The Little Black Bird And The Wooden Railing
it is a black bird with a shade of red
on its upper wing
that perches on the wooden beam
cracking under the sun
last summer
below the beam are the tall reeds
i forget whether it was the black bird
or the tall reeds
which was singing
but i am sure i heard a song
so sad like a dying note from the throat
of a mad man.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Maids Of Elfin-Mere
When the spinning-room was here
Came Three Damsels, clothed in white,
With their spindles every night;
One and Two and three fair Maidens,
Spinning to a pulsing cadence,
Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;
Till the eleventh hour was toll'd,
Then departed through the wold.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Three white Lilies, calm and clear,
And they were loved by every one;
Most of all, the Pastor's Son,
Listening to their gentle singing,
Felt his heart go from him, clinging
Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere.
Sued each night to make them stay,
Sadden'd when they went away.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Hands that shook with love and fear
Dared put back the village clock,-
Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock,
Flow'd the song with subtle rounding,
Till the false 'eleven' was sounding;
Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere
Swiftly, softly, left the room,
Like three doves on snowy plume.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
One that night who wander'd near
Heard lamentings by the shore,
Saw at dawn three stains of gore
In the waters fade and dwindle.
Never more with song and spindle
Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere,
The Pastor's Son did pine and die;
Because true love should never lie.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
poem by William Allingham
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By the Pool of the Third Rosses
I heard the sighing of the reed
In the grey pool in the green land,
The sea-wind in the long reeds sighing
Between the green hill and the sand.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
Day after day, night after night;
I heard the whirring wild ducks flying,
I saw the sea-gull's wheeling flight.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
Night after night, day after day,
And I forgot old age, and dying,
And youth that loves, and love's decay.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
At noontide and at evening,
And some old dream I had forgotten
I seemed to be remembering.
I hear the sighing of the reeds:
Is it in vain, is it in vain
That some old peace I had forgotten
Is crying to come back again?
poem by Arthur Symons
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Sha La La
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Walking out quite late one night
Not feeling happy or feeling down
In the dark I stumbled over something on the ground
As I got to my feet
I heard a strange voice singing low
Shout out a song I wont forget
Until my dying day I know
She said
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
When I heard her singing
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
First my impulse was to run
But then the magic caught my ear
An unforgettable refrain
A song for all the year
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Well then I heard her singing
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
In despair I cried out loudly
Begging for her to come out
Suddenly has it began
The sha la song died out
At last I realized who had sung it
Quite amazed I turned to see
The tall trees waving me goodbye
The sha la song and me
They sought me
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
And then I heard her singing
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Singing Birds Are Endangered Species!
Singing bird's songs
enjoyed,
wonderful melody, wonderful words,
Rhapsodical Sometimes,
More often romantic!
A power hungry,
another powerful
both listen a while,
They want the bird to sing for them!
Now the bird has to stop singing,
Or should think of flying far away!
Power hungry will kill
or powerful will,
Singing bird ability of throat
Is its own enemy,
Two hands are ready to squeeze,
Two blades ready to cut,
Singing bird's throat often
squeezed,
Several died,
not even found in history,
they fear even that bird's story!
For it sings only truth,
Singing birds throat is cut,
Because it can't keep its mouth shut!
Poor bird! Its talent,
gifted voice became
its own enemy,
Not even they are listed
Though singing birds are endangered species!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Black Bird Singing
a black bird flies on top of the house
and perches upon a tree
fronting it
i stand by the window
looking at the scenery of sea and sand
and alternating rustic fronds
pine trees and grass
the black bird begins to sing
asking for attention
then we see each other eye to eye
it is i who blink first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When on a Summer's Morn
When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.
And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
And one that's all my own.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Long Cool Woman
(clarke / cook / greenaway)
Saturday night i was downtown
Working for the fbi
Sitting in a nest of bad men
Whisky bottles piling high
Bootlegging boozer on the west side
Full of people who are doing wrong
Just about to call up the da man
When i heard this woman singing a song
A pair of 45's made me open my eyes
My temperature started to rise
She was a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9, beautiful tall
With just one look i was a bad mess
'cos that long cool woman had it all
I saw her headin' to the table
Well a tall walking big black cat
When charlie said i hope that you're able boy
Well i'm telling you she knows where it's at
Well suddenly we heard the sirens
And everybody started to run
A jumping out of doors and tables
Well i heard somebody shooting a gun
Well the da was pumping my left hand
And then she was a-holding my right
Well i told her don't get scared
'cos you're gonna be spared
Well i've gotta be forgiven
If i wanna spend my living
With a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9 beautiful tall
Well, with just one look i was a bad mess
'cos that long cool woman had it all
Had it all
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress
The Hollies
Long Cool Woman (In a Black Dress)
(Clarke/Cook/Greenaway)
Track 7 on album Distant Light
Saturday night I was downtown
Working for the FBI
Sitting in a nest of bad men
Whisky bottles piling high
Bootlegging boozer on the west side
Full of people who are doing wrong
Just about to call up the DA man
When I heard this woman singing a song
A pair of 45's made me open my eyes
My temperature started to rise
She was a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9, beautiful tall
With just one look I was a bad mess
'Cos that long cool woman had it all
{interlude}
Whoa
I saw her headin' to the table
Well a tall walking big black cat
When Charlie said I hope that you're able boy
Well I'm telling you she knows where it's at
Well suddenly we heard the sirens
And everybody started to run
A jumping out of doors and tables
Well I heard somebody shooting a gun
Well the DA was pumping my left hand
And then she was a-holding my right
Well I told her don't get scared
'Cos you're gonna be spared
Well I've gotta be forgiven
If I wanna spend my living
With a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9 beautiful tall
Well, with just one look I was a bad mess
'Cos that long cool woman had it all
Had it all
Had it all
Yeah had it all
Had it all
Had it all
Oooh
Had it all
{fade out}
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rockin Robin
He rocks in the tree tops all day long
Hoppin and a-boppin and singing his song
All the little birdies on jaybird street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet
Chorus :
Rockin robin, rock rock
Rockin robin
Blow rockin robin
cause were really gonna rock tonight
Every little swallow, every chick-a-dee
Every little bird in the tall oak tree
The wise old owl, the big black crow
Flappin their wings singing go bird go
Chorus
Pretty little raven at the bird-band stand
Told them how to do the bob and it was grand
They started going steady and bless my soul
He out-bopped the buzzard and the oriol
He rocks in the tree tops all day long
Hoppin and a-boppin and singing his song
All the little birdies on jaybird street
Love to hear the robin go tweet tweet tweet
Chorus
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T-birds
Circle high, circle low.
Jammers fly, t-birds.
You show, you show, whiplash go.
You show, you show, t-birds. mighty bird.
T-bird, my mighty bird.
On the dot in the slot, tie the knot.
On the dot timed kisses.
In the slot on the dot, tie the knot.
In the slot, no misses.
Mighty bird.
T-bird, my mighty bird.
T-bird, mighty bird.
Black sun conquerer.
Two thousand years ago... a great race... warriors... lived in... they had many gods... mayans... gods... mazatlan... (if you can fill in these blanks please email [email protected])
Black sun worshipper.
Coil it up, wind it out, strike it hot!
Coil it up plumed serpent.
Coil it up, wind it out, strike it hot!
Coil it up, my t-bird.
Serpent curl.
T-bird, rule the world.
T-bird, mighty bird.
Black sun born again.
Oh I love my t-bird, t-bird.
song performed by by Blondie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Southern Man
Southern man better keep your head
Dont forget what your good book said
Southern change gonna come at last
Now your crosses are burning fast
Southern man
I saw cotton and I saw black
Tall white mansions and little shacks.
Southern man when will you pay them back?
I heard screamin and bullwhips cracking
How long? how long?
Southern man better keep your head
Dont forget what your good book said
Southern change gonna come at last
Now your crosses are burning fast
Southern man
Lily belle, your hair is golden brown
Ive seen your black man comin round
Swear by God Im gonna cut him down!
I heard screamin and bullwhips cracking
How long? how long?
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magpies
Along the road the magpies walk
with hands in pockets, left and right.
They tilt their heads, and stroll and talk.
In their well-fitted black and white.
They look like certain gentlemen
who seem most nonchalant and wise
until their meal is served - and then
what clashing beaks, what greedy eyes!
But not one man that I have heard
throws back his head in such a song
of grace and praise - no man nor bird.
Their greed is brief; their joy is long.
For each is born with such a throat
as thanks his God with every note.
poem by Judith Wright
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The Voice
One feather is a bird,
I claim; one tree, a wood;
In her low voice I heard
More than a mortal should;
And so I stood apart,
Hidden in my own heart.
And yet I roamed out where
Those notes went, like the bird,
Whose thin song hung in air,
Diminished, yet still heard:
I lived with open sound,
Aloft, and on the ground.
That ghost was my own choice,
The shy cerulean bird;
It sang with her true voice,
And it was I who heard
A slight voice reply;
I heard; and only I.
Desire exults the ear:
Bird, girl, and ghostly tree,
The earth, the solid air--
Their slow song sang in me;
The long noon pulsed away,
Like any summer day.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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Wild Geese Across the Moon
REEDS, snake-like, coiled in the mist
Where the low fog drives:
The muddy cough of the stream that strives
To free its throat from the clot of reed,
As they fight it out the water and the weed--
While the fog, above, takes turn and twist:
Men, these are your lives!
Wild Geese across the moon:
As some hand that unrolls
And scratches black names upon blood-red scrolls;
So seem these shadows, dipping, dying,
Black shapes on the red moon, screaming, flying,
Till the fog blots out, or late or soon:
Men, these are your souls!
poem by Muriel Stuart
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The Source
There in the fringe of trees between
the upper field and the edge of the one
below it that runs above the valley
one time I heard in the early
days of summer the clear ringing
six notes that I knew were the opening
of the Fingal's Cave Overture
I heard them again and again that year
and the next summer and the year
afterward those six descending
notes the same for all the changing
in my own life since the last time
I had heard them fall past me from
the bright air in the morning of a bird
and I believed that what I had heard
would always be there if I came again
to be overtaken by that season
in that place after the winter
and I would wonder again whether
Mendelssohn really had heard them somewhere
far to the north that many years ago
looking up from his youth to listen to
those six notes of an ancestor
spilling over from a presence neither
water nor human that led to the cave
in his mind the fluted cliffs and the wave
going out and the falling water
he thought those notes could be the music for
Mendelssohn is gone and Fingal is gone
all but his name for a cave and for one
piece of music and the black-capped warbler
as we called that bird that I remember
singing there those notes descending
from the age of the ice dripping
I have not heard again this year can it
be gone then will I not hear it
from now on will the overture begin
for a time and all those who listen
feel that falling in them but as always
without knowing what they recognize
poem by William Stanley Merwin
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The Avid Reader
i guess, if she is true,
she will tell me, that i what i write
is a strange black bird
looking for a white home along
the olive green reeds
thriving on the mirror pond
wanting to be a bluish sky
not so blue
but a little shade of pale
embarrassed kid having taken
the bite of a cake
prohibited by mom,
sometimes i think
is she after my body or the body
of the poem?
my conceit again hovers
on the mountain tops
on cliffs
without trees
what i think is that
we all somehow want to be read
even if not understood
for what use is a poem or a word
when there is no one
alive in this
abandoned abalone
world?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grey Thrush at the Door
'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!' Low at first and flattering,
Full of soft seductiveness on a wheedling note.
Who comes in mercy now, crumbs of comfort scattering
For a grey bird pleading from a cold, cold throat?
Just a thread of tallow-fat, just a scrap of meat!
Grey thrush is at the door. 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!'
Grey bird, friendly bird, merry bird in summer time,
For summer is a merry time, full of tuneful mirth.
Sunny days are singing days. But winter is a glummer time
With lean days of scant fare; frost has locked the earth.
Song goes as sun goes, and harshly drives the sleet.
Where comes the almoner? 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!'
'Sweet! Sweet!' Now it grows imperious:
A short call, a loud call, impatience in its tone.
Why am I left lingering? See, my plight is serious.
A poor bird all forlorn, starving and alone.
Grey Thrush is a-hungering, begging scraps to eat.
It's far beyond my breakfast time! 'Sweet! Sweet!'
Now a footstep on the floor. Now a sudden fluttering,
And Grey Thrush is waiting there beside the open door.
Kookaburra cocks an eye; greedily he's muttering;
But grey bird is first to swoop upon the proffered store,
A scrap of song in gratitude, then up, and off, away.
And the mendicant has vanished till another frosty day.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Sailor's Mother
ONE morning (raw it was and wet---
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair:
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
'What is it,' said I, 'that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak,
Protected from this cold damp air? '
She anwered, soon as she the question heard,
'A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird.'
And, thus continuing, she said,
'I had a Son, who many a day
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead;
In Denmark he was cast away:
And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me.
The bird and cage they both were his:
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
The singing-bird had gone with him;
When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.
He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;---there
I found it when my Son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit!
I bear it with me, Sir;---he took so much delight in it.'
poem by William Wordsworth
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A Bird and flower upon the tree
A bird and flower upon the tree,
Sweet peony and oriole,
Each of them a perfect soul,
Song and sweetness manifest
The bird and flower we love the best
Side by side on the tall tree.
'Flower who art sunlight and fire, flower who art perfume and joy,
Sweetest of sweet,
Ah for the gift withheld!
Ah for the given gift's alloy!
Why must thy spirit exhale only in beauty and breath?
Ah for the voice thou hast not! I by thy side on the tree,
Telling the world of love, pain, and all raptures that be,
Raptures of laughter and life, raptures of tears and death,
Singing my heart to heaven, singing to earth at my feet;
Silence in thee.'
'Bird who art dew-drops and flame, bird who art rapture and song,
Sweetest of sweet,
Lo there's a voice part mine, songs that to me too belong,
Songs that grew of my growth, voice that has breathed my breath.
Bird that while I sit mute singest beside on the tree,
Hast thou ever a song taking no perfume of me?
Give forth my sweetness in song; bird, thou art singing for both,
Singing our hearts to heaven, singing to earth at our feet;
My voice in thee.'
On the tree-top side by side,
Sweet oriole and peony;
Music rings through earth and sky,
Sweet and sweet in sweetness lost
The flower and bird we love the most,
On the tree-top side by side.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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