The Mocking-Bird
Superb and sole, upon a plumed spray
That o'er the general leafage boldly grew,
He summ'd the woods in song; or typic drew
The watch of hungry hawks, the lone dismay
Of languid doves when long their lovers stray,
And all birds' passion-plays that sprinkle dew
At morn in brake or bosky avenue.
Whate'er birds did or dreamed, this bird could say.
Then down he shot, bounced airily along
The sward, twitched in a grasshopper, made song
Midflight, perched, prinked, and to his art again.
Sweet Science, this large riddle read me plain:
How may the death of that dull insect be
The life of yon trim Shakespeare on the tree?
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Hungry Pity Pete, Five Days Long
'Pity' Pete, as hungry as he can be
Shot a patridge on a pear tree
And took home the fowl to roast
With rum he bought for a toast
It was winter and Peter had no coat
Nor a cosy home, but a shant by the dry moat
On his right arm were woods for fire
And in his left bills of hungry looking Peter
With a ransom on him alive
To any who catches him before the guards arrive
For Pete at every christmas is a menace
That made his Majesty wear all day a grimace
'Tis'' said Pete, ' an excellent meal
For one lonely soul down the cold dale
The meat such a sweet delight
With fire and rum to keep me warm all night
Then by morrow, straight to the castle for mercy
Will i go before his Majesty'
But what had 'Pity Pete' done, if you may ask
That all, the king now must task
To bring him to face so cruel a book
For his deeds in every shady nook
Lo! On the fifth day to christmas, i was told
Did Pete stole five gold rings, which he sold
Two for a new pair of boot, and for firewood
The rest, traded he for rum and food
On the forth day, when farmers were on their beds
Went Pity Pete to steal their birds
And on the third day, stole he more french fowls
Amidst the famers mounting growls
That made the king on the second day
Summoned both lords and commons without delay
To vote what punishment they must dole
Yet, that day still, two turtle doves he stole
Then on the last day to christmas, hungry as he can be
Shot a patridge on a pear tree
That made the kids, every christmas sing this song-
Hungry Pity Pete, five days long
Stole five gold rings
Four famers birds
Three french hens
Two turtle doves
And on christmas eve, shot he
A patridge on a pear tree!
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
poem by Robert Frost
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle
eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out
eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''
eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''
Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''
Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Here They Trysted, And Here They Strayed
Here they trysted, here they strayed,
In the leafage dewy and boon,
Many a man and many a maid,
And the morn was merry June.
'Death is fleet, Life is sweet,'
Sang the blackbird in the may;
And the hour with flying feet,
While they dreamed, was yesterday.
Many a maid and many a man
Found the leafage close and boon;
Many a destiny began -
O, the morn was merry June!
Dead and gone, dead and gone,
(Hark the blackbird in the may!),
Life and Death went hurrying on,
Cheek on cheek--and where were they?
Dust on dust engendering dust
In the leafage fresh and boon,
Man and maid fulfil their trust -
Still the morn turns merry June.
Mother Life, Father Death
(O, the blackbird in the may!),
Each the other's breath for breath,
Fleet the times of the world away.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Little Bird
Little bird up in a tree
Looked down and sang a song to me
Of how it began
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
The trout in the shiny brook
Gave the worm another look
And told me not to worry
About my life
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Tree in my own backyard
Stands all alone
Bears fruit for me
And it tastes so good
Wheres my pretty bird
He must have flown away
If I keep singing
Hell come back someday
Dawn, birds still gone
Guess Ill go mow the lawn
What a day, what a day
Oooo, what a beautiful day this is
Ooooooooo
Little bird up in a tree
Looked down a sang a song to me
The trout in a shiny brook
Gave the worm another look
And told me not to worry about my life
Little bird looked down
And sang a song to me
Little bird looked down
And sang a songto me
Little bird looked down
And sang a song to me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song For All Day
A rollicking song for the morn, my boy,
A rollicking song for the morn:
It's up and out with a laugh and shout,
While the bright sun circles the world about,
And the dew is on the corn, my boy,
The dew is on the corn.
Barefoot, brown, with trousers torn,
It's up and out with the morn.
A jolly good song for the noon, my boy,
A jolly good song for the noon:
It's out and away where the wild woods sway,
And the wind and the birds have a holiday,
And whistle an oldtime tune, my boy,
And whistle an oldtime tune.
Healthy, happy, a heart of June,
It's out in the woods at noon.
A wonderful song for the eve, my boy,
A wonderful song for the eve:
The sunset's bars and a trail of stars,
And the falls of the creek a mine of spars,
Or a weft of crystal weave, my boy,
A weft of crystal weave.
Hungry, tired, with nothing to grieve,
It's home again at eve.
A lullaby song for the night, my boy,
A lullaby song for the night:
When crickets cry and owlets fly,
And the house-hound bays the moon on high,
And the window-lamp shines bright, my boy,
The window-lamp shines bright.
A drowsy kiss and a bed snow-white,
And a lullaby-song for the night.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
The Tree And The Breeze
Have you ever noticed how the trees sway with the breeze?
It's as if they were dancing in rhythm with a mellow tune
Have you ever notice how a tree is home to a bird's nest...
where the birds rest?
It's as if the tree were a peaceful and relaxed get-away
From where their troubles stray
But then the tree also has another side
In which it can take the birds for a bit of a ride
It is its party side...
when a pile of birds get together in one tree...
to sing along to the breeze as back and forth it sways the tree
The tree's stuck in the ground
Every day its life's the same
But the breeze
Now that's a different story
The breeze is free
It goes and comes as it pleases
The tree it seizes
Have you ever noticed half the things a tree does are caused by the breeze?
poem by Amy Parkinson
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Song of the World
such a wonderful song
song of life
song of death
wedding song
famine song
happy song
sad song
love song
all-american song
bullshit song
druggie song
girls' song
sweet song
crazy song
MY song
poem by Rachel Stoddard
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Ode to the bird in the cypress tree
Ode to the bird in the cypress tree
~
I wish to be like the bird in the cypress tree
shaded from the heat of the midday sun
yet still free to ride upon the ocean breeze
whenever it chooses to blow from time to time
I wish to be like the bird in the cypress tree
and chirp my own little song aloud to the world
or to fly amongst the clouds so high above
and look down to watch the world below
I wish to be like the bird in the cypress tree
for all my wishes and day bought dreams
I am here and I am still me writing a poem
about that lucky bird perched in the cypress tree
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Look, perched on a
Look, perched on a
flowering tree
The blue bird is
singing and
in the song everything
reserved for me.
It is for the song
always I am
escaping from
the brink of death.
It is for the song
I am able to work
till eternity.
Come and answer
the questions
of the moral king.
In your garden
O kong of the cosmos
I am a flower
and your honour is
with me blessing shower.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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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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The City Sings the Song of Death
The City sings the song of Death
Death that roams in the streets
Fearless and merciless, its hands smeared with blood
Its clothes drenched, its desire insatiable
It yearns for more bodies, for more and more
And yet more
The City sings the song of Death
A song whose tragic pitch would scare of birds
Were they to listen to its harrowing cadence
A song that makes babies cry and disturbs the old
A song that is sung by every one who lives in the city of Death
In fear, in pain, in terror
For Death itself has come to life
For Death itself, unchained and unchecked, roams around freely
Who shall now question Death?
The City sings the song of Death
My City sings the song of Death
I too sing the song of Death
And so do the millions that live with me
In the City of Death
poem by Abdul Samad
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Sonnet VII: Sweet Poet of the Woods
Sweet poet of the woods--a long adieu!
Farewel, soft minstrel of the early year!
Ah! 'twill be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And pour thy music on the 'night's dull ear,'
Whether on spring thy wandering flights await,
Or whether silent in our groves ye dwell,
The pensive muse shall own thee for her mate,
And still protect the song, she loves so well.
With cautious step, the love-lorn youth shall glide
Thro' the lone brake that shades thy mossy nest;
And shepherd girls, from eyes profane shall hide
The gentle bird, who sings of pity best.
For still thy voice shall soft affections move,
And still be dear to sorrow, and to love!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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A Farewell: To C.E.G
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;
Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you,
For every day.
I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol
Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down;
To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel
Than Shakespeare's crown.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever,
One grand sweet song.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Birds Chattering Inside Your Mouth...
the birds in your mouth
chatter, one bird has blue feathers
and it makes the sweetest song,
the white bird keeps mum over
all these caged noise,
perhaps it understands the language
of the soul,
there is a brick red sparrow
looking out the window
it is speaking in tongues
as i listen attentively and watch all these
within the fences of your face
i feel, but i have to be honest
there is nothing that i understand,
i do not wish to
i have had enough, of those blue, red,
and white birds.
but they must all agree that it is not the song
not their songs, but their
common cage, for not one of them
has uttered the nicest word in the
history of captives,
freedom.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Birds Who Sing The Same Song
Once upon the hunter's lifetime
He entered the forest with his hound
As he waited for animal senses,
He heard the same sound
The sound came from above
It was the sound of birds
Though they were very different,
They had similar words
The birds were of two colors
They were either brown or green
They sang on top of their voices
The song of a queen
First, the hunter watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught some green birds
He brought them home
Thinking he has caught something good
After preparing the meal,
He realizes their meat is not right for food
Again, he watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught brown birds
He brought them home
Thinking the browns would not taste the same
After preparing the meal,
He realizes the meat was worse in the bowl of shame
He now understood the words
And watches them as they sing
The same song, one meaning
A song to get trapped in a ring
The birds sing the same song
A song of the soul
They sing in a competition
They compete for a common goal
They look attractive on the tree
They sing the same song
Understanding their words is the key
They sing the same song
They sound very kind
They sing the same song
They have a motive in mind
They sing the same song
They sing and fly from the leaves to the stem
But the hunter desires none of them
The hunter would now find other creatures
With the best of all features
Because the birds sing the same song
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
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The river's song
The river's song
~
There's a song in the river
that streams from mountains and rain
it plays upon rocks and riverbanks
the birds and fish know it well
it flows effortless in a rhythm
pitched by its own will
a rolling waltz, serenely sweet
feeds the thirsty trees
there's a song in the river
an acoustic serenade
the endless symphony
where unwritten words decree
that there is music here
tide eventually to the sea
insects dance upon each note
while sticks and leaves
twirl away to its beat
there's a song in the river
and it plays for free
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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Little Bird
Little Bird up in the tree
won’t you sing a song for me,
something sweet and romantic say
before you wake up and fly away.
Little bird don’t be shy,
please sing me a song of love
before you fly way up above.
Little bird some joy bring
before you take to the wing.
Little bird up in the tree
please sing a song for me.
27 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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