En.Citatepedia^®.ro

When The Blue Bird Sings

oh! the wind cries with it
when the blue bird begins to sing
when the night is so cold
when the moon hides behind
the clouds

oh! the leaves begin to hush
and sympathize
but the blue bird does not stop singing
and then it stops
at dusk
it is no longer there

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Blue Bird And The Old Man Under The Tree

and the old man with a sigh murmurs upon himself

'little bird, little bird,
how sweet is your song
how i wish i can listen
some more time'

and the little blue bird high on the tree stops to sing
and looks at the old man with pity
tweeting

'my dear old man
would you like to be a little blue bird some other time? '

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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
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This Little Bird

John d loudermilk
Theres a little bird that somebody sends
Down to the earth to live on the wind.
Born on the wind and he sleeps on the wind
This little bird that somebody sends.
Hes light and fragile and feathered sky blue,
So thin and graceful the sun shines through.
This little bird who lives on the wind,
This little bird that somebody sends.
He flies so high up in the sky
Out of reach of human eye.
And the only time that he touches the ground
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird dies.

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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L'oiseau bleu

The lake lay blue below the hill.
O'er it, as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.

The sky above was blue at last,
The sky beneath me blue in blue.
A moment, ere the bird had passed,
It caught his image as he flew.

poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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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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The lost lagoon

It is dusk on the Lost Lagoon,
And we two dreaming the dusk away,
Beneath the drift of a twilight grey,
Beneath the drowse of an ending day,
And the curve of a golden moon.

It is dark in the Lost Lagoon,
And gone are the depths of haunting blue,
The grouping gulls, and the old canoe,
The singing firs, and the dusk and--you,
And gone is the golden moon.

O! lure of the Lost Lagoon,--
I dream to-night that my paddle blurs
The purple shade where the seaweed stirs,
I hear the call of the singing firs
In the hush of the golden moon.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Sweet Harmony

There is no wind blowing
The tree stands green, serene.
It enjoys the bird's singing
And wonders: 'What does it mean? '

Blessed by this soft rain
Both the bird and the tree
Keep singing tunes again
Flooding the earth with glee!

The bird's chants soar above the tree
This one feels nurtured by them
Its leaves dancing onto the sea
Where the bird goes and treasures them!

poem by Maria C. Costa
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Little Bird Song

Theres a little bird
Somebody sent down to earth
To live along the wind
Blowing on the wind
And she sleeps on the wind
This little bird, somebody sent
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
She flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
And the only time that she touches ground
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird dies

song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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Bird’s Song

Swim through oceans of air
Birds keep time up there
And spend their days winging
Through forests of clouds, singing
Hymns of nature’s style
Fluttering away all the while
Dancing with angels in the sky
Dancing, dancing as they fly
Through fields of blue
Just to sing their song for you.

Mountains of clouds all about
Saviors in times of drought
Gather up the tears you cry
Into your reservoir in the sky
And listen to the birds sing
Listen for the song in everything
From the forests to the sea
From the bird to the bee
Listen and the song is there
Nature sings everywhere.

The sun rejoices each new day
But it rises in the usual way
To wake up the world with beams of light
And to conquer the darkness of night
But still the birds sing their song
A tribute to the day that’s long
And travel through fields of blue
Just to sing their song for you
And then when all has gone away
They’ll sing for you some other day.

poem by Jamie Collins
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Blue Valley Songbird

She was born in a place called blue valley
At the foot of the tennessee hills
With the blue birds and blue bells
And blue mountain water
And the sound of the blue whippoorwill
But there was no peace in the valley
Her daddy, a cruel, ruthless man
Used and abused her mind and her body
So her mama said run while you can
So at fifteen she took to the highway
Belongings and guitar in hand
And she buried herself in her music
The one thing she did understand
And she sings like a bird and she writes like a poet
Her voice has that high, lonesome sound
She hurts, and her songs are the best way to show it
So the blue valley songbird keeps traveling around
She hopes someday she will make it
And everyone says that she will
When she comes to town, crowds flock around
To see the girl from the tennessee hills
She writes her letter back home to her mama
In care of the preacher in town
Theyre sacred to her so she reads them at church
And so her daddy cannot track her down
And she sings like a bird and she cries like a baby
Whenever she turns off the lights
Shes a whole lot lonesome and a little bit crazy
From memries and miseries and dreams gone awry
Blue dress, blue shoes, a blue cadillac
A band dressed in blue by her side
Instruments tied to the top and the back
cause the blue valley songbird is singing tonight
One nighters, honky tonks, years flying by
She never made it, but lord knows she tries
Expressing the feelings she holds inside
And the blue valley songbird is singing tonight
Oh the blue valley songbird is singing tonight
And she sings like a bird and she writes like a poet

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Blue Bird...

THERE is a blue bird
nesting inside my belly
there are butterflies in
there too,

THERE is nothing that
comes out from my belly
there is nothing that
flutters in there
nothing flies away
there is nothing
that comes out from
my mouth

THERE is only a blue bird
in my belly
the butterflies do not
last
only the blue bird
yes
this blue bird
this silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Seed, Qou Vadis?

seed falling on the ground
brought by a night bird
wet by the rain of dusk

you have no choice
but to crack your hard covering
and then grow

some roots and leaves
in time's blessing
some flowers
then fruits

then the silence of the wilting
follows
to be back into a seed again
eaten by this night bird
and thrown back
to a distant soil

seed,
you must begin
your cycle again

for what choice do you have?
the night bird does not
even know
and the soil simply receives you
and the rain of the dusk
simply wets you
and they do not even know
what & why
they are doing all these

this is the cycle
of the seed of life
and wilting and death

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The blue sky in my home

The blue sky in my home

Good morning, bird
Good morning, sun

The blue sky in my home
I miss in my every day
For my clothes wet
To be dry

Good morning, bird
Good morning, sun

I miss you singing in the morning
When the sun rising
I miss you singing in the morning
When my mom cooking

The blue sky the singing bird the sun rising
Before I leaving
Praying to raise up my dreaming

Kadilangu, feb/03/2oo8

poem by Khoirun Niam
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A Letter To One Far Away

Dear Wanderer—
The sky is gray,
With flecks of blue
The clouds rush over.
A bird is singing
Far away,
And butterflies
Taste of the clover.
Under the trees
My hammock swings,
And a brave breeze—
The restless rover—
Flutters the leaves
And stirs the grasses
And, whispering riddles,
Lightly passes.
Day after day
My friend and I
Climb up the hills
And search the valleys;
Dip in the brook
That ripples by
And through clear pools
Serenely dallies.
All green and gold,
All song and sweetness,
The old earth is
For summer's pleasure;
Who kisses and goes,
Whose love is fleetness,
Who gives but a season
But gives without measure.
Away with time!—
His wand I capture,
He rules no more
For this brief minute.
The years are gone—
Once more the rapture,
The night of stars
With the secret in it.
Ah, if you were here
Should I grant, I wonder,
The whole round truth
For a birthday token—
How today, tomorrow,
Together, asunder,
We are—no, hush!—
It is best unspoken.
Oh, the truest truth—
No words dare say it!
It hides in the heart
From the poor tongue's treason;
And the deepest joy—
We may never pray it.
It comes and goes
With nor rule nor reason.
Look up!—the sun
Through the clouds' gray portal!
And see—white plumes
In the blue below it!
Behold the dream,
Wide-winged, immortal!
Did I hear your voice?
You are here—I know it!

poem by Harriet Monroe
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Anemos Cries With The Wolf

The lightening clashes in the sky
thunder roars
rain crashes to the ground
dark clouds consume the all
a cursive wind blows
critters take warning
Luna has vanished
midnight is upon us
wind chimes sing
leaves dance in the wind to their tune
the anemoi are displeased
their howls echo
the wind has a mind of it's own
It calls to me
guides me
a wolf crawls from his den
as untamed as anemos
he cries to the moon
Sol soon begins to rise
breathless and tired
the wolf stumbles back to his den
and awaits another moonless night to sing his lonely song

poem by by unknown author
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Moon Glow

The darkest night, flows with a
wind hush through open blackness.
Ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Rivulets spill with water
across the mountain plains;
as liquid rolls down along the steep slope-
ya'ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Stars glitter through sparkles
of the darkest night.
Wind cold breeze swifts;
swiftly into space.
Laughter engulfs the moon light.
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?
Moon light angles corners,
as sweet melodies swell into air,
of silence.
You ever sight the bird dance,
as shadow flicker
upon the moon?
Ya' ever see the moon glow?
Ya' ever hear the wind whisper?

poem by Celine Berghmans
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Songs Of The Sky

In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.

In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.

In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.

In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.

In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.

In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.

Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.

In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.

In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.

In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.

In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.

In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.

In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.

poem by William Kruse
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