In Arching Waters
In arching waters
the black bird dances
with graceless step,
head jerks, probing soft soil,
penetrating wet grass
when rearing back primitive eyes
it raises ivory beak
and offers a shining prize,
living, writhing.
captive
to mother-sky.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Black Bird That Keeps On Flying
the black bird
keeps on flying
over my head
its wing tips
touch my hair
the black bird
weeps
and my mind
cannot ignore
it
it is seeing you
again
and it does not
know
what to do
with its beak
it wants to kiss you
but your eyes
are angry
it wants to land over
your hair
but they are hard
as wires
the black bird
has no nest for
its eggs
you never mind it
your mind
thinks always of
that white bird
in the sky
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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The Travelling Bear
GRASS-BLADES push up between the cobblestones
And catch the sun on their flat sides
Shooting it back,
Gold and emerald,
Into the eyes of passers-by.
And over the cobblestones,
Square-footed and heavy,
Dances the trained bear.
The cobbles cut his feet,
And he has a ring in his nose
But still he dances,
For the keeper pricks him with a sharp stick,
Under his fur.
Now the crowd gapes and chuckles,
And boys and young women shuffle their feet in time to the dancing bear,
They see him wobbling
Against a dust of emerald and gold,
And they are greatly delighted.
The legs of the bear shake with fatigue
And his back aches,
And the shining grass-blades dazzle and confuse him.
But still he dances,
Because of the little, pointed stick.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bird
(9/15/12)
I saw a bird perched on a tree
I looked at him and he looked at me.
The strangest bird that I ever did see
He had a tail about four inches long
With that body it did not belong.
He had a body smaller than a sparrow
With a beak long and narrow.
He made a sound that I never heard
Not like one you'd hear from a bird.
It was not like the sounds of a love bird
Canary, or cockatoo, but a soft whistle
Which filled the air, and with all
Living things it wanted to share.
It was like a hypnotic sound
And turned my head completely around.
His soft whistling cry was like
A call to the wild
Brought flocks of birds
Of every color and style.
Landing on every branch of the tree
And left no empty space that I could see.
This was the most beautiful sight that
I had ever saw, and I knew
I will see it no more.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weird-Bird
from the wire chirp
on the wire chirp
frantic head
to and fro
to and fro
chirp, chirp, chirp
little bird on a wire
head and beak
to and fro
to and fro
ten times in a second
tail up, tail down, tail up, tail down
the tight feathered bodice
doing a twist
legs angled tight on tiny wire
a tightrope walker
chirp, chirp, chirp
looking for some fun
looking for a companion to share its day
chirp, chirp, chirp
inspired by
Weird-Bird
Birds are flyin' south for winter.
Here's the Weird-Bird headin' north,
Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin',
Cold head bobbin' back 'n' forth.
He says, 'It's not that I like ice
Or freezin' winds and snowy ground.
It's just sometimes it's kind of nice
To be the only bird in town.'
Shel Silverstein
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Know It's Over
I can feel the soil falling over my head
And as i climb into an empty bed
Oh well. enough said.
I know it's over - still i cling
I don't know where else i can go
Over ...
Oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head
See, the sea wants to take me
The knife wants to cut me
Do you think you can help me ?
Sad veiled bride, please be happy
Handsome groom, give her room
Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly
(though she needs you
More than she loves you)
And i know it's over - still i cling
I don't know where else i can go
Over, it's over, it's over, it's over
It's over, la ...
I know it's over
And it never really began
But in my heart it was so real
And you even spoke to me, and said :
"if you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
I know ...
'cause tonight - it's just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
Your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes strength to be gentle and kind
Over, over, over, over
It's so easy to laugh
It's so easy to hate
It takes guts to be gentle and kind
Over, over
Love is natural and real
But not for you, my love
Not tonight, my love
Love is natural and real
But not for such as you and i, my love
Oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head, oh ...
Oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, i can feel the soil falling over my head
Oh mother, i can feel the soil fall over my head
Mother, i can feel the soil fall over my head
Oh mother, i can feel the soil fall over, fall over my head
Oh mother, i can feel the ... fall over my ...
Oh ...
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beak Kind To Birds!
Beak kind to birds both near and far,
Both high and low as well...
To me, each bird's a superstar!
In fact, to me, they're swell!
Beak kind to birds and show you care
With titbits now and then...
And watch with wonder as they share
Their breakfast once again!
Beak kind and keep your cats at bay...
Else feeding birds take flight!
It's nicer seeing birds at play
Than watching them take fright!
Beak kind to birds, give them their space
So they may co-exist...
For none on Earth can take their place,
So they'd be sorely missed!
Beak kind to birds, they'll flock to you -
They're all our feathered friends!
It doesn't matter, black or blue...
Beak kind - 'cos it makes sense!
poem by Denis Martindale (2003)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Snakepit
Well we're a mile under the ground
And i'm thinking that it's christmas
And i'm kissing you hard
Like i've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
Well i'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And i've forgotten how to speak
And i just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snakepit, The
Well we're a mile under the ground
And I'm thinking that it's Christmas
And I'm kissing you hard
Like I've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
Well I'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And I've forgotten how to speak
And I just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ivory
You were born with a face that would let you get your way
Yeah you had everything you wanted child, that is until the day
you know you're much too fine and free, Ivory
You've been dressed in a vest, every minute of your day
You walk into a room, stand in a lit shade
Is your timer too high for me, Ivory
Ivory
How does it feel to be so high
Ivory
How long how long will it take for you to cry
Ivory
I'm in need
Ivory
Ivory
I'll touch your soul, might even touch your brain
I know you can't see me
I know your blind
Come back come back and see
Ivory
So good to me
Ivory
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black and white
A white bird is flying at day,
Or a black bird is flying at night,
Or a black bird is flying at day,
Or a white bird is flying at night,
Black and white, black over white.
Oh, my Lord, how painful can be
This need of touch in his absence.
White and black, white over black,
Oh, my Lord, how painful can be
This absence of his touch.
Black is penetrating white
And white is penetrating black,
Never finding the gray.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.
My Submission to Warning
i walk outside
the sun going down
the big black bird
visiting again
he crows at me
im just walking by
but he insists to call
like a warning
i should obey
what do you want
stupid black bird
your turn to leave
dont bother me this way
but he keeps on
calling my name
crowing in shame
as i walk by him
his eyes on me
almost like a sign
whining for attention
waiting for my submission
i surrender to him
he speaks soft
he tells me to stop
he opens his mouth
as the words come out
'i wanted to warn you
theres a man out here
wanting you dead
so dont move ahead
go inside
go to bed'
a warning so soft
the big black bird
waited for my attention
to warn me
the bad man
was out tonight
i didnt move ahead
i went back to bed
poem by Audrey Marie Kay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Piel Canela
Skin like cinnamon,
Hair raven black.
Softly purring,
And arching her back.
Laying on sheets,
So sparkling white,
Writhing in ecstasy,
And her own delight.
My dusky sorceress,
I'm enchanted it seems,
Every night just past Midnight,
I love you in my dreams.
Don Juan Tenorio
poem by Don Juan Tenorio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bird that dances by tail
Swallow.the bird that goes into cattle byre
And no bird that goes into cattle byre
Wow white black bull
The bird that goes into cattle byre
Swallow, the bird that crosses ocean
And no bird crosses ocean
Wow whhite black bull
The bird that crosses ocean
Swallow, the bird that dances by tail
And no bird that dances by tail
Wow white black bull
The bird that dances by tail
poem by David Aoloch Bion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Glass Spider
Up until one century ago there lived,
In the zi duang provence of eastern country.
A glass-like spider.
Having devoured its prey it would drape the skeletons over its web in weeks creating a macabre shrine of remains.
Its web was also unique in that it had many layers, like floors in a buuilding.
At the top of this palace-like place, assembled with almost apparent care, were tiny shining objects, glass, beads, dew-drops.
One could almost call it an altar.
When the breeze blew thru this construction,
It produced sounds of wailing, crying.
Tiny wails, tiny cries.
The baby spiders would get scared and search frantically for their mother.
But the glass spider would have long gone, having known that the babies would survive somehow on their own.
Oh-the glass spider had blue eyes almost like-a humans.
They shed tears at the wintered turn of the centuries.
Dont you hear this wasted cry, life is over you
(mummy come back cause the waters all gone)
But youve seen whos in heaven. is there anyone in hell
(mummy come back cause its dark now)
Take care, take care.
(mummy come back cause the waters all gone)
Somewhere she glows divine. somewhere she wakes alone.
But you, youve promise in your lovin eye. God its dark now.
Jah jah jah jah jah
Jah jah jah jah jah
Gone, gone the waters all gone
Mummy come back cause the waters all gone
Stay low on the ground, my fire can drive you, savage and afraid
Spitting at the dawn, come along before the animals awake
Run moving all night, rivers to the left.
If your mother dont love you then the riverbed might
Gone, gone, the waters all gone
Mummy come back cause the waters all gone
Jah jah jah jah jah
Jah jah jah jah jah
Gone gone the waters all gone
Mummy come back cause the waters all gone
Gone gone the waters all gone
Mummy come back cause the waters all gone
Gone gone the waters all gone
Mummy come back cause the waters all gone
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because It Sings....
there is a man inside the cage
but you cannot tell that he is a man
because
by all appearances of it
it has black wings, sharp claws, it is muted
by a beak
it can only sing in syllables
it is wrapped by
shiny feathers
it is a bird, a black bird and by all means
you cannot tell
that it is angry
because it sings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Swan
Without sound, under the mirror of the lake deep and calm,
The swan hunts the waves with its large webbed feet
And glides. Its downy sides resemble
April snow melting in the sun;
But, firm and of matt white, vibrant in the zephyr breeze,
Its large wings spread just like a sailing boat.
He raises his beautiful neck above the reeds,
Diving, proceeding rising over the waters,
Its gracious curve like a profile of Acanthus,
And hides his black beak in his sparkling throat.
Soon along the pines, staying in the shade and peace,
He glides, and, letting the dense grass
Drag behind him like a comet's tail,
He walks with a stately and languishing allure;
The grotto, where the poet listens drawn by his senses
And by waters evoking tears of an eternal absence,
Pleases him: he prowls there; a willow leaf
Falling in silence brushing his shoulders;
Soon, he takes to the open air, and, far from the dark wood,
Superb, striking toward the sky,
He chooses to display his celebrated whiteness,
Dazzling at the place where the sun can admire him.
Then, when the banks of the waters are no longer distinguishable,
At the time when all form is a confused spectre,
Where the horizon turns brown, with a long red streak,
Then, when neither rush nor gladiolus stir,
So that the tree-frogs croak in the serene air
And when the glow worm shines in the moonlight,
The bird in the dark lake, where beneath is reflected
The splendour of a milk white and violet night,
Like a silver vase among diamonds
Sleeps, head under its wing, between two firmaments.
poem by Sully Prudhomme, translated by David Paley
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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A Million Murders
Smooth, soft, silk robes of royalty—
Sparkling, shining jewels of majesty—
Grand and great the riches uncoil—
Stones and steel rising from soil.
The coloured peoples gaping in envy
wishing they could be the whites in jealousy:
Oh, if only we had such beautiful buildings
Oh, if only our country was as inspiring.
Yet, in the ground, a buried irony—
For azalea red runs blood and ruby—
For beneath the stoic, impassioned gargoyles—
Behold! The tears of those who toiled.
Their monuments built with Asian antimony—
Their statues and artifacts, African ivory—
Their advanced machines by Eastern oil—
A thousand thefts, a people despoiled.
Smooth, soft, silk robes of royalty—
Sparkling, shining jewels of majesty—
Grand and great the riches uncoil—
Bones and steel rising from soil.
poem by Ong Kar Jin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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