En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The White Bird In My Hand

I LOST A bird,
it is a bird with white wings,
i shape those wings,
and give it strength,

in the wink of an eye
it flies away,

it never sings for me.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I want to fly!

yes, you do.
where do you want to go?
i am looking for a new home

how does one grow wings?
i want to fly...

it is the most quiet conversation.
the man begs to understand
why the mouth he is blest with does not take the shape of a beak.

the bird sings of many lands
the man has not yet been to

the little brown bird's heart is a ray of sun
but the man does not know

inside the wars are all in the making
outside it is still calm

the bird and the man kiss
the bird flies
the man falls asleep
the man flies
the bird is dead.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To a Sleeping Child

Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.

Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;

Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.

Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;

Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bird's Wish

The bird asks me
What I’d do
If I am a bird.
I tell him
High and high I’d soar
So high that I’d see the earth no more
I’d be a bird on the tree
I’d be a bird that’s free!
What you’d do bird
If you’re a man?
To be fair
It’d be my only prayer to God
Don’t be so hard
Make me once again a bird!
Saying this the bird sings
And spreads its wings to a sky
I can never fly!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Our Bird In Your Cage

we have this bird
we both own it and love it and care for it
our bird
and you have this cage
that you only own
golden, new and strong and as you say it
so reliable
that when our bird is in that cage
it will be safe
and cannot escape

we feed this bird together
and give it water and birdseeds
and a place of twigs and swing
where the bird can play
and perch upon
like it is on a tree

days and years
we keep this bird in your cage
and we see it is dying
and wanting to be free

yet you say, this sickness is just temporary
time heals what has wounded it
and shall forget the power of its wings

days and more years
we keep this bird in your cage
and i have not listened at all
to the sad song of that bird
her waning chirps
her weakened wings
her way of losing hold to the dreams of its wings

today we see this bird is dead
but you have no sadness at all
you say, you will buy another bird
again to be kept in your cage

i could have told you
i am the bird in your cage and i too have forgotten the power of
my wings

i could have told you, i have long died
and have forgotten what freedom is, what love is, what i am

in the first place. How can i ever tell you?
you are my cage.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Of Syntax

A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree

The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue

The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog

I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue

I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upon The Swallow

This pretty bird, O! how she flies and sings,
But could she do so if she had not wings?
Her wings bespeak my faith, her songs my peace;
When I believe and sing my doubtings cease.

poem by John Bunyan
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

poem by Maya Angelou
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The Tame Bird Was In A Cage

THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, 'O my love, let us fly to the wood.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Come hither, let us both live in the cage.'
Says the free bird, 'Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?'
'Alas,' cries the caged bird, 'I should not know where to sit perched in the sky.'

The free bird cries, 'My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands.'
The cage bird sings, 'Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned.'
The forest bird cries, 'No, ah no! songs can never be taught.'
The cage bird says, 'Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands.'

There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, 'Come closer, my love!'
The free bird cries, 'It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.'

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Caged Bird

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

poem by Maya Angelou (1994)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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I Won't Fly

I'm just a little bird
but I've got wings
like the wings
of an eagle.

I can fly high
higher than the clouds
but I won't fly
because I want to walk with you
under the sun
or even under the rain.

I'm just a little bird
but I've got wings
like the wings
of an eagle.

I can fly high
but, I won't fly
and will never spread my wings
as long as I have
...your love.

poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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The Eggs Of The Blue Bird On The Nest

the blue bird
takes care of its nest
all the white eggs
warm beneath its feathers

all those nights
and even cold days

and then when the eggs hatch
the fledgelings
prematurely spread their wings
fall off from the branch
where the nest hangs

on the following morning
you see the ants feasting on their flesh

ah! the blue bird sings again
readies itself for the rain

it escapes away from its sorrows
and flies away...far, far away

far, far away....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gibberish

Many a flower have I seen blossom,
Many a bird for me will sing.
Never heard I so sweet a singer,
Never saw I so fair a thing.

She is a bird, a bird that blossoms,
She is a flower, a flower that sings;
And I a flower when I behold her,
And when I hear her, I have wings.

poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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VI

The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the
cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread
one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the cage bird, "I should not know where to sit
perched in the sky."

The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the
woodlands."
The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of
the learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the
woodlands."

Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing
to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to
know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my
love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of
the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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Birds Nest

Have you not seen the bird
flying far, again and again
collecting straws to weave a nest-
a home- for its young ones to be.
As eggs are hatched
out come the young
chirping or crying, to be fed,
the bird flies again, and again
collecting grains
to feed the young
who cannot fly
It chews the grain but does not swallow
beak to beak it feeds young fellow
caressingly and lovingly
so all are fed properly.
Young get wings, by and by:
and coaxed by the mother bird;
attempt to fly.
Then suddenly one day
the young one flies far away
It knows not where: and
The nest gets barren,
Lonely...
The bird DOES NOT GRIEVE
OR DOES IT
We humans, we do not know.

poem by Om Chawla
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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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Flightless Bird

My world is caged in,
I can not fly away,
I can not soar in the clouds,
With the wind and the angels.
I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.

I sit here day in and day out,
I watch so many people coming in and going out,
They stay here so happy so proud,
And they leave again without any care in the world.
I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.

I remember each face,
I remember them all saying hi waiting for a reply of hello,
They don’t understand how it feels,
They don’t understand what it’s like.
To be a flightless bird with clipped wings.

Wings tucked and head held high I sit here,
I wear a smile on my face and I keep myself beautiful and happy,
But inside all I can see are the bars that surround me,
I can’t get past them I can only sit.
I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.

My world is a room full of people myself the center of attention,
Although I should not complain for this is my life,
And I make them smile I make the children laugh and look in my eyes,
And sometimes they look into my eyes and see my world through my eyes.
They know I am a flightless bird with clipped wings.

They’ll stand and watch me as I walk around in my cage,
They’ll be there with me and try to understand.
Then they’ll have to leave and they’ll look over their shoulders.,
And they look into my eyes one last time,
Before they fly away into the world to bring back stories for the flightless bird with clipped wings,

They are my connection to the world,
They show me what they see through their eyes,
They show me wonders and beauties of a world I’ve never seen,
They are my window to the outside,
In their mind I can be a flightless bird in a world of wonder and of flight.

I am only a small bird in a cage that sits in a hotel,
Sits and watches as the world around me fly’s by,
I wait for the occasional stranger who looks into my eyes with knowing,
Maybe a person who is like me like a flightless bird in a cage,
They are my wings, the wings of a flightless bird who’s wings are clipped.

I sit in my own world and watch as it all moves by,
Day after day I watch and I say what is expected of me,
I sit in my world and I go on my own steady journey,
A journey in which I am a silent observer,
A flightless bird with clipped wings in a world of ever changing skies.

By: Bethany Maxwell

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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What Now Little Bird?

what now little bird?

you look around you
the nest is empty
and mother bird is far away
and siblings
have taken the first jump
to the pond
to learn to float
and then
fly

you think that mother-bird
comes back
to feed you with another worm?

no, little bird
no one is coming back for you
you do not even
know if you have a father-bird
to save you

no, little bird
do not wait
do not waste your time
the sun shines
and it is time
for you to go too

fly now
little bird
find the real meaning of your wings....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ah, The Bird-night!

night fluttered
its wings-
a wounded bird
fallen into my lap
to be comforted

i lie awake
nursing bird-night

teary-feathers
gained strength
at the break of
a ruddy dawn

the bird will return
as night gathers, again!

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Heart Of Stone

A broken wing, and a broken bone
Of a bird, that met a stone
Lied helpless And was bit despair
Looked above If god was there.
Short of food And short of breath
Was silently waiting For his death
Asked his wings If they could fly.
Yes they said why don't you try
He gathered his strength and wiped his tears.
And soon he stood Without his fears
His eyes stared at the Dark blue sky
But just then when he was about to fly

they grabbed his neck they grabbed it hard
with all his strength he could move a yard
and yes those hands did hurt his bone
he had met a heart of stone
some ugly hands and a beautiful bird.
He cried for help But no one heard.
His wings were flawed And his muscles were stiff.
He begged them to throw him off a cliff
oh dumb bird, don't you get,
look at you, it's a stone you met.
To this, the half dead bird replied
So what, if I die
Just for once I ll meet the air.
And also see if god was there.

Stories of wisdom, that were once told
But now this world had been so cold.
He wished if those blind eyes could see.
The bird was dead though his soul was free.

poem by Kanav Justa
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