original owl, which many a night
Will lead into mystery.

poem by Edmund Blunden
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Birds Nest

Have you not seen the bird
flying far, again and again
collecting straws to weave a nest-
a home- for its young ones to be.
As eggs are hatched
out come the young
chirping or crying, to be fed,
the bird flies again, and again
collecting grains
to feed the young
who cannot fly
It chews the grain but does not swallow
beak to beak it feeds young fellow
caressingly and lovingly
so all are fed properly.
Young get wings, by and by:
and coaxed by the mother bird;
attempt to fly.
Then suddenly one day
the young one flies far away
It knows not where: and
The nest gets barren,
Lonely...
The bird DOES NOT GRIEVE
OR DOES IT
We humans, we do not know.

poem by Om Chawla
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The Wren

It was a quiet morning;
As usual my wife Laureen opened the front door (leaving it open wide) in hopes that the cat would follow her out. (Little did she know that a small intruder had flown in through the open door.) After retrieving the morning newspaper, with coffee mug full of steaming coffee Laureen settled into
her morning ritual, with "Neferkitti" (our cat) snuggled on the bar stool next to her.

Suddenly there was a flutter and thump as a tiny wren flew into a window in the dining room.
The bird fell to the floor momentarily stunned. Taking advantage of the moment, with great speed and agility Neferkitti pounced on the helpless bird. Mouthing the bird softly, she presented her catch to her master. Horrified Laureen admonished the cat, screaming "Let her go". With great reluctance the cat dropped the bird on the floor. After a few moments the bird flew up to a tall cabinet, where she landed to assess her predicament.

At this time I was laying in bed reading, when I heard Laureen shout loudly "Ray get in here there is a bird in the house'. I slipped on a shirt, grabbed my glasses, and walked in just as the bird took flight and landed on the rail leading to my upstairs office. Walking up the stairs slowly I reached for the perched bird who quickly flew back down to the family room. Not seeing where she landed I searched the room. Suddenly she flew into a large picture window in the family room. The confused bird sat on the sill looking out of the window. I approached the bird, who made no attempt to fly off. I reached down, and with cupped hands gently picked up the traumatized bird. She chirped once and settled into my warm hands.

Making my way to the sliding door that leads to the outside deck I stepped out and opened my hands to release the bird. Gripping the index finger of my right hand she was reluctant to fly. I stood there, and time froze.

Our eyes met, and I felt the impact of what was happening;
From the wren's perspective here stood a god-like giant with the power of life and death over her. From my perspective there perched on a single finger was a tiny creature who I could crush with hardly any effort. In that brief moment we were both experienced the miracle, diversity and fragile nature of life.

"All creatures great and small"

Walking over to a bench on the deck and with palm up I waited for the bird to step off onto the safety of the bench and freedom. She gripped even more tightly, as if she'd found safety in my hands. With my left hand I gently coaxed her off my right hand onto the bench, where she stood looking around. She made no effort to fly away, so I went back through the door, closed it and stood watching, hoping that she was not seriously injured.

While walking up the stairs to my office I heard Laureen (who'd been watching) exclaim loudly;

"She just flew away"!

Gratified...I went up to my office to write an account of this magical and humbling event.

ROTMS

View ROTMS writings, images and video at;

rotms.blogspot.com

poem by Ray Lucero
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Valentine's Day

Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.

I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.

poem by Charles Kingsley
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This Morning Bird

This morning bird likes to sing
She likes to hear the morning bells ring

This morning bell is nice and clear to me
This morning bird shows no sympathy

This morning bird is very calm
But not calm enough when it
Comes to cruelty and bombs

So be careful and be calm to this morning bird
Because her sounds are the best things u ever heard

poem by Va Rockeya Foy
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Snowflakes

Soft snowflakes drift daintily down,
Without so much as a single sound.
Swirling around, they're a dazzling sight,
And they make the world seem so bright.

Each flake possesses a pattern so very rare,
That no two flakes can make a matching pair.
They each take on a very delicate form,
Which melts away, when it gets warm.

Each unique, frozen crystal is so very tiny;
Glistening in the sunlight, they look so shiny.
Each is a masterpiece: a major work of art,
Which, from our lives, will very soon depart.

Falling snowflakes appear so fluffy and soft,
When, caught by the wind, they dance aloft.
Single snowflakes are as light as a feather,
But weigh a ton, when collected together.

On every surface, the snowflakes collect:
Soon, with white, everything is bedecked.
The snowflakes form a thick carpet of white,
As they settle down, following their flight.

Things, which were familiar to our eyes,
Are suddenly more difficult to recognise.
Snow seems to change the world's face,
And it suddenly seems a different place.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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at PH....

i do not say
that we who keep on writing are like those flies
trapped in the bottle
wanting to find an exit...

this is the bottle, we are the flies, and
we all love it here.

there is less air, but we manage to breathe.
there is less space, but we co-exist

this an enclosed world, and we are the letters
that they have sealed inside those envelopes

somehow, the envelopes arrive
in those distant places, and here we are

read by you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inside That Room

inside that room

clutters of old things
a conglomeration of dusts
silent stones
broken wedges
blunt shapes and sharp edges

inside that room

that silence we both shared
isolated moans
tongues lingering

inside that room
our memories

now the door is closed.
inside that room
the noise of insistence
the clap of a disaster
we disown

inside that room
the impregnation of tough thoughts
with soft laces
of ductile memories

inside that room
oh! there is no

us anymore.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Commitment As A Tiny Sun

above me is a tiny sun
it is dancing
only for me
it lives inside my head
warms my heart
it shines and sets only
for me

it is a dream
that i yet have to hold with
my own hands

around me are planets and places
they pull me
but i fell like a feather so light
and i float
and undisturbed and i exist
only for the tiny sun

i am a place where i let the sun
settle down
and i listen to no other sound
except its
hush which is more like a whisper
of a friend
to another friend
who lives for no other
reason
except themselves

the planets fall
the other places of the heart crumble
but the tiny sun
continues
to shine and set within
myself
because we promise
because
we fulfill.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mouse and the Grouse

The teeny, tiny mouse said to the finely feathered grouse
“I’d like to come and visit you in your lofty, lovely house.”
The finely feathered grouse smiled at the teeny, tiny mouse
And said, “You can’t since I'm saving it for my future spouse.”

The sad teeny, tiny mouse said, as tears started to douse,
“I’m lonely and just wanted to say hello, finely feathered grouse.”
Well, the finely feathered grouse with his lofty, lovely house
Was lonely too since he hadn’t yet found his future spouse.

But how could a mouse so teeny, tiny and a grouse so fine of feather
Ever visit each other and have a talk together?
They had nothing in common and their lives had different starts.
Although one thing was the same; they both had hurting hearts.

No one had ever visited the finely feathered grouse
And he did like friendly words uttered by the teeny, tiny mouse.
As mister mouse gazed aloft, sir grouse returned that smile
And suddenly blurted out, “Come on up and we’ll chat for awhile.”

Overjoyed, the teeny, tiny mouse jumped, but just bumped the tree.
Then tears wet ears to tail as teeny tiny moaned mournfully,
“You can fly free through the air, but alas, I’m earthbound.
There’s no hope since you live in a tree, but my house is on the ground.”

Suddenly, a star from the heavens flashed an idea for these two.
Perhaps they could visit together if both tried something new.
The finely feathered grouse left his lofty, lovely house
And eagerly landed in a bush near the star struck tiny mouse.
In one hop teeny, tiny leapt toward the bush, and I’ve heard tell
That the friendship of grouse and mouse has been doing very well.
(Illustrated book available direct from author)

poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When on a Summer's Morn

When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.

To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.

And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
And one that's all my own.

poem by William Henry Davies
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Day Dreaming

I sat in the office feeling really very bored.
I began to go through the file in my mind,
Where my favourite daydreams are stored.

As I felt my concentration begin to go,
I took my eyes off my computer screen,
And they drifted towards the office window.

The most gorgeous looking guy ever passed by,
And, as I sat there staring distantly into space,
We suddenly found ourselves interlocking eyes.

I pictured myself as an imprisoned princess,
And him as my brave knight in shining armour,
Who was going to save me from this awful mess.

He would arrive on a bright white steed,
Then knock down the heavy wooden door,
Take me in his arms, and then I’d be free.

We’d live inside a magnificent fairytale castle,
And my life would be wonderful once again.
Then, one day, he’d present me with a tiny parcel.

I’d open it up and inside would be a diamond ring.
He’d ask me to do the honour of becoming his wife,
And I’d be so very happy, that I’d run around and sing.

One day, I’d become a queen and he’d become a king,
And we’d live so happily ever after, till death do us part:
When, suddenly, I’m back to reality when the phone rings.

They do say that nothing is ever what it quite seems,
Which can sometimes be extremely disappointing,
As now I realise that I’ve just had a lovely daydream.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Stardom or Boredom! A LONELY RED BIRD Flies in My Natural Kingdom!

I am eight and twenty, a lonely rose – no one close to sit with;
Here are no companions nor kin and kith, I live in lonely myth!
Sitting in the empty hall by myself at the day dawn in the white;
I feel awful – awful beyond all – crying gently dusk in the night.
Stardom or boredom! A lonely red bird flies in my natural kingdom!
Harum-scarum! Humdrum! A solo bird beats the lonely drum!

Aloof I am, sitting in the dark; aloof I am, with my lonely bark;
Aloof I am, butterflies helter-skelter in me at lonely gaze!
Aloof I am, there is a void; there is a vacuum in my lonely daze;
Aloof I am sitting with empty ache; aloof I am – a lonely lark.
Stardom or boredom! A lonely red bird flies in my natural kingdom!
Harum-scarum! Humdrum! A solo bird beats the lonely drum!

Aloof I am, these many shocks, lonely talks only for me, tell me why?
Aloof I am, I beg thee – don’t enter my only soul everyday, I say....
Aloof I am, I don’t want to be aloof in anyway – even on holiday;
Aloof I am, I say thee – I don't want to live, I want to die for lonely sigh!
Stardom or boredom! A lonely red bird flies in my natural kingdom!
Harum-scarum! Humdrum! A solo bird beats the lonely drum!

Aloof I am – a sole flower in a field; a sole child does not shield;
Aloof I am – a moonless night, stormy weather sets the tone…….
Aloof I am in turbulent weather, me a solo feather in deserted scene;
Aloof I am, in lonely battle, with a fresh cut I gave up! I yield!
Stardom or boredom! A lonely red bird flies in my natural kingdom!
Harum-scarum! Humdrum! A solo bird beats the lonely drum!

poem by Harindhar Reddy
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The Ode I Owed

Ode to you
your purple skin.
your - you're driving me insane.
walls cracking up in the lining of my stomach
doors creaking in my veins

river of a thousand tiny words.
the milk curdles by the fire.

you are the mountain and the furthest feather on the wing of a bird.

poem by by unknown author
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