Him
the man with red cheeks
and white beard
and less hair, what is he up to?
ah, he is the mocking bird
and for this
he is never married.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mocking Bird On The Tree Fronting The House...
a mocking bird
sits on a branch of a tree
that fronts the house that
papa made
papa is gone.
a mocking bird left but one
sunny day
after the heavy rains for months
the mocking bird comes back
it is bringing silence
unlike all the other mocking birds
in town
the mocking bird is dead
a boy abandoned by his mother
stoned it
now the window if you walk a little
distant from the house
and sit on a bench across the road
looks like a Cheshire cat
giving Alice that fable smile.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mocking Bird
Mocking bird,
I am now in Washington DC!
But the bomb dropped and i was able to escape.
Mocking bird,
My silver plate is with you;
So do take care of it.
Mocking bird,
Flowing with the feelings of love and the vibes of your muse;
But do watxch out before you are knocked down!
And try to fly away to a safer place.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living sparks in the dark
The world will fast collide
With its own beginning,
Then silence shall reign
Supreme again, I surmise.
There'll be no more singing.
Joyous choirs shall be silent
Even Kingdom Halls shall be shrill
With no end or beginning
There'll be only time to kill.
Endless as a mocking bird
Mocking at his will…
With his black-wing-span
Across all that we have done
Right across the Rio Grande
There'll be a death knell…
Over all we have come to understand.
On all except that mocking bird,
And his living sparks in the dark
In hand!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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The Black Bird That Keeps On Flying
the black bird
keeps on flying
over my head
its wing tips
touch my hair
the black bird
weeps
and my mind
cannot ignore
it
it is seeing you
again
and it does not
know
what to do
with its beak
it wants to kiss you
but your eyes
are angry
it wants to land over
your hair
but they are hard
as wires
the black bird
has no nest for
its eggs
you never mind it
your mind
thinks always of
that white bird
in the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shes Gone
My woman is gone (woman is gone), my woman is gone (woman is gone).
She had left me a note hanging on my door:
She say she couldnt take it, she couldnt take any more.
The pressure around me - just couldnt see;
She felt like a prisoner who needs to be free.
Fools have tried, yeah - wisemen have failed:
Oh, listen to me, honey: life could never be another jail.
Still we know now: well never see smoke without fire
And everyone you see has a heart desire.
Shes gone (shes gone), shes gone (shes gone),
Shes gone (shes gone), shes gone, ye-ah!
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
She made it through the exit (she just couldnt take it);
She made it through the exit (she just couldnt make it).
And, oh, my children, if you see me cryin:
My woman is gone.
If you see me - if you see me - if you see me -
If you see me cryin -
If you see me - if you see me - if you see me -
If you see me cryin:
Shes gone (shes gone), shes gone (shes gone), shes gone, ye-ah!
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
Oh, mocking bird, have you ever heard,
Words that I never heard?
Shes gone (shes gone), shes gone (shes gone), shes gone
(shes gone)
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King’s Beard
There lived a king with beard so long
And scalp with scarcely hair!
He used a comb and sang a song
And groomed it with great care.
The king was proud of his long beard
That made him look so wise!
The queen, his wife knew he looked weird
And cursed him for its size!
The queen was therefore always sad;
His lip got hid by hair!
But one day, she was rather glad;
She told him, she couldn’t bear!
One day, the king slept while he read
A book that was folklore!
He had a dream asleep in bed;
“His beard had grown some more! ”
A burning candle-stick fell down
And lit the curtain-blind;
His beard had caught the fire sown!
The king was off his mind!
His nose smelt smoke: he woke in fright;
His beard was all aflame!
He shaved the stubs of hair by night
And took on him all blame!
The next day when the people saw
The king, they couldn’t believe
Their eyes and gazed at him with awe!
“Could eyes of dawn deceive? ”
poem by John Celes
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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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Showing The True Color
when i wake up this early morning
she was not already beside me.
i do not want to rise and fold the blanket
and go somewhere else.
or read the papers, or sip coffee, there is
this laziness that infects my bones, a disease
of meaning, another slow day, the routine is
eating me, and i behave
in a manner that i am like a lame duck being
aimed at by all the bystanders
i am opening my eyes, and the ceiling is off
white, it has been that way ever since i got married,
why did i leave it that way? i have the money to have
it painted pure white, like a very clean slate where
i can write what i must mean, but i didn't, i let things
that way they are from the beginning, and perhaps
they will still be at the end. This is what i do next,
always always i do this: i rise from my bed, go to my
circular mirror and look at my face, they also do it,
and then i touch my cheeks and chin, feeling the roughness
of the beard, how they have grown long and so untidy,
the razor is ready, and the soap and water, but this time
i will do what i cannot do the other days of my life,
i will not trim the unruly ones, i will not wash my face,
i may slap myself, and then i give the mirror the grin
of the man that is used to all these doubts and shame.
i will tell it, i am now myself.And then i will the bathroom
another tune for my whistle, nobody, nobody but me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fifteen False Propositions Against God - Section XIII
Hush now baby don't say a word
Mama's going to buy you a mocking bird
The third
Joyful mystery.
The joy that descends on you when all the trees are cut down
and all the fountains polluted and you are still alive waiting
for an absent savior. The third
Joyful mystery.
If the mocking bird don't sing
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring
The diamond ring is God, the mocking bird the Holy Ghost.
The third
Joyful mystery.
The joy that descends on you when all the trees are cut down
and all the fountains polluted and you are still alive waiting
for an absent savior.
poem by Jack Spicer
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Unforgiving Love
one day a blue bird fell in love with a white rose..the rose was envious of everybod falling in love and was afraid that she will get hurt..the blue bird told her that he had loved her from afar but was too scared to tell the white rose how much he actaully did...the white rose told the bird when my petals turn from white to red i will fall in love with you back....the blue bird came by and by everyday and told the white rose how much he loved her...until one day the blue bird cut his wings and soaked the white rose with his blood...the white rose's petals turned from white to a luscious red and she realized how much the blue bird loved her..but it was too late the blue bird fell in front of the rose and the rose was red forever..that's why roses are giving to the ones we loved
poem by Ariff Khan
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Mocking Bird
Mocking Bird
Written by: Wilfred C. Mellers, Thursday, October 27,2011 @ 09: 32 AM
How could an angel break my heart?
A deed done not too smart
Of me you were the better part
Now I have to face a brand new start
I guess you never heard
It is a sin to kill a Mocking Bird
Forced to face my greatest fears
Sadden eyes baptized by tears
Something so right turned so wrong
Memories now of turned a sad long song
I loved you so didn’t you know?
This is why I let you go
Turning now to the next page
Turtledove freed from its cage
This is how it must be
Now and for all I set you free
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Romancing The Beard
What women are attracted to
Though to some it may seem weird
Is a man who has a curl-i-que
That we’ve come to call a beard
They seem to love what’s hair-ly
On the chin and down below
That hair they find so rarely
Is that hair that they can’t grow
They love that tickly feeling
When caressing bearded men
Those beards just send them reeling
For those men they have a yen
These ladies have this craving
For men with chin filled bristles
These men who do no shaving
Who have these chin filled frizzles
A beard can really dazzle
When covering a jawline
With it’s sexy kind of frazzle
It can dazzle any fraulein
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Beach Neighbor
at the other side
of the fence
is my British
expatriate
neighbor
his beard is white
and he is
6 feet tall
retired
military man
married to
a Filipina
who split with her husband
5 years ago
i watch him playing
with an adopted
2 year old
brown kid,
they are throwing stones
to the sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hair
Wide cheeks? Let the hair hide the ears.
Broad forehead? Let the hair spills in front.
Dwarf neck? Let the hair in knot be up.
Lanky figure? Let the hair falls on shoulders.
Hair being dense is an asset to woman
27.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New Beau
Old age crept upon me
and I didn't notice it!
My hair turned white,
my skin to pale,
my eyes to dim,
I'd gotten frail!
Old age had kicked
me from behind!
So I dyed my hair,
put contacts in,
rouged my cheeks
and then
I took up
different hobbies
to keep my
brain in trim!
Now that I've saved
what little's left
there's a down
side even so!
Mr Wilkins
three doors up
intends to be
my beau!
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No married woman will have her white hair shaved at her mother's.
Why Not Do It, Sir, Today?
'Why so I will, you noisy bird,
This very day I'll advertise you,
Perhaps some busy ones may prize you.
A fine-tongued parrot as was ever heard,
I'll word it thus-set forth all charms about you,
And say no family should be without you.'
Thus far a gentleman addressed a bird,
Then to his friend: 'An old procrastinator,
Sir, I am: do you wonder that I hate her?
Though she but seven words can say,
Twenty and twenty times a day
She interferes with all my dreams,
My projects, plans, and airy schemes,
Mocking my foible to my sorrow:
I'll advertise this bird to-morrow.'
To this the bird seven words did say:
'Why not do it, sir, to-day?'
poem by Charles Lamb
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The Tombstone Told When She Died
The tombstone told when she died.
Her two surnames stopped me still.
A virgin married at rest.
She married in this pouring place,
That I struck one day by luck,
Before I heard in my mother's side
Or saw in the looking-glass shell
The rain through her cold heart speak
And the sun killed in her face.
More the thick stone cannot tell.
Before she lay on a stranger's bed
With a hand plunged through her hair,
Or that rainy tongue beat back
Through the devilish years and innocent deaths
To the room of a secret child,
Among men later I heard it said
She cried her white-dressed limbs were bare
And her red lips were kissed black,
She wept in her pain and made mouths,
Talked and tore though her eyes smiled.
I who saw in a hurried film
Death and this mad heroine
Meet once on a mortal wall
Heard her speak through the chipped beak
Of the stone bird guarding her:
I died before bedtime came
But my womb was bellowing
And I felt with my bare fall
A blazing red harsh head tear up
And the dear floods of his hair.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Supremacy is the beauty
Chubby lips, plump cheeks, massive breasts, fleshy buttocks,
Blunt nose, hairy skin, coarse hair and black eyes
Are the features the Dravidians inherited from the Negros.
Thin lips, flat cheeks, rounded breasts, slated buttocks,
Long nose, pale skin, silky hair and brown eyes
Are the features Aryan inherited from the White race.
Aryans are held beautiful by their cultural supremacy.
30.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Friend, Your White Beard Sweeps the Ground
Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground.
Why do you stand, expectant?
Do you hope to see it
In one of your withered days?
With your old eyes
Do you hope to see
The triumphal march of justice?
Do not wait, friend!
Take your white beard
And your old eyes
To more tender lands.
poem by Stephen Crane
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