After Having Killed The Mockingbird....
to kill and bury a
mockingbird,
and then leave the place
with all
satisfactory achievement
to begin life anew
in that house facing a tree
where the mockingbird
used to be,
to enthuse oneself with
the silence
of the place
still leaves, no dust on the road,
nothing disturbing
ah, such a bliss!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mockingbird Franklin
Shes never known acceptance
Shes never known the world
She says I like to call myself m
But my real name is mockingbird
Mockingbird franklin
So how do you do
Mockingbird franklin
Im a lot like you
She says her mother is gone now
She says her mother got killed
I said Im sorry but is it true
Did she really name you mockingbird
Mockingbird franklin
Broke your heart in two
Mockingbird franklin
Im a lot like you
Mockingbird dont you change
Just because youre not like them
Oh mockingbird youre not the same
Alone along the sidewalk
Her steps are barely heard
Its kinda funny that its her name
cus shes nothing like a mockingbird
Nothing like a mockingbird
Mockingbird franklin
Dont it get to you
Mockingbird franklin
Im a lot like you
Im a lot like you
Its true
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mocking Bird, Mocking Man
he is sometimes
tempted to mimic a mockingbird
that mimics him
most of the times
on top of the tree fronting
his window where he
faces the sun and moon
the mockingbird mocks him the moment he mocks it
and he in turn mocks the mockingbird that mocks him when he mocks it
both of them are bored
and have nothing good to do
they mock each other
morning noon and nigh time
bird man bird, man bird man bird
in truth the man wants to be a mockingbird
in truth the mockingbird wants to be a man
the problem is
no one is talking and no one is listening
no one wants to be himself/itself forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Famous Mockingbird
Fly famous mockingbird
Fly...
Fly famous mockingbird
Fly...
Fly famous mockingbird
Fly...
Fly famous mockingbird
Fly...
Fly...
Fly...
Fly famous mockingbird
Fly...
The next morning at the camp errand wolfe and rutherford stood frozen in awe as the famous mockingbird flew out of the sky and laid the helping friendly book at their feet. the quest for the book had dragged on for so many years that its sudden appearance left the men staring in disbelief, unsure of what their next move should be. the shock wore off quickly though, and errand wolfe shot into high gear. he snatched up the book with one hand and the famous mockingbird with the other, and began to inform rutherford of his plan. he would first kill wilson, and then put the helping friendly book to work for him.
With rutherfords aid he fastened the famous mockingbird to a pole, with glue and rubber bands, to insure the secrecy of his mission, and then set out to find the only man in gamehendge who could handle the job of eliminating a king.
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tequila Mockingbird
(pam tillis/mel tillis, jr.)
Its a slow, smoky scene at the county line cantina
Where strangers stop to hear her sing a song
Shes a legend round these parts
For stealing all the hearts of cowboys on their way to san antone
She used to be a desert rose with ballerina toes
But that wasnt in the cards she chose to play
The pages of her life are wrinkled, but her spanish eyes still twinkle
Every time she steps out on the stage
Tequila mockingbird, flying underneath the neon moon
Tequila mockingbird, dreaming of a love that ended too soon
She sings the saddest song you ever heard
So bittersweet
Tequila mockingbird, tequila mockingbird
Well now once she had a man, and they called him diamond dan
He was wild and reckless as a mustang stud
til one night tequila found him with the gamblers gathered round him
Lyin in a pool of cheaters blood
Tequila mockingbird, flying underneath the neon moon
Tequila mockingbird, dreaming of a love that ended too soon
She sings the saddest song you ever heard
So bittersweet
Tequila mockingbird, tequila mockingbird
She sings ooh hoo, woo hoo hoo
It wasnt God who made those blue neon angels
Ooh woo hoo hooh
I know hes waiting on the other side for me
Tequila mockingbird, flying underneath the neon moon
Tequila mockingbird, dreaming of a love that ended too soon
She sings the saddest song you ever heard
So bittersweet
Tequila mockingbird, tequila mockingbird
She sings ooh hoo, woo hoo hoo
She sings ooh hoo, woo hoo hoo ooh
song performed by by Pam Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Must Understand The Mockingbird
at night
the mockingbird still
haunts her
it's nature is to mock
to imitate
it cannot get away from it
otherwise
it dies
otherwise it ceases to be
one good mocking bird
you must understand
nature
there are those who live
to copy
because they are born to be
that way
if you get irritated
by the mockingbird
that becomes
your own responsibility
pity,
soon you will cease
pity
the mockingbird shall sing
a funeral song for you
if not write an elegy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Triolet: The Mockingbird
Today the mockingbird
Is just a memory,
Yet soon it will be heard.
Today the mockingbird
Is silent — not a word
Can coax its melody —
For today the mockingbird
Is just a memory.
poem by Richard St. Clair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Desparate Song
Mockingbirds are the only
birds to sing all the colors.
The most beautiful of them all
is the saddest, and she sings
her lonely song to him,
but he does not notice.
He does not realize that
they are the same.
He only has eyes
for the bluebird.
The very same bluebird
that has tortured the mockingbird
with her songs many times,
claiming to be his only love.
As the mockingbird sings
her sad songs, she is careful
not to sound like the bluebird.
She sings only to him,
only for him,
but he is the only one
that doesn't listen.
Everyone sees her beauty,
except for him.
They see her as a broken heart,
but he doesn't see her.
He doesn't notice whether
she's there or not.
He doesn't notice
the love in her eyes,
or the pain in her voice.
He only knows the bluebird,
and sees her alone
as the beauty of Life,
although he will never
know true beauty:
the beaury of the mockingbird,
or the love that she
would give to him.
poem by Zoe Guillory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Things are never as bad as they seem.
Harper Lee in To Kill A Mockingbird
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Best way to clear the air is to have it all out in the open.
Harper Lee in To Kill A Mockingbird
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mocking Bird
she is new here
and she does not know that on the roof of this house
beside a big tree
under the blue clouds
lives the mockingbird...
she is the butterfly
fluttering over the flowers
deaf
she never hears about two mocking birds talking to each other
in perfect understanding
without the use of any word
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daylight, in my mind, the night faded.
Harper Lee in To Kill A Mockingbird
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view.
Harper Lee in To Kill A Mockingbird
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Simply because we were licked a hundred years before we started is no reason for us not to try to win.
Harper Lee in To Kill A Mockingbird
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Go To A Place....
if i go to a place
that you cannot go...
it is not because i didnt love you,
not because we failed.
if i follow the shadows
to the morning light,
you are not alone...
i left my heart by your pillow.
if i ride the wind,
to just beyond the sky...
i have not deserted you,
i live in your every breath.
and if they bury me,
just before the first snow...
i will return with the spring,
in the buds of your longing.
for with each dawn,
the night must pass...
leaving wetness and the scent of hunger.
and when the river turns to find its source,
even the mockingbird waits in stillness.
so if i go to a shore beyond your thoughts,
i will not be alone....
i too take our love with me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A lonely tree
At a road where the road off
where lonesome is the road
at mid of no where
A lonely tree is standing there
waitin no one but the dust
dust of the passing time
tarnish the colour of this tree
this lonely tree to gray
praying in this lonely place
for the passing van
A gray lonely van
for the lonely bird
staying for a while
when the nights come
and days go
the lonely tree; praying there
when the war rage and peace,
walkin shy
the lonely tree praying for the peace
no one is waitin there
but the lonely tree is waitin
the morning sun
waitin the rain in may
waitin winds from the north
waitin when no one is waitin there
and this lonely tree
gave a name for this nameless place
the land of the lonely tree.
poem by Sallam Yassin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Me The Mocking Bird Again Repeating Your Words
'we feel to much and
we love too much and
this will be the end of us
one day'
'we feel to much and
we love too much and
this will be the end of us
one day'
'we feel to much and
we love too much and
this will be the end of us
one day'
'we feel to much and
we love too much and
this will be the end of us
one day'
here i am
hear me
at the top of your own voice
my voice too
on top of your roof
the tree watches
does it want
to silence me
with its hundred
leaves?
it is me again
this mockingbird
how can you
stop it?
stop me?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Oneself is Known
In the finding of self,
It matters not where or when it is done.
In the finding of oneself.
That 'is' the achievement that comes,
One has won.
And in the finding of self,
Perceptions of others.
Of who that self found should be,
Can not be compared to a comfort known within.
That begins and no one else can see.
But what is known that comes eventually,
Is a feeling that is centered.
And from a core that is believed.
Leaving wherever the place one goes,
Not a place to seek in the search for self.
When oneself is known this shows.
And 'in' no one else,
Can one find self to be shown.
So many seek different environments,
To qualify what they can not identify inside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Welcome Stranger To Another World
it is almost dark when i arrive
at this place,
beside the cemented road
a garden of wilting flowers
petals are filled with dust
the trees along the way
towards a bungalow
are shedding off leaves,
sonorous, the place is getting
strange to me with its own
kind of quiet
the door of the house is half open
the swing on the side is not moving
the air is strong
and leaves begin to be flown away
i enter the door
dusting my shoes on the carpet
scarlet in hues
light is filtered by dark green curtains
i remain standing
and you are there waiting
for this final talk
it is strange for i feel
that i do not belong to this place
anymore
i am taking away all my stories
and a book of poems
there is only one thing
i like to say to you
we make an agreement
there will be no more elaborations
no justifications for our past actions
nothing hurting or unkind
we are tired of the pain
i am leaving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give Me A Home
Give me a home to call my own
A humble home of wood or stone;
A place where ripples laugh all day
And songbirds sing and children play
A little home of love and cheer
Where seasons paint throughout the year,
And at last, when the day is through,
A place where I may talk with you.
Give me a home to call my own,
A friendly home to stand alone
And crown some earthly mound of clay
Or set before an ocean spray,
A simple home of faith and trust
Where I may toil in Heaven's dust
And when, anew, each day is through,
A place where I may be with you.
Give me a home to call my own,
A common home of tree or stone;
A place where kindness lights the way,
And flowers bloom and willows sway-
A home of love where hearts may kiss
Each tender joy of wedded bliss,
And in each hour of life to find,
A truer peace of heart and mind.
poem by Sara Stowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bland
his words are bland
and i think i understand
inside his cell
darkness and emptiness
and silence
words
becoming intense
he felt all of them
like pins
and here you are disturbed
angry
and wanting to kill
what mockingbird is there
if only you
have felt what drowning is
on that well
where the water runs dry
you would not have
become like him
engulfed by this huge mouth
of emptiness
vomited you run the streets
endlessly without direction
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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