That Early Morning.....
this is what happened
that morning all i heard was the sound of chirping birds
haggling for a home upon those crown of trees
luscious leaves firm branches
tarring twigs
it might be an illusion since when the morning light came in profusion
upon those grounds
there is nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Abstraction Fo The Word Chirp....
i hear birds chirping
early morning
on those trees
clouds arrive, light
spreads,
green becomes too green
in the fields of
life,
i hear birds chirping
sweet to my ear
i give it priority
abstract. delet morning
move out clouds from the picture
double click green fields
focus on life
delet birds
add volume to chirping
it is all chirping now
just chirping
chirping chirping
the essence of chirp.
i have abstracted it from
everything else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Trimming The Trees, Pruning The Twigs....
on the tree of life
there will be more leaves
and twigs and flowers
on spring
and more luscious fruits
for eating
there is somehow a
need for trimming
what excesses are there
twigs that go awry
leaves that lush for too much
shade
and so we do just that
cut some twigs
take a look and cut some
more
remove some leaves
for sacrifices
for us to some more
and some time
see heaven for once.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Boring Day
as he opens the window
there is only the shadow of leaves on the trees
on a gray background
it is twilight, midway between night and day
sounds of a cold wind from the forest
the rooster crows and some chirping birds
you sit and gaze through the window
light comes in
this happens everyday and there is nothing significant
after 49 years, and this time a hole is bored inside your heart
you fear that love is gone.
that the birds do not chirp musical notes
the wind much colder now and you shiver
light seeps in trickles like rain on your wrinkled skin
it is the same morning, and it will be same mornings all over again.
you do not move. You let time go and your hands are frozen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Inward Morning
Packed in my mind lie all the clothes
Which outward nature wears,
And in its fashion's hourly change
It all things else repairs.
In vain I look for change abroad,
And can no difference find,
Till some new ray of peace uncalled
Illumes my inmost mind.
What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?
Lo, when the sun streams through the wood,
Upon a winter's morn,
Where'er his silent beams intrude,
The murky night is gone.
How could the patient pine have known
The morning breeze would come,
Or humble flowers anticipate
The insect's noonday hum--
Till the new light with morning cheer
From far streamed through the aisles,
And nimbly told the forest trees
For many stretching miles?
I've heard within my inmost soul
Such cheerful morning news,
In the horizon of my mind
Have seen such orient hues,
As in the twilight of the dawn,
When the first birds awake,
Are heard within some silent wood,
Where they the small twigs break,
Or in the eastern skies are seen,
Before the sun appears,
The harbingers of summer heats
Which from afar he bears.
poem by Henry David Thoreau
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Tweet
He fell from the mango tree nearby
In the nest where three others lay
After the rain, their chirping cry
I heard in the morning at break of day.
A few days old they must have been
Eyes still shut, and such tiny wings
Scarcely with feathers on their skin
But they had a strong will to go on living!
I took the nest and kept it inside
Quite safe in a handy fruit basket
From my cats, the birds I tried to hide
As they heard the noisy chirping racket.
Two of the chicks failed to survive
The rains made them wet in the night
But the other two I had kept alive
Named him 'Tweet' and his brother 'Knight'.
We fed them bread crumbs in a toothpick
The chicks ate the meals, all was alright
But Knight was a bully and not so meek
Renamed him 'Joker' - oh what a sight.
Joker would pound on his brother Tweet
So I had to keep them apart
Everyday their chirping would greet
Good morning to me with all their heart.
Tweet was the only one that remained
For birds do get colds and die
He taught me lessons I had gained
Animals care, without tears they cry.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Set them free..They will multiply..
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time,
colorful birds to colored birds,
chirping birds to singing birds,
flying birds to walking birds,
cunning birds to love birds,
Watching birds is just a lesson,
making mind to have a vision.
collect the twigs to make the nest,
one by one, they think the best,
choose the right tree,
just high and free,
Making the nest perfect,
without any single defect,
The birds toil together or alone,
all day long until it is done.
I bought two love birds,
that were kept in a cage.
Hung the cage under the balcony,
above the reach of dogs not felony.
chirping disturbed their sleep,
Nikko, the dog set them free.
Only two flew away,
but I have a few dozens now,
making their nests,
right in front of me, on the trees.
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Morning Time
Wind was blowing through the trees
I could hear the rustling of their leaves
The morning sun sneaking through the clouds
Birds singing morning sounds
For i love this time i say
Morning of a new day
I wonder what the day has in store
In the distance i hear the waves crashing the shore
For it is morning time and all is a buzz
From the depths of the oceans
To the skies above
Good morning morning i always say
My your a beautiful day
Maybe you might rain today
Your still beautiful anyway
The sombre breeze that blows around
The birds singing
As i spread my blanket on the ground
So i lay here looking into the sky
Motionless waiting and watching the world pass me by
A few drops of rain speckle my face
I would not give up being here for any place
Its Morning
Its morning
Sun rising
Moon hiding
Birds chirping
Flowers blooming
Eyes opening
Many waking
Many sleeping
Dew on the leaves
Evaporating
Bees humming
Church bell ringing
Silence going
Noise increasing
Life keeps moving
Like ever before
Night or morning
Same story again
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Bustle of Thick Traffic
To no one in particular,
Did I say hello to this morning.
And I heard the birds chirping,
Above the rush and bustle of thick traffic!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Industrialization
an early morning treat
to the chirping sounds of the birds
the engines arrive in the form of the bus
the tractors and the caterpillars
the birds fly away carrying their songs
the chirping sounds fade
the buzz of the day is in the machine
paving, drilling, cementing, screaming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Across The Window
The Vine crept out across the window, tall and arched,
and curled in such profusion as it went,
Planted there with great pride so many years ago,
each year it’s growth is always so well spent.
Its flowers like long golden trumpets in clusters hang,
varied colours, reds, pinks and yellows glow.
Decorating the fine old Victorian bricks,
giving to all a spectacular show.
The twisted and gnarled high branches giving support,
look sadly bare when winter comes around,
A bird’s-nest is suddenly spied within its wrap,
empty now of its cargo. Not a sound
is heard of four chirping chicks who cried out last spring,
all have flown now, making new homes in trees.
Amongst foliage, little ones are warm and safe,
shielded from rain and sun and teasing breeze.
The Vine crept our across the window, tall and arched,
and curled in such profusion as it went,
To see it, through the four seasons, is such a joy,
its fresh renewal, leaving one content.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Chirping Birds
the morning here
is always the sound of chirping birds
because the trees
have been their homes at night
when the sun rises
the birds fly away again
and when the sun fades
they come back
to their nests
and home
the night hums the song of silence
bird's eyes closing again
to the golden sheen
of the bright moon
the white owl flaps its wings
on a nocturnal adventure
in harmony with the bats
friends of the night
some shadows lurk in the night
in the pursuit of happiness
some souls are restless
on dreams unfulfilled
some wake up dwindling at dawn
opening the fridge for a glass of cold water
switches on the computer
and begin again
anew to another poem
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Upon A Dead Tree
this morning
i check upon
a dead tree
there are
no leaves
what i see
are birds
looking like
leaves
the tree is still
dead
and then the twigs
are all empty
when all the
birds
fly away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Morning Symphony
silence is a
blank sheet of paper
the notes come from
the birds
this early morning
i hear the most beautiful
song, a choir of birds
chirping, winds gently
blowing, hushes from
leaves, drums from my
footsteps, beatings of
my heart
whistles from my soul.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Father
Father, blessed father,
Its morning again.
I give you, father, myself, father,
Continue your plan.
I know together we can climb mountains in the sky.
No one can stop us when Im standing by your side.
Troubles knocking here again;
Ill tell him jesus has me by his hand.
Hell walk me through.
Father, loving father,
Create in me
A pure love, father, your love, father,
Instill it in me.
I remember the nights Ive cried for you;
Now I only have to die for you;
Thank you, lord, youve made it clear just for me.
I see the light;
Its burning out the night.
Oh, father,
Its morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
Morning.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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My Mornings Here
in this sleepy town
where there is always rain
i thrive on the songs
of little birds
their notes chirping inside
my mind
i feed them grains of poetry
and they appear healthy
i grow some trees where
they nest and lay eggs of ideas
in this sleepy town
my burdens are light
my canvass is the darkness of the night
my hope is a star
hanging on the tree without leaves
a cocoon opens and gives birth
to another yellow butterfly
it flutters and finds a white daisy
and they kiss
i watch wrapped by the rays of the morning sun
i ponder if this will ever end
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Another Lonesome Morning
(clinton codack/wendy special)
Another lonesome morning
Another long lonesome day
Youll have to live without him
The morning seemed to say
Another lonesome morning
You thought you didnt care
But morning breezes find you
Wishing he were there
Bobwhite sings his same old song
Trying hard to please
And you hear the sound
That he used to love
Thru the rustlin of the leaves
Thru the rustlin of the leaves
You losing him has taught you
That you wanted him to stay
And you know that all another lonesome morning brings
Is another lonesome day
All another lonesome morning brings
Is another lonesome day
Is another lonesome day
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meeting The New Year...
we do not wish to meet this new year
with firecrackers
we get away from the tradition of noise
and wild merrymaking
the smoke that chokes us
the rubbish that we give to what could
have been a neat morning
we pledge that what we offer for the year
is the peace of the hearth of the home
the silence of the moss
the coolness of the pond
the songs of birds hovering on
the twigs of oak trees and
the softness of the ferns
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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