Above The Wide Brown Country
Above the wide brown country in the gray evening sky
A black shouldered kite out hunting he hover as he fly
With quivering wings it hover suspended there in space
Scanning the ground for small prey it hangs in the one place.
And then it flies a little and the same pattern repeat
And scans around with it's microscopic like eyes for mouse or frog to eat
All in the depths of Winter it hunts for smaller prey
But most little creatures under cover on a chilly Winter day.
With black bands on it's wings and shoulders and mostly gray to white
The reason for it's common name of the black shouldered kite
In the weakening light of evening it is hunting out late
And may have to go to it's roost hungry as the clock on none does wait.
Above the wide brown country at a quarter after four
In the fading lamp of evening just an hour of light or a little more
Left for it for to make a kill and to ease it's appetite
And it may have to go to roost quite hungry for to spend a hungry night.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Eagle
Soaring on the updrafts
From the canyon far below
My silhouette is made a shadow
by the evening sun’s red glow.
Between heaven and earth suspended
I hover in the sky
My eyes searching intently
as my dinner scurries by.
I pitch myself into a dive
My talons slash and kill
Hunting from the evening sky
Has never lost its thrill
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Ballades V - Of His Choice of a Sepulchre
HERE I ’d come when weariest!
Here the breast
Of the Windberg’s tufted over
Deep with bracken; here his crest
Takes the west,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover.
Silent here are lark and plover;
In the cover
Deep below, the cushat best
Loves his mate, and croons above
O’er their nest,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover.
Bring me here, Life’s tired-out guest,
To the blest
Bed that waits the weary rover,—
Here should failure be confest;
Ends my quest,
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
ENVOY
Friend, or stranger kind, or lover,
Ah, fulfil a last behest,
Let me rest
Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Out There In The Wide Country
Out there in the wide country like a small speck in the sky
The small brown skylark is carolling as upwards he does fly
On a warm day in October with a beautiful Spring breeze
With temperatures near perfect around 23 degrees,
October in Victoria in the woodland all the day
The gray shrike thrush is whistling in his cloak of brown and gray
And the white backed magpie is fluting upon the gray gum tree
And the magpie lark is singing pee wee pee wee pee wee
And the kookaburras laughter is ringing loud and clear
Out there in the wide country them one so often hear,
Out there in the wide country the wildflowers are in bloom
And the woods and paddocks scenting of Nature's sweet perfume
And the temperature is perfect days such as this are rare
And the nesting birds are singing and Spring is in the air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In The Wide Brown Country
To the wide brown country the Seasons come and go
South in South Australia where the Murray flow
Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly
When the gales are rushing down the southern sky.
In the wide brown country woods not there to see
Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea
Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green
Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen.
Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago
Little of their culture others seem to know
Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide
And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died.
In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare
And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare
And where only the hardiest can hope to survive
Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive.
In the wide brown country where the Murray flow
Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow
And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been
In that brown old country that man has failed to green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Gomper
By the lake with lilly flowers
Wallow away the evening hours
To and fro she's gently gliding
On the glassy lake she's riding
She swims to the side
The sun sees her dried
The birds hover high
I'd stifle a cry
The birds hover high
She moans with a sigh
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Their Satanic Majesties Request
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suspended
Dont wake me
Im still dreaming
I dont see you
I cant feel you
Im alone for real in my mind
Ill feel this all night
When my life takes flight
This isnt just in your mind
Were suspended from space and time
I feel like Im falling
What happens when I hit?
Must mean then thats it
This black abyss, this pit
It all seems shades of gray
Im never ready for light of day
This isnt just in your mind
Were suspended from space and time
This isnt just in your mind
Were suspended from space and time
Why do you hurt me?
This reality
Why you smile at me?
Show your fallacies
Dreams hold me down
But let me go
When reality will wake me
I dont know
This isnt just in your mind
Were suspended from space and time
This isnt just in your mind
Were suspended from space and time
Am I dreaming?
If so, then why?
My bodies back on earth
Only spirits can fly
Soaring through dimensions of love
Kinds only my father speaks of
Scenery changes, spins and roll
So does the color of our soul
I know how this must make you feel
You hate me but believe me this is real
This was real
song performed by by Kelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Waxy
Wake, little Waxy! Hunting-time again,
The short days and goodly, the clean Autumn rain:
In the old North country, in the grey open weather,
Hounds upon the moorland chiming all together.
This year in dough and hollow the stream's song sounds the same:
On every windy hillside the grasses burn like flame:
Where the empty air is loud with the peewit's lonely crying
And the call o' the moorland gale to the bird's call replying.
Wake, little Waxy! Voices that you know
Set the upland ringing where the hill-breezes blow;
In the brave North country, in the grey open weather,
Up and Join the chorus, hound and horn together!
Ah, little Waxy! Hunting days are done,
Nevermore the brown field and the rain and the sun -
Only the memories left, o'er the Autumn fields that hover,
Of the brave runs ended, lass, the good days over!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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A Story To Tell....
the images of light
like needles from the sun this morning
actually, there are no threads
and nothing to sew
actually, there are no significances
except some few
every word must have a story for you
and you may ask me
but always i agree to disagree with you
words have their own lives their own existence
i am only a vehicle
i am only a body to this ghost
for we are nothing but wings of some black birds
that hover on our backs
when they are through they all leave us
and they take all the wings they have given us in our imagination
we fall asleep and when when we wake up
we check if we are still us mirrored in the pond of still waters
our hands touch our faces
sliding through our smooth bodies
then we say, goodbye black bird
and thank you for making us live all over again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dark verse
The mourning of a withered soul.
Flowers fade in the darkness of an uncategorized night.
The screams of isolation so terrible.
I hover in the storm like a scattered kite.
poem by Priyanka Bhowmick
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A Word Is Just A Word
a word is just a word
and it may come from somewhere else
from a very far place
because a word like a bird has wings
and it has feet and it may hover
on my hair and make a nest there
like this poem
and that poem of pain and that poem of joy
and that poem that you have read and
made me the man crying in pain inside those lines
for a poem is just a poem
and it may come from somewhere else
from a very far, far place
about someone else
because a poem is like a bird with wings
with feet and with feathers and it may hover
inside my heart
and make a house there
and i am there too
emphatizing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bald Eagle
Over the river and soaring high,
Wings spread wide, with confidence assured,
The strength, that mighty strength,
Soaring above, high in the sky,
Seeking prey to feed its young,
The courage of a warrior,
With eyes so keen,
Just as a hero, yet so unsung,
Wings so black, yet head so white,
The Bald Eagle Soars,
In the heavens so blue,
It stands for all, willing to fight,
Freedom it stands for,
A beauty in flight,
A character of strength,
With its beauty it soars
Over the water and then the trees,
With wings spread, as it peers to the ground
Owning the sky, as it soars above
Protecting its country, in the early spring breeze.
poem by B.J. Ayers
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Shades of night and day
Gray clouds hover over land
Cast in deep shadows
haiku by Dorothy Holmes (19 April 2008)
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No One Is There (revised)
i go home
and i open the door of this house
there is silence that greets the face of emptiness
the grass is but a green canvass
sprinkled with dead leaves
shades of brown and shattered sheen of lights
from the setting sun
a burst of orange, a slap of red,
gray colors hover,
black invades and triumphs
tonight, another round of applause
from lonely hands
my feet stamp the dusts
off my skin
the dog wags its tail
i close the door and shut the windows
i turn on the light
dimmer
i begin listening again to
the departing winds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A White Butterfly And The Written Words
i am afraid
i really have
to keep
on writing
what shall happen to me without
the written
existence of this poem?
i am afraid
about the consequences of my
arrogant
submission that i can live without
all these
quivering of
scribblings
what if you have nothing to read?
i am afraid about you
for this is this flower and you are the loneliest
butterfly
in white against the light
you shall disappear
and this flower falls to the ground
it rots. And you are
gone.
tomorrow morning
words repeat themselves over and over again
another white butterfly
comes
and will always hover
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Shadow of Extinction
Numerous hawks, hapless and helpless
Are sitting downcast on the ground
Amid the dry leafless forest,
Discarding the high zone of their flight.
Their eyes are impressionless,
Wings clipped and tails curtailed,
Their claws: the hunting instruments
Cramped and contracted inward.
They are drowsing and nodding,
In a state of oblivion,
As forgetfulness to the ancient history.
Around them is a conflagration
Engulfing the woods,
The agent of autumnal wind assists the blaze,
The circle is belittling at each moment;
But the hawks with the wings clipped
Tails curtailed, contracted claws
Drowsing eyes, nodding heads,
Are waiting for the encroaching doom,
Beneath the murkiness of smoke:
Stretching over the shadow of extinction,
And far above hover the bats and owls,
Challenging the hawks.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Familiars
In the darkness
They send chills down my spine
The bare descending moon
Has burst into life
Hunting and suffering with prisoned eyes
Familiars play in moonlit skies
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the depths
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the
This ordinary world ain't set in stone as I thought It'd be
Just like haunted prey
Familiars are hunting me
Familiars
The nerves from the creatures
That you receive
Black magic is here
Bow down to it's knees
No emotion, Familiars can grasp
The adrenaline rush takes over so fast
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the depths
Beautiful Wings the servants possess
With claws so sharp they can only be from the
This ordinary world ain't set in stone as I thought It'd be
Just like haunted prey
Familiars are hunting me
Familiars
These blue hearts
They will scream
They will scream
You feel them screaming, mourning in the shadows
They will scream...
* This is a song I wrote in my band, the structure and repetition would make more sense if i sung it to you but I'm quite proud of this one =)
poem by Charlotte Riley
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The Avenging Angel
1 When the last faint red of the day is dead,
2 And the dim, far heaven is lit
3 With the silvern cars
4 Of the orient stars,
5 And the winged winds whimper and flit;
6 Then I rise through the dome of my aerodrome,
7 Like a giant eagle in flight;
8 And I take my place
9 In the vengeful race
10 With the sinister fleets of night.
11 As I rise and rise in the cloudy skies,
12 No sound in the silence is heard,
13 Save the lonesome whirr
14 Of my engine's purr,
15 Like the wings of a monster bird.
16 And naught is seen save the vault, serene,
17 Of the vasty realms of night,
18 That vanish, aloof,
19 To eternity's roof,
20 As I mount in my ominous flight.
21 And I float and pause in the fleecy gauze,
22 Like a bird in a nest of down;
23 While 'neath me in deeps
24 Of blackness, sleeps
25 The far, vast London town.
26 But I am not here, like a silvern sphere,
27 To glory the deeps of space,
28 But a sentinel, I,
29 In this tower of the sky,
30 Scanning the dim deep's face.
31 For, sudden, afar, like a luminous star,
32 Or a golden horn of the moon,
33 Or a yellow leaf
34 Of the forest's grief,
35 When the autumn winds are atune;
36 There is borne on my sight, down the spaces of night,
37 By the engines of evilment sped,
38 That wonderful, rare,
39 Vast ship of the air,
40 Beautiful, ominous, dread.
41 One instant she floats, most magic of boats,
42 Illusive, implacable, there;
43 Throned angel of ill,
44 On her crystal-built hill,
45 O'er a people's defenceless despair.
46 Then sudden, I rise, like a bolt through the skies,
47 To the very dim roofs of the world;
48 Till down in the grey,
49 I see my grim prey,
50 Like a pallid gold leaf, uncurled.
51 And I hover and swing, until swiftly I spring,
52 And drop like a falling star;
53 And again and again,
54 My death-dealing rain,
55 Hurl to the deeps afar.
56 Then I hover and listen, till I see the far glisten
57 Of a flame-flash blanching the night;
58 And I know that my hate,
59 That has lain in wait,
60 Has won in the grim air-fight.
61 Then I curve and slant, while my engines pant,
62 And the wings of my great bird tame;
63 While the sinister Hun,
64 In his ill, undone,
65 Goes out in a blinding flame.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Kite Fight
Kite to kite
Fly the sky...
Suddenly
Kite to kite
Fight the sky...
One kite cut
Another kite...
with out nife...
One kite flying
Another kite...
Pass away to fly...
Not for kite
Life also same...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Black Bird...
it was her black bird
first that saw and i never stopped thinking since then
figuring what is the meaning of having
those black wings
flying
and to where is this direction heading?
from my mouth is borne the
blackbird bearing my own name
at the tip of its
beak
and it is flying now too low to touch
the needles of the pines
do you not see that it is tired
and wants to hover on one of those twigs?
how can you relate to blackbirds?
they grown from our throats and comes out
from our lips
and they keep on flying
wishing you can keep it flying still
higher and higher
until you finally give up
and tell the truth
about its
flesh and bones
until you remove all its black feathers
and burn all them
for the gods to smell.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bad Karma....
Free from the usual bind
You surge as another star in that black sky
You like your wings
Feeling like a young bird
You hover on one of those
Heavenly branches
Somehow time catches up
with you
it has its own long fingers
It is squezzing your heart
For some important memories
That you have been ungrateful
In forgetting
You fall down
From such a height
Time does not kill you
You suffer
A woman watches you with so much pity
And then looks to the other side
And walks away
Her heart is bleeding
She wants your wings too
She changes her mind and walks away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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