Flapping Sails Of The White Winds
let us
let us all be
white sails blown by the wind in one direction
flapping, flapping winds, flapping wings of a white bird towards the endless sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
In Love Again
I stepped
away
my feet
leaving
light prints;
my hands
sweeping to my side
trailing rainbow arcs;
my eyes
dripping
gold dust;
my angel wings
flapping;
white wings flapping
gently in the breeze
spreading
wing perfume
and lightly
ever so lightly
I feel my breasts
rise
gently
in free fall;
In love again
I thought.
So nice.
My natural state.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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This Afternoon While Relaxing At The Porch
i see a little bird
coming out
from its nest
a fledgling
wanting to fly
testing the power
of its young wings
flapping
and flapping
feeling
the wind
keeping
it does not manage
after a brief stint
it falls on the ground
now limping &
limping
mother-bird tries
to rescue
diving
wanting to save
the
fledgling
but to no avail
she cannot carry
it back
high on that tree
it is heavy
a cat
comes along the way
and swallows
little birdie
for dinner
predator-prey -world
this is
nothing sentimental
nothing personal
just a matter of survival
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Secretary - Bird
Out of the air it lands
with wings flapping
before the snake can stop it.
Out of the air it lands
strikes deadly at the poisonous adder
with a razor sharp beak that injures,
out of the air it lands
with wings flapping.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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226
what the white owl does besides flapping its wings
The white owl flaps its wings
Deep in the night
Hovers on the trees
I think the leaves
I hear the sparrows chirping
In the morning
Some dead feathers are falling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wings of Time
The wings of time
Never stop flapping!
I left no words
Of where I had gone
Or where I was going
Or what I was to become...
Watching the time of day
Carry me away Into infinity!
In constant motion,
I plead for patience
But time ceases
For no one...
At least of all
My subsequent will
Who kneels
In humble submission
To divine law...
The rhythms of nature
Are the instructors
And implements of genius
When no one before has told
or discovered that the World,
Not you, is really old
Because the wings of time
Keep flapping ending-less!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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They Are All The Same
the silver fishes grouping
and scattering on the depths
of the dark blue sea
the white flapping wings of
birds within the circle of their
species, poised to fly far distances
the leaves falling from a tree to
the ground then blown by the
wind towards the desert and
the immeasurable mirages
oh, they are all the same
they are going somewhere
they are taken by what their
instincts and their hearts say
like us here, we are packing
we are always leaving so what
is the use of crying or even
laughing and merry making?
we are destined for some place
higher than this one
we are meant not for this or for
us but for some planes of
mystical existence that for
now we cannot really understand
prepare for that destiny
you do not have to carry a cent.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Victorious (Death)
the small bird
banged against its cage
for years;
flapping its wings,
trying to get out.
then finally one morning,
the door was left open!
the bird emerged,
battered and bruised,
but victorious....
and flew away
into the limitless sky.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Chance?
One never really knows
Why the wild-wind of chance blows
The way it does -
Perhaps mere luck
Or a passing truck...
Or, the flapping wings of a divine dove -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Free
Fly like a bird for you are free.
Soar high because that is where you will be going.
For although you are still at the ground your wings will get you higher.
So don't be afraid to take your very first steps and fly out and experience a new world.
You will face obstacles but that is how life works but just keep flapping your wings until you are high.
High above the clouds where the amazing things are.
poem by Christina J. Williams
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Don't admire the flying bird before you know the pain of flapping.
Fear Of Flying
The bird that flew so fast
It could not see the path
And was carried off in flight
Leaving the wind far behind...
So far above the course
It traveled with such haste
That fear stopped the flapping
And it came crashing down, down...
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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The Hummingbird
I seen a beautiful bird
from the distance, it looked buggy
as it got closer, it flashed many poses
its beautiful sound, it was bound for a feeder
it stopped in mid air, for us to glare
a speedy and gentle bird
zipping back and forth
teasing us with its moves
it showed us itself from above
wings flapping so fast
buzzing around, the pitch in prefect sound
it was a gorgeous bird
in awe how close it came
no fear, so dear
so sweet the Hummingbird
poem by Michael Peterson
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Little White Bird
little white bird
now that i have set you free
from my hands
to the winds you shall go
to its whims shall you be
search the skies
map out your freedom
be carefree
little bird
do not look back
i am in the prison walls of my mind
still thinking about your white wings
feeling each feather
in every patch of my skin
little bird, little white bird
how pure was that love?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Vers Libres
at the park
i feed pigeons
and they gather around me
and then
having consumed all the grains
they all fly away from me
it is the flapping of wings
the sounds of departures
without so much
fuss
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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March
There's a wind blowing
Cold through the corridors,
A ghost-wind,
The flapping of defeated wings,
A hell-fantasy
From meadows damned
To eternal April
And listening, listening
To the wind
I hear
The throat-rattle of dying men,
From whose ears oozes
Foamy blood,
Throttled in a brothel.
I see brightly
In the wind vacancies
Saint Thomas Aquinas
And
Poetry blossoms
Excitingly
As the first flower of truth.
poem by Patrick Kavanagh
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Alone on holiday away from you
White, red and yellow lilies
grow rampant and wild
next to the train tracts
between Somerset West
and the Strand
where I am on the train
from Bellville
and there’s a
white-hot sun that burns
high from above
and I can smell the sea
while I look
at the magical
dark blue water,
but you will not like
the cold water
and the light breeze
that blows today
and here and there
there are people
sending kites
into the air
and I see them
hanging flapping above
while a few
diving down with speed
and there’s sandpaper
in the beach wind
that hits me with sea sand
and the waves
rollick like wild horses
and in the distance
I see the road turning
past Gordonsbay
and I am alone on holiday
away from you.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Writing is like
One that I had in a dream
I was a bird flying high
Smooth air on my wings
Then I suddenly
Fell down
I did not experience any
Cut on any of my wings
They simply stopped flapping
And the air slipped
Sucked by some
Monster in space
It is like writing
I fall down today
From the heights of
Inspiration and
My mind simply
Breaks down
No thought
No dictation
From up there
Every word is sucked
Into nothingness
And all the boredom
That I have confessed to you
Once twice and always
Such that
You believe that I am
Simply inventing things
For attention,
All these are true.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother Natures Fall Dress
The wind came up and started to blow
A sky filled with dark and rain coming slow.
Trees swaying touching the ground
The rain still coming but now surrounds.
Lightening slashing the fabric of the sky
Exposing the vestitial virgins colorful eye.
The river was in a turmoil with patches of wake
Falls first weather and summer heat, to break.
The wind picking up almost to a gale
Thunder and lightening with enough rain to fill a pail.
I sit among natures eventual force
Wind, ligntening and dark clouds of course.
More white caps on the river below
In a few short months we will call them snow.
The butterfly with flapping wings in haste
The wind takes no excuse for being late.
Disneyland could put on a replica of this endeavor
Wind, rain, thunder and lightening and be very clever.
poem by chuck Hurley
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The Hair Over There
I want to see the hair over there!
And like the voice of your muse so heard last night;
But get down to the ground flour and you will know my standing point,
And like the wings of love flapping along on this side.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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