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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There Are Walls
i just learned
that there are walls that want
to be gates
there are windows
that want to be skies and birds
there are birds that want
to become stars
and there are stars
that merely want to be themselves
just the glitter
for the night
then fade away
on the first glimpse of light
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Under The Water
The bird was
Flying
Under the water...
Under the water
Fishes and frog
Also swmming...
How the birds
are flying...? ? ?
It is not qustine...
You also
Go and see
Any lake...
Sincerly watch it..
Natualy
Birds are flying sky;
Shado will be
Seen under
The water...
Sky also there:
Only way its true
Shadows...
The birds are
Simply flying
Under the water......
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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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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A swimming
Un none birds
Fly on the sky...
Sky was
Blue...
Clouds painting at
Sky...
Day to night
Stars come...
But...
Birds flying
At air with swimming...
With out water...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Country
i let you drive
as i sit calmly on the rear side of the car,
i do not wish to speak to you
as i watch the countryside
on a very hot summer
rice fields newly harvested
cracking chunks of soil, brown grass, stacks of hay,
trees with yellow leaves, smoke from the house chimneys,
patches of fog hanging on mountains
behind us on this road towards home
dusts, dusts, dusts.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Core In Her Being
there is a core in her being
that you must penetrate, that spot
where you also release
all that you have
where your souls fuse
and become free
it is where stones are converted
into birds of freedom
thoughts exploding like suns giving birth
to a number of stars
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
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Birds cheer others
Birds ae flying
Do not shout or beat gong
Birds are not pests.
Birds cheer others
Do not pollute atmosphere
Do not cut down trees
Birds are settling.
Take care of the birds
Life take care of you
Take care of you cheerfully
Birds are flying
Life is smiling.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Birds Turning South
stacking wood,
chill morning air...
birds turning south.
axe and boots,
old truck loaded down....
birds turning south.
dreams and passions,
tied down and loaded,
birds turning south.
memory stained moments,
when the earth stoppt turning...
birds turning south.
now nothing more than
empty nests, a stray feather...
birds rurning south!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’
‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’
‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
When the grass turned white and the acid rain
Caused all the trees to drown.
They left when the river turned yellow mud
And the fields died under the road,
When men built towers of thirty floors,
They left the town in droves.’
The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon.
‘The birds of Wenzhou took their nests
And travelled to old Hangzhou.
They went to live by a wondrous lake
That tales will tell, is blue...’
‘Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei...
Have they forsaken you? ’
8 November 2005
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Friends of stones
It is not a paradise
although the sing of birds
It is not the Hell
although the song of birds
although the sound of waves
it is only our world
with many songs in the sky
with many birds in the dream
with many birds in really
It ‘s here that we are living
we are little, very little
we are old, very old
we are wandering,
wandering and loving
this space
we are also
friends of stones
friends of rocks
Fear is with us
But what fear?
A fear sweet
A fear black
or another fear?
Where is the fire of the fear?
Where is the fear of the fear?
Into our World
in a deep of monster
nobody know this
in this world of the words
in this words of the world
but what fear screechs
here and now
without your hands
of red sun?
poem by Jean Francois Le Goff
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Femina Contra Mundum
The sun was black with judgment, and the moon
Blood: but between
I saw a man stand, saying: 'To me at least
The grass is green.
'There was no star that I forgot to fear
With love and wonder.
The birds have loved me'; but no answer came --
Only the thunder.
Once more the man stood, saying: 'A cottage door,
Wherethrough I gazed
That instant as I turned -- yea, I am vile;
Yet my eyes blazed.
'For I had weighed the mountains in a balance,
And the skies in a scale,
I come to sell the stars -- old lamps for new --
Old stars for sale.'
Then a calm voice fell all the thunder through,
A tone less rough:
'Thou hast begun to love one of my works
Almost enough.'
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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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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Reality...one
in a field of grass
underneath the morning clouds
a man with a black hat
white polo and marine blue pants
rides on a red motorbike
followed by a brown dog
and a black horse
one upon the other they tread
upon the road that you are talking
blue birds fly the skies
above the poplars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Femina Contra Mundum
The sun was black with judgment, and the moon
Blood: but between
I saw a man stand, saying, 'To me at least
The grass is green.
'There was no star that I forgot to fear
With love and wonder.
The birds have loved me'; but no answer came--
Only the thunder.
Once more the man stood, saying, 'A cottage door,
Wherethrough I gazed
That instant as I turned - yea, I am vile;
Yet my eyes blazed.
'For I had weighed the mountains in a balance,
And the skies in a scale,
I come to sell the stars - old lamps for new -
Old stars for sale.'
Then a calm voice fell all the thunder through,
A tone less rough:
'Thou hast begun to love one of my works
Almost enough.'
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Eastern Swamphen
Invertebrates and slugs and such they eat
The water birds with big and ugly feet
You know them by their wild and distinct cry
And their legs are always dangling as they fly.
Related to but larger than moorhen
And with coots, rails and crakes they too share common kin
In or near water they are known to stay
And from lake or pond they won't be far away.
Midst water reeds they build their nests of reeds and grass
No work of art just an untidy mass
And three up to five eggs the female lay
With brown spots through the lightish buff to gray.
With purple under black and red on face
And flicking tails familiar to their race
Birds when once seen you never could mistake
They roost in ponds or reedy swamp or lake.
If danger threaten to water they retreat
The water birds with big and ugly feet
And you know them by their wild and distinct cry
And their legs are always dangling as they fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Fate Of The Black Bird
the black bird flies alone against the blue sky
it is lonely and that is the truth that lies in every black feather of its strong wings
if only it can change its course
and find a place where there are other black birds like it
perhaps it will turn back and learn to sing the song of the black flock
it is not a way of life that its father had handed to it upon its beak and claws
it is not even a choice and never did it ever imagine that it shall be alone against the blue skies
against the black nights and against the towering peaks of mountains
there is no other way of rationalizing about it except fate,
it is the destiny that chose its path and it is simply following the dictates of the stars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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