First Flight
The young bird hops,
into my open garage.
Head hunched
it studies the veined floor
like a map; lost traveler
cast low from
wooded heights,
and lifts to its mother
a raspy cry.
Too early from the nest
fearful of the sky,
unsure of tender wings,
not able to fly,
it’s helpless.
I want to hold it,
feel its heart
tremble in my gentle hands
return it
to shredded nest,
or,
like a prayer,
cast it high to heaven
and watch it fly
or fall,
but I do nothing.
when echoing its mother’s call
the youngster stumbles out the door
and into the still street -
Breathless,
I watch mother bird
diving near
as the fledgling
rises
into familiar air.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Universal Traveler
Universal Traveler - Air
(Talkie Walkie; Trans. by Tish)
I know so many
Places in the world
I follow the sun
In my silver plane
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
If you have a look
Outside on the sea
Everything is white
It's so wonderful
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
So far
So far
So far away
I met so many
People in my life
I've got many friends
Who can care for me
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Trust fills everywhere ?
And tomorrow
Is a brand new day
Let's go somewhere else
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
song performed by by Air
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Little Bird
a little brown bird
walks on the ground
hops like a kangaroo
unable to fly
it fell from the tree
from a nest
on wings still not fit
for flying
i try to pick it up
and i hear a bird chirping
watching
oh, a mother
perhaps...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early In The Morning
Oh I bet
You were a virgin
'Til you let me
Oh I miss your kiss
When you are gone
I was young and foolish
Didn't know what I was doing
Didn't know I'd lost you
'Til you were gone
Oh I miss your loving
When you are gone
Now I gotta get up
Early in the morning
Find me another lover
Now I've got to get up early
Every morning
'Cos the early bird
Always catches the worm
Now I've got to get up early
Every morning
Got to make up for the
Lesson I learned
Got to find me a lover
Who won't run for cover
Find me a lover
Who won't run for cover
Got to get up
Early in the morning
Find me another lover
Now I gotta get up
Early in the morning
Find me another lover
I was young and foolish
Didn't know what I was doing
Didn't know I'd lost you
'Til you'd gone
She had a pretty face
Drove me wild
I even wanted her to have my child
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian 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.
Old Mother Laidinwool
Old Mother Laidinwool had nigh twelve months been dead.
She heard the hops was doing well, an' so popped up her head
For said she: "The lads I've picked with when I was young and fair,
They're bound to be at hopping and I'm bound to meet 'em there!"
Let me up and go
Back to the work I know, Lord!
Back to the work I know, Lord!
For it is dark where I lie down, My Lord!
An' it's dark where I lie down!
Old Mother Laidinwool, she give her bones a shake,
An' trotted down the churchyard-path as fast as she could make.
She met the Parson walking, but she says to him, says she: --
"Oh, don't let no one trouble for a poor old ghost like me!"
'Twas all a warm September an' the hops had flourished grand.
She saw the folks get into 'em with stockin's on their hands--
An' none of 'em was foreigners but all which she had known,
And old Mother Laidinwool she blessed 'em every one.
She saw her daughters picking an' their children them-beside,
An' she mowed among the babies an' she stilled 'em when they cried.
She saw their clothes was bought, not begged, an' they was clean an' fat,
An' old Mother Laidinwool she thanked the Lord for that.
Old Mother Laidinwool she waited on all day
Until it come too dark to see an' people went away--
Until it was too dark to see an' lights began to show,
An' old Mother Laidinwool she hadn't where to go.
Old Mother Laidinwool she give her bones a shake
An 'trotted back to churchyard-mould as fast as she could make.
She went where she was bidden to an' there laid down her ghost, . . .
An' the Lord have mercy on you in the Day you need it most!
Let me in again,
Out of the wet an' rain, Lord!
Out of the wet an' rain, Lord!
For it's best as You shall say, My Lord!
An' it's best as You shall say!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother
My mother
Once was
The centre
On my circle maker
My mother
Once was
The warmth
Around a cold hand
My mother
Once was
The smile
On a pensive face
My mother
Once was
The rule
To run rings around
My mother
Once was
The champion
Of assurance and affection
My mother
Once was
The guide
Through a foreign land
My mother
Is now
The open window
Of a tamed bird
My mother
Will always be
In my heart
And part of me.
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I was in Philadelphia during the Depression in 1930 or '31, I got a very sad job as a night watchman in a garage. The cars in the garage had been abandoned by their owners, since they had lost their jobs and couldn't keep up the payments.
quote by Tom Glazer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A rose-bud, by my early walk
Adown a corn-enclosèd bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awauk the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning!
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On This Date
i still remember
how is it to stay in a room
and lock it for a day or two
not watching TV
neither talking to a friend
nor eating anything
early fasting for an early
black bird
nesting on my head
i agree with you
there is no amount of comfort
no flower or cloud
can sway my lips to smile
it was bitter
something so hard to swallow
time is a comforting mother
nurturing a child
crying in the wilderness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mid the Piteous Heaps of Dead
'MID the piteous heaps of dead
Goes one weary golden head
Tossing ever to and fro,
Calling loud and calling low.
Mother, mother, step so light,
Mother, lay your fingers white
On my forehead like a dew !
Mother, mother, where are you?
Still so loud he makes his cry
That the dying cannot die;
All the writhing field's one groan
While he lies and cries alone.
But his mother's far away;
Cannot hear him cry and say:
Mother, I am dying, come!
Mother, I am lost from home!
Mary, Mother of all men,
Come and comfort him in pain.
Take his young head to the breast
Where your Child and God had rest.
Mary, Mary, step so light.
Mary, lay your fingers white
On his forehead! He shall dream
That his mother comforts him.
Mary, Mother, croon him o'er
Lullabies you sang before!
Mary, ease him, crooning low,
In the way that mothers know!
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daily
you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid
you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen
you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping
they call it life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Appointed By Him... Still
too young,
mother surrogate
but beautiful she child
and
beautiful she voice when she call
for mother.
what best for she child now
mother know
... she did know then too.
yuh come lately,
late or yuh eh reach...
early enough was mother
too early yuh say then
now is nay...
but is now we is
and young,
still!
mother surrogate,
too young
still!
but
beautiful she child
and
beautiful she voice when she call
for me,
mother surrogate,
she mother
always...
poem by Loriantoinette Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Predator Prey Early Morning
i could be an early bird today
that catches no worm
but i do not really mind
being early is enough
having to find something to eat
because there is nothing yet
to prey upon a chance
is another
at most
an early bird does its best
one time
after another
time
till it is finally
eaten
by another early predator
who makes
the same complaint
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother In Law
(a. toussaint)
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
The worst person I know
Mother in law, mother in law
She worries me so
Mother in law, mother in law
If she leaves us alone
We could have a happy home
Sent from down below
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Satan should be her name
Mother in law, mother in law
To me theyre about the same
Mother in law, mother in law
Everytime I open my mouth
Steps in trying to put me out
How could you stood so low
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Come home with my pay
Mother in law, mother in law
She asks me what I made
Mother in law, mother in law
She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution
Dont come back no more
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law....
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the way to Baling
West from Lake Dongting is the Young Maid's Shrine,
Where painted eyebrows come to comfort the traveler.
This mountain district is deserted, and shops close early;
Watchtower lamps seem distant, as my boat moors late.
I don't understand the dialect and yearn for a translator;
Strange birds without names shame my skill as a poet.
Still it's wonderful how the boatmen understand my desires -
Each time I open the window, we face a branch full of flowers!
poem by Yuan Mei, translated by J.D. Schmidt
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Davie Gellatley's Song
Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
Old men's love the longest will last,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man will brawl at the evening board;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early to rise and late to bed, lifts again the debtor's head.
To M.L. Lozinsky
I feel the undefeated fear,
In presence of the misty heights;
I'm glad that swallows fly here
And I enjoy the belfry's flight!
The ancient traveler is going, I suppose,
Above the gulf on bending footway's planks,
The snow ball continues in its growth,
And great eternity on clocks of stone strikes.
But I am not that traveler at all,
That flashes on the dry and faded leaves,
And really in me the sadness calls;
Indeed, the avalanche among the highlands lives!
A ring of bells my own soul fills -
But music cannot save from devastating falls!
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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