For My Neighbor
the black birds are
up
hovering over the
green coconut palms
beside the roof of
her new house
she remembers
Noah and her heart
begins to weep
there are other things
that i can see
from all these black birds
my heat too weeps
but i shall not give
her any hint at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
73
i have nothing to ask of you
or of myself
i have been here and have slept on the coolness of grasses
and i have seen the rainbow all complete with its array of colors
i heard the black bird sing
and so is that white bird on the roof of my house
doves and crows
and cars and wheelbarrows
i have loved and lost and loved and won
there is nothing to prove there is nothing to show
time tells us in the dusk that it will end somewhere someday
like a fortuneteller covering her head with a black headdress
i am not awed and neither i ask
i am not curious anymore
i listed to the flow of the river
it is the music to my ear
i am fed up with all these big and little things in my palms
let them all be birds and butterflies
let them all fly away and let them all not come back
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beak Kind To Birds!
Beak kind to birds both near and far,
Both high and low as well...
To me, each bird's a superstar!
In fact, to me, they're swell!
Beak kind to birds and show you care
With titbits now and then...
And watch with wonder as they share
Their breakfast once again!
Beak kind and keep your cats at bay...
Else feeding birds take flight!
It's nicer seeing birds at play
Than watching them take fright!
Beak kind to birds, give them their space
So they may co-exist...
For none on Earth can take their place,
So they'd be sorely missed!
Beak kind to birds, they'll flock to you -
They're all our feathered friends!
It doesn't matter, black or blue...
Beak kind - 'cos it makes sense!
poem by Denis Martindale (2003)
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The Island poem.
The Island was there surrounded by sea,
Where the family stayed, so much to see;
The birds flying in the sky, and on the water too,
Yes! They were enjoying their holiday, it's true.
The Island stretched for many a mile, they could see,
With plenty of shells, and sand, the sunsets so pretty;
The Coconut palms, and date palms, to walk in the cool,
And the children enjoyed it all, for there was no school.
The husband enjoyed to go fishing each day,
The children loved to run on the sand and play;
The wife, she enjoyed it too, to rest under the tree,
Then she called them all at night, it is time for tea.
The Island holiday soon came to an end,
The children said, our holiday we can pretend;
That we are still on our lovely holiday retreat,
And remember the birds, and the birds so sweet.
Have you ever been to an Island, for a holiday?
Maybe you travelled far, to Queensland, is what you'd say;
Or was it somewhere in the Islands of the south see?
You'll know it was a holiday to feel so very free.
poem by Margaret Haig
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This Afternoon
this afternoon
three black birds hover
steadily on the sunset sky
beyond my roof
i am looking for the fourth
it is not flying
it is staying inside my
bleeding heart
drinking blood.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Black Heart
Black Heart is shame
Black Heart is pain
I'm so black hearted, I have no name
Black Heart is sadness
Black Heart is no hope
I'm so black hearted, I'm about to pick up a rope(hang)
Black Heart is lonely
Black Heart is wanting to kill
I'm so black hearted, I'm about to take pills(overdose)
Black Heart is angry
Black Heart is despair
I'm so black hearted, i can't have a another pair(lover)
poem by Avontae' Miller
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The Stars In The Heavens....
i was the praying
mantis on the grass
when we first met
here in this
spot of mud and
water
we talked
and i made promises
like turning
dusts into butterflies
and stones into
birds
and birds into
stars
in that black sky above us
now i am watching
all those stars of you
once stones
without minds of their own
once dusts without
meaning
once birds flying without
directions
i like the way all of you glitter
as i sit upon this strip of grass
covered by
black skies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Black Bird Dead
three black birds high
up in the air
flying
playing this early morning
on their
swift wings
i heard a single shot from the
hill and one black bird fell
the other two birds continue
to fly away
so frightened
they continue flying away
from that hill
a man with a brown cap emerges
and picks a dead black bird
on the rocky ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Black Birds High Up In The Air
three black birds high
up in the air
flying
playing this early morning
on their
swift wings
i heard a single shot from the
hill and one black bird fell
the other two birds continue
to fly away
so frightened
they continue flying away
from that hill
a man with a brown cap emerges
and picks a dead black bird
on the rocky ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Heart Is Home To The Birds
My heart is home to the birds
Because God made my heart for the birds
And I am happy that the birds live inside of my heart
Because my heart is always warm and the birds will never die inside my Heart or they will never have to fly south to the winter
Also the birds will always be safe inside of my heart
Because nobody will be able to harm the birds
poem by Aldo Kraas
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A Mountain Trek
summer is idle, as an African tulip falls
gently on the hillside
the place is quite overlooking an old city
the mountains are brown and empty
at night the moon comes out
a gun bursts sometimes and startles the black birds
on the tree alone beside the long
winding river of Bulawan
the black birds scream calling all
the deep ravines.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Meditation on a Grey Morning
Grey morning
lights
the bland sky.
Black birds light
on bare trees
thin limbs wavering
as they flit
scanning
the frozen earth.
All the world is waiting,
to unwind explosive buds
to shed thin shrouds
and burst into emerald light
as joyful black birds rise
into the endless
blue sky.
Great is their faith,
these birds and trees.
They know beyond all reason
that the sun
will thaw
the icy grip
of violent winter
poem by Steven Federle
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Beds
A nest is where a bird sleeps,
Feeds and flies from,
Above a black roof –
A kennel, which is where
The dog goes skulking.
And beside it is a house
Where we go
With our dog in the summer,
To hear the birds come home,
To send the dog to bed,
And to celebrate
Being older together,
Before the hill that looms
Behind the church where we go
Comes out of the summer,
To send us to bed.
poem by Stug Jordan
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Lazarus Heart
He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand
Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Ive no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bird Sanctuary (Vedanthangal-TamilNadu, India)
The calls of birds
Of hues varied
lull all to sleep.
Vedanthangal(Shelter of the Hunters) ,
the rain fed tank,
is the haven for
Cormorants,
the Night Herons,
the Darters, Ducks
Grey Pelicans
and the Moor Hens….
Birds from continents diverse
nest on the Kadamba Trees,
feed, breed and fly around,
dip in water, catch fish
and hop to the trees in glee.
O, that sadist hurls a fish above
and takes it back within its bills!
The world of birds has a lot to teach.
The black, white and grey birds perch side by side.
Birds, plants and animals
give man his essential needs.
But he cuts their throats to fill his bellies.
---
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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When the birds fly
When the birds fly
the mind opens its eye
the heart looks up to the sky
the birds fly.
The birds fly south
the ear opens its mouth
the nose sees summer
the kids they are playing out...
When the birds fly
we dream our words dont die.
Reborn with a babys cry
the birds fly leaving stars
they stay in the night,
we are the birds
we escape to the light.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Now Going Back To A Little Seriousness About Life
i have give you a list of games
a to z, back to z then a, and you gape at me
unable to believe,
finding it so hard to believe that in the middle of the city
during a blackout i can be
another black dog with eyes gleaming like
a pen light roaming around
a black canvass inside the movie house
where each hungry city dweller is looking for
something to hold
to eat and puke.
now going back to where we once were,
we never made us
they made us to do things that we do not really do
the way we did it,
we are constrained to escape from the doorsteps
of restraint,
and be free birds, white
in visions, twittering on sky blue skies
now going back to what we are....
where are we really?
i am serious. Are we not lost?
in the middle of this darkness where we think we are no longer stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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The Leaf
A little oak leaf tore off from its branch
Was driven o'er the steppe by a cruel gale;
Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow
It finally alit by the Black Sea shore.
A young plane tree stands by the Black Sea shore;
A whispering wind strokes her green boughs;
On her green boughs sway heavenly birds
Singing the praises and fame of the queen of the sea.
The traveler lit at the soaring tree's roots;
Anguished he pled for a moment's shelter,
And these were his words: "I am but a poor oak leaf,
Matured before my time in a grim homeland.
For ages I've wandered without a goal, all alone
Without shade I withered, without repose, faded.
Would you welcome this stranger among your emerald leaves,
I know many stories of wonder and wisdom."
"But why do I need you?" the young tree replies, -
"You are dusty and yellow - ill-suited to my wholesome young sons.
You've seen many things - but what use do I have for your tales?
The heavenly birds have long wearied my ears.
O traveler! Be on your way. You are a stranger to me!
Beloved by the sun, I bloom and shine for him;
My boughs are spread in the heavenly fields,
The cool sea refreshes and washes my roots."
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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Writer And Culture
Green was culture, Green were you.
After a revolt, after a red,
You have become black,
Your culture black.
Perhaps, I will write in black.
Hip pop, hip hop, Bi pop,
Jockey tight, body loose.
Loose is the costume,
Loose is your future.
It is thy culture.
I get up in heat,
Tightening my feet,
Empty heat, Empty Zest.
I am thirsty to change you.
Can you give me some water?
You too get up in heat,
Posing your fittings,
Around your settings.
I am thirsty for water,
You are thirsty for culture.
You forgot your origin and seed,
While you are busy to feed need.
You want a trend,
You want a mixture,
Thinking change is must.
I see a mass culture building,
At the outdoors you are kneeling.
You are kneeling with feeling,
Begging for hybridity,
For a culture of santry.
I was not a poet,
But your condition made me.
I have a query for your culture,
Will this continue in future?
I think yes; what you say?
.
poem by Abhimanyu Kumar.s
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My Dream Regarding The Two Beautiful Birds
i
how do you get to
hit two beautiful birds
with a single
stone?
ii
or how to make these two
beautiful birds to get to stay
beside my window sill?
iii
how do i make these two beautiful birds
happier?
shall i make a bird house on a tree
beside my house
and give them grains every morning of the day?
iv
how do i make this dream about two beautiful birds
into a reality? they keep on chirping inside my mind
wanting to be given the realistic form of wings
like some eyebrows
wings flapping just above my eyes
the mountains my cheeks
my mind the skies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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