Vers Libres
at the park
i feed pigeons
and they gather around me
and then
having consumed all the grains
they all fly away from me
it is the flapping of wings
the sounds of departures
without so much
fuss
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A Man with a Guitar
Men talk on the public square,
Pigeons eat on the sidewalk and fly,
Women flirt and feed the pigeons.
Men, envious of pigeons,
Desire more attention from the women
But women only notice birds who know how to sing.
There comes a nightingale that starts singing
And attention moves from pigeons to nightingales;
There comes a man with a guitar, and he starts playing
And singing like a nightingale.
A woman allured by these new sounds
Forgets the pigeons and nightingales;
She shyly starts to sing
And turns to a man with a guitar.
poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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Flapping Sails Of The White Winds
let us
let us all be
white sails blown by the wind in one direction
flapping, flapping winds, flapping wings of a white bird towards the endless sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Patience, Patience
the child with a black coat
on this cold day
sits there beside a brick
church of spanish
architecture
the yard is quiet except
for the sound of the flapping
of doves feedind on some
rice grains
the boy has a black hair
and his feet are stained with
mud his fingers dirty with
some sticky sauce
he spreads the rice grains
from his palm to the
muddy grounds
the doves hover and land
on the spot where the grains
are freely spread
he sits with them
surrounded
the doves are watching him
and he watches carefully each
dove that eyes on his grains
he likes to snatch just one
to bring home to mother
the doves are too careful
it is just the rice grains nothing more
eye to eye
both wait for what shall happen next
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Secretary - Bird
Out of the air it lands
with wings flapping
before the snake can stop it.
Out of the air it lands
strikes deadly at the poisonous adder
with a razor sharp beak that injures,
out of the air it lands
with wings flapping.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Poisoning Pigeons In The Park
Planned it all out mate,
put these pigeons through sore straights.
Should teach them a lesson or two,
of where to dropp their doo.
Planned it all out mate,
put it in the bread crate,
took it to the park and fed,
all the pigeons till they were dead.
'Tis our favourite pass time,
my honey and I.
I'll not take it for such a crime,
they're pigeons after all, who'll cry?
Gave 'em a little bit of cyanide,
and threw some mercury in for good measure,
maybe people will think it suicide,
or view their deaths as a great pleasure.
poem by Soren Valentine
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Complaceny
from my hands
you little bird with a black beak
shall take the grains
i wait for time to grow you
strong wings so you can fly away and join
your family
and then you have wings
why do you want to stay still in my house
pecking the grains in my hands?
what is it
that you love on the lines of my palms?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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sidewalk cafe
as we talk about liberty
the flapping of pigeons towards sky
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Comfort
comfort
i see it in the
smart morn doves
hastily picking up grains
courtesy of a
grocery store shopowner
i see it in three pigeons
cleaning themselves
in the most charming manner
in a puddle
pulling their heads in and out of water
rinsing, splashing,
without a care of the world
comfort
i see in a mating
male pigeon
flapping with ecstasy
on a rooftop as its back
sweeps down towards the female's
comfort
i see it at a shop's verandah
mother cat licking its newborns
one by one
its nipples, limpy, pinkish and red
from the heavy suckling
comfort
i see them in childhood river
after rain
fishes splash, leap
all the way out to sea
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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June Afternoon
Didnt I tell you everything is possible in this dj vu?
Try the river boat, the carousel, feed the pigeons, bar-b-q.
Look at all the people, happy faces all around.
Smiling, throwing kisses, busy making lazy sounds
Its a bright june afternoon, it never gets dark.
Wah-wah! here comes the sun.
Get your green, green tambourine, lets play in the park.
Wah-wah! here comes the sun
Some folks are on blankets, slowly daydreaming
And reaching for their food.
Lets go buy an ice-cream and a magazine with an attitude
And put on a cassette, we can pretend that youre a star
Cos lifes so very simple just like la-la-la
Its a bright june afternoon...
Theres a painter painting his masterpiece.
There are some squirrels jumping in the trees,
Theres a wide-eyed boy with a red balloon.
All my life Ive longed for this afternoon.
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Dream Regarding The Two Beautiful Birds
i
how do you get to
hit two beautiful birds
with a single
stone?
ii
or how to make these two
beautiful birds to get to stay
beside my window sill?
iii
how do i make these two beautiful birds
happier?
shall i make a bird house on a tree
beside my house
and give them grains every morning of the day?
iv
how do i make this dream about two beautiful birds
into a reality? they keep on chirping inside my mind
wanting to be given the realistic form of wings
like some eyebrows
wings flapping just above my eyes
the mountains my cheeks
my mind the skies
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wings of Time
The wings of time
Never stop flapping!
I left no words
Of where I had gone
Or where I was going
Or what I was to become...
Watching the time of day
Carry me away Into infinity!
In constant motion,
I plead for patience
But time ceases
For no one...
At least of all
My subsequent will
Who kneels
In humble submission
To divine law...
The rhythms of nature
Are the instructors
And implements of genius
When no one before has told
or discovered that the World,
Not you, is really old
Because the wings of time
Keep flapping ending-less!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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In Love Again
I stepped
away
my feet
leaving
light prints;
my hands
sweeping to my side
trailing rainbow arcs;
my eyes
dripping
gold dust;
my angel wings
flapping;
white wings flapping
gently in the breeze
spreading
wing perfume
and lightly
ever so lightly
I feel my breasts
rise
gently
in free fall;
In love again
I thought.
So nice.
My natural state.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Pigeon Poem
The Pigeon is taking food away from her mate today,
or he is taking food away from his mate today.
She is taking food to put on fat for winter time,
or he is taking food from her to dine.
Pigeons are like people cause people are like that.
feeding Pigeons in the park is fine,
old people have the time, to dine with pigeons;
Time i have today:
the time i play away
thinking of (?)
the pigeons as I dine.
I am fine.
She is putting on her fat.
He is just out to dine.
People are like pigeons.
people are like that.
poem by Charles Hice
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Early Morning Happiness....
this morning
i wake up early
i see this hen
and her sixteen chicks
roosting
upon a strong branch
of the narra tree
i get a handful of
rice grains
and scatter them on
the ground
the chickens fly down
from the tree
and feed on
the scattered grains
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What if a hummingbird could emerge from a cocoon?
What if a hummingbird could emerge from a cocoon
fully formed
and clingling
to a vanilla plant
its wet body slowly opening
in the heat of the flower garden?
And has anyone noticed
that birds as they depart
their flapping sounds
almost like a paper bag being opened?
The hummingbird clearly, though,
sounds like a hum
whose tiny wings
pressed together at 25 beats per second
is blessed by being the only bird to be able to fly backwards
and one that could be
the smallest fan in the world
The humidity of the weather
evaporates the head notes of her perfume
leaving the heart note to open next
she considers all this
including the world's smallest fan
and believes that if it hovered around her neckline
close to her
the strange bird would have wings
cooling to her
and misty to the bird
as it paddled the air
and was covered so slightly
in the scent of Japanese Eau de Parfum
not to mention
vanilla
poem by Eli Spivakovsky
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My Pigeons
My pigeons.
these, who live
in the birdhouse,
(for
pets)
are not at all “my” pigeons.
I am not there during the day.
And I cannot recognize myself.
At night they talk to each other.
I understand that this is so,
when in the room with my pigeons
I am met by a big blue eye.
They shyly grow quiet.
Please,
Do not be concerned.
They get along just fine.
poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
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Pigeons Cooing When They Do
Pigeons cooing when they do,
A cooing begun.
As they strut after flying...
Or sit and stare with a sitting done.
They seem to fly around in packs,
To peck and pick in shifts.
Until someone begins to eat,
A delicious 'anything' pigeons seek...
With probing beaks.
Then other pigeons dropp in flocks,
From places suspicious.
While peacocking around,
Scouting out for something dished.
Like some popcorn or peanuts.
Or crumbs from crackers and/or bread.
To feed in a cooing...
As if a drooling done is did.
They seem to fly around in packs,
To peck and pick in shifts.
Until someone begins to eat,
A delicious 'anything' pigeons seek...
With probing beaks.
Pigeons cooing when they do,
A cooing begun.
As they strut after flying...
Or sit and stare with a sitting done.
Then other pigeons dropp in flocks,
From places suspicious.
While peacocking around,
Scouting out for something dished.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fourth Floor, Dawn, Up All Night Writing Letters
Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof
out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross
surveys the city's blue-grey clouds. Larry Rivers
'll come at 10 AM and take my picture. I'm taking
your picture, pigeons. I'm writing you down, Dawn.
I'm immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.
O Thought, now you'll have to think the same thing forever!
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Each time, my love [De câte ori, iubito]
Each time, my love, when I remember about us
I see the ocean swelling and making such a fuss...
Up in the whitish sky there is no shining star
Only the yellow moon that's watching from afar;
Above the thousand waves the icy ocean brings
A bird is flying high, flapping her weary wings,
Her mate has flown away and headed to the West
Together with the flock that knows which way is best.
In vain she looks for him with pain in her small eyes
She's neither sad nor happy, because she slowly dies
Just dreaming of her life and how it used to be.
......................................
And very far apart we are now, you and me.
Increasingly alone, my soul is dark and bleak
Because you disappeared as quickly as a streak.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 257
I’m a happy dog at the park
I yelp and woof and bark
Along with the sound
Us dogs run around
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
You may think me off the mark
But I’m not by mistake
In the mud by the lake
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I hunt like a big hairy shark
When the bunnies trail
Puts a spring in my tail
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m glad that some bright spark
Brought a ball to throw
Now off I go
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’m a happy dog at the park
I’ll be wagging well into the dark
Enjoy fresh air and fun
Is my tip everyone
I’m a happy dog at the park
poem by Flying Lemming
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