En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Memories Of The Male Snipe

Above his breeding territory in the night sky
with his wings and tail he sends out a warning as to and fro he fly
To the males of his own kind those living nearby
The sound that he creates seems like a goat like cry.

Often from the bogland road on evenings in May
In my northern Homeland from here far away
I heard the male snipe in his territorial display
He drummed out his warning 'til the dawning of day.

The snipe of the bogland elusive and shy
When flushed by day low to the ground in quick zig zag flight they fly
For the small game shooter the mottled brown bird with the long thin bill
Is the most elusive of targets to shoot at to kill.

The whirring flight sound of the male snipe to this day I recall
Above the quiet bogland 'til dawn from nightfall
With his wings and tail he makes a goat like sound
As above his territory he flies around and around.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Fancy I Hear

In fancy i hear the male snipe in his courtship display
O'er the rushy fields on a calm night in May
With his tail as he flies he makes a goat like bleating sound
That echoes in the sky above his breeding ground,
Above his breeding ground perhaps 'tis his territory he advertise
That the more sound he make the bigger his size
He sends out a warning across the night sky
To neighbouring snipes who are listening nearby
In the rank grass by the drain her blotched eggs warm neath her breast
His secretive brown wife she sits on her nest
Whilst her mate in the dark sky he flies to and fro
Making goat like bleating sounds to leave other snipes know
That this is his territory and all through the night
He sends out a warning in the dim moonlight.

----------- ---------

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Matty Owens Bog

The pipe of the curlew I fancy I hear
In Matty Owens bog many miles north of here
In the calm of a June evening melodious and clear
In Summer a beautiful time of year

By the watery bog hole with her blotched eggs neath her breast
Cloaked by the rank rushes his quiet wife sits on her nest
The curlews of the future to life she will bring
The beauty of Nature is an amazing thing.

The pink breasted bullfinch so lovely to see
Perched on a high branch of a silver birch tree
One that one could stand and admire all day long
The beautiful bird with an ordinary song.

In the river pool the moorhen utters her shrill warning cry
To her young to alert them of danger nearby
Three tiny dark chicks with red faces mum's warning does heed
And swim into cover to hide in the reed.

Above Matty Owens bog in the still of the night
The male snipe with his tail in the Summer moonlight
He proclaims his territory in the night sky
And drums out a warning to other male snipe as he fly.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Will Take You Home To Millstreet

I will take you home to Millstreet when the may is in her bloom
And the green meads cloked with wildflowers scent of nature's sweet perfume
And the dark winged barn swallows white unders and throat rust brown
Wheel above the lush green pastures bordering Millstreet's country town.

I will take you home to Millstreet to the town by Clara hill
When the dipper sings her sweetest on green bank of babbling rill
And the male snipe late at evening with his wings make goat like sound
As above the silent rush fields he goes flying around and round

I will take you home to Millstreet when soft grass growing breezes blow
And relive again the old days with old friends I used to know
And give a call into the Bush Bar for the dance and the sing song,
I will take you home to Millstreet if with me you'll come along.

Will you come with me my darling to green valleys far away
When the birds in leafy woodlands pipe their sweetest notes of May
To the Land I still call Homeland, to the country of my youth
Ireland, North Cork and Duhallow where my manhood first took
root.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Good Friend To Me

The gold billed blackbird whistling upon the the garden tree
For the past few years a good neighbour to me
He whistles every day all through the Spring
And his song to it has a distinctive ring.

From the other all dark males of his race him I know
Since on his left wing a few flight feathers white as snow
He tells other males of his kind in his song
This patch of ground to me and mine belong.

Each time I hear the blackbird pipe and sing
My thoughts return to the far northern Spring
On Spring evenings in groves by Millstreet Town
The blackbirds pipe before the sun goes down.

The blackbird whistling on the wattle tree
He only sings to proclaim territory
His neighbour males the warning in his song hear
And his border they dare not venture near.

The blackbird in the garden a good friend to me
I know him by sight each time him I see
By the few white feathers on his left side wing
And his song it takes me to the Northern Spring.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Overnight Male

Let me be your male-man
And Ill always come though
Theres no denying
Come rain or shine
Ill deliver my love to you
I do things by the letter
You can put your stamp on me
Cause there aint nobody better
For a special delivery
Chorus:
Like the pony express
And the wild wild west
Ill ride hard all night long
And I can saddle up fast
Get ya there first class
Long before the dawn
You know your males gonna get to you
Come snow, rain, sleet, or hail
Cause Im a top flight, hold ya tight, get ya there by daylight
Do you right overnight male
I know your heart is fragile
So Ill handle it with care
There aint no doubt
I know loves route
So baby let me take you there
Ill bring you cards and flowers
But I know just what you need
Just give me 24 hours
Satisfaction guaranteed
Chorus
You know your males gonna get to you
Come snow, rain, sleet, or hail
Cause Im a top flight, hold ya tight, get ya there by daylight
Do ya right overnight male
Yeah Im a top flight, hold ya tight, get ya there by daylight
Do ya right overnight male

song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tis Not Of Love Or Love Of Song

'Tis not of love or love of song the male bird ever sing
Or any sense of happiness for to celebrate the Spring
His song born of aggression with borders to defend
In his war cry to his own kind he is not one to pretend
His song at early morning carrying in the freshening wind
Is meant to be his defensive shield against males of his own kind
His neighbour male sings back to him his message too is clear
All through the Spring in their gift of song they play their game of fear
The poets who write of songbirds and of their joy of song
Of songbirds lives and songbirds ways have surely got it wrong
Their songs may seem a thing of joy but not meant to be that way
'Tis not of joy that they do sing at the dawning of the day
He warns his neighbours in his song this is my territory
And if my borders you do cross you have to deal with me.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On A Moonlit Night In July

A full moon does silently creep it's way across the starlit sky
And the flute of the magpie I hear on this cool Winter night in July
He does not sing for the love of song he sings to defend territory
Whilst most others birds are asleep he pipes high on a wattle tree
With a wife and a nest to defend in his nesting time of the year
He pipes a warning to males of his kind that to us sounds melodious and clear,
The spur wing plovers in the park above their nesting grounds do fly
They scream at the dog, fox or cat who to their ground nest is prowling nearby
In the calm of a Winter night of such beauty a Nature Poet would write
A poem that lovers of Nature poetry would read and to others feel glad to recite
On a gum tree a brush tail possum calls for a mate his hoarse voice one cannot mistake
He will be in the dark ceiling of a nearby house before the sun rise at daybreak
And the boobook owl calls out mopoke a night predator of human kind shy
The nocturnal creatures out and about on a moonlit night in July.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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D.sex

male dog

sleep

on...

rich home...

female dog

walking on

street...

with sound...

male dog

open

with the eyes

with out sleep...

female dog sound...

male dog also sound

the sond is nasty

but...

the both wanted sexy....

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sound Of The Atom Splitting

(lowe/tennant/lipson/horn)
------------------------
I hate you
I hate you
Nothing will ever be the same
Oh really
Don't be silly
I told you it was all a game
Whenever i see you or your work
It makes me feel like spitting
What's that noise?
Oh that
We've been expecting it for ages
It's the sound of the atom splitting
He's a villain,
Him over there
With a stocking on his head
Look, there's another one
They call themselves pinheads
What's that noise over there?
Is it the corrogated iron they're hitting?
No, no, it's perfectly normal
It's just the sound of the atom splitting
Whose side are you on anyway?
Is that some kind of threat?
Well, i suppose it will have to do
As long as you don't make too much mess
And would the last person to leave
- once you all finish kissing -
Turn the video on to record
You never know what you're missing
Bread and circuses
And maybe later
The sound of the atom splitting
Quiet at the back, please!
No whistling
It's the sound
The sound
The sound of the atom splitting
I hate you
I hate you
Quiet at the back, please!
No whistling
It's the sound
The sound
The sound of the atom splitting
It's the sound
The sound
The sound of the atom splitting
Oh really
Don't be silly
I told you it was all a game
It's the sound
What's that noise?
Quiet at the back, please!

song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A September Night In The Countryside

Out there in the quiet countryside in the still of the night
The unmistakeable cry of a hunting fox in the moonlight
And perhaps at the threat of a predator to their ground nest nearby
The wary spur wing plovers are calling as they fly
Like the fox the predatory night birds have young to feed this time of year
And the loud screech of a barn owl not a pleasant sound to hear
And to the boobook calls of mopoke on the nearby trees
The brooding small bird in her nest does listen with a sense of unease
On the quiet rural roadway few cars pass up and down
On a September night in the countryside miles from the nearest town
And the calls of the male ringtail possum one never could mistake
He will be back in his leafy nest before sunrise at daybreak
The predatory birds and animals who hide from the lamp of day
In the still of a September night are out hunting for prey.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elusive Butterfly

You might wake up some morning
To the sound of something moving past your window in the wind
And if youre quick enough to rise
Youll catch the fleeting glimpse of someones fading shadow
Out on the new horizon
You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wings
And if the sleep has left your ears
You might hear footsteps running through an open meadow
Dont be concerned, it will not harm you
Its only me pursuing something Im not sure of
Across my dreams, with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love
You might have heard my footsteps
Echo softly in the distance through the canyons of your mind
I might have even called your name
As I ran searching after something to believe in
You might have seen me runnin
Through the long abandonned ruins of the dreams you left behind
If you remember something there
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathing
Dont be concerned, it will not harm you
Its only me pursuing something Im not sure of
Across my dreams, with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love
Across my dreams, with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love
Across my dreams, with nets of wonder
I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Sleeping Child

Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.

All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.

Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.

Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.

Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;

Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.

Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.

Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;

Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Night In Late Autumn

The sky is dark the countryside is quiet
But the spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Above their territory they call and fly
Perhaps the hunting fox is prowling by.

The possums hiss on gum tree in the park
And in a yard nearby a terrier bark
At wailing tom cats fighting on the street
For the right to mate with a female in heat.

The night is calm there's scarce a puff of breeze
And boobook owl hunting for small birds in the cypress trees
Repeat the same call over and again
And frogs are croaking in the pond and drain.

The countryside may seem quiet after dark
But in the sky above the nearby park
The spur winged plovers cry out in the night
Perhaps a fox has driven them to flight

poem by Francis Duggan
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
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The Sounds, Within And Without

have you ever listened
to the sounds of
a young boy praying
after his father and mother
have split up

have you heard the sound
a small animal makes when
it's hit by a car?
kinda like the sound a child makes
when it's split open by friendly fire!

have you felt the deep down
sound the young boy makes
when the judge sentences him
to hard time
the sound you cant see on his face

have you heard the sound
of the old man's heart
fighting to hold on
in an empty room
with the curtains pulled

have you ever heard the sound
of the wolf's howl, and
the hawk's scree
buried deep beneath
the layers that cover
your own wildness
are you listening

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wings Of The Night

Wings of the night
Shimmering light
Passes over the moon.
Like some silent
Spiritual tune.
That ballerina
Of my soul
Pirouettes
Across the stage.
Lit by the sleeping rage
Of the sun.
Was this
How love begun.

Wings of the night
Fluttering white.
Against blue canvas
Of eternal sky.
Only angels
Fly so high.
Lending smiles
To stars that cry.
Heaven's candles
Burning low.
Is this
What fate did throw
Into a swirling
Midnight show.

Wings of the night
Fanned out.
Coloured bright.
Glide
On glacier white
Dawn.
When love's hope is reborn.
Watch the skies.
For that elusive sprite.
Magic flies
On the wings of the night.

poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Raven Crows

The Raven Crows
by Charles Robert Hice on Thursday, November 22,2012 at 9: 27pm ·
The Raven Crows
The Raven stretches its wings and flies into the gray winter skies while the raven flies it Crows its rawkish voice makes aweful noise
it blows the wind it howls and sounds like a mechanical noise inside the wind
the noise pretends to be the raven as it crows it flies it crows and flies it dives down into the wind and sounds like a noise falling fast and then it sort of dies and falls away not the sound it echoes and it blows
in the middle of the night no one can see the ravens flight but they hear the voice the noise the sound even the wings they flap they glide silent and they hide
The raven seldom crows when it is in its glide it falls and hides no one can see the feathers as it plummets from the sky it moves in a silent fashion
as the raven glides it hides from the eyes of the men it has a sense of reality and a purpose as it glides it looks neither to the left or to the right finally it is satisfied with its destination in its sight the raven crows one final time and plummets like a stone into the night and suddenly a poem is come to earth as Poe hears his famous bird not the crow the rook or the blackbird as it sings but the Raven as it speaks to only him
Nevermore
The Raven Crows

poem by Charles Hice
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
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Law[Earthing On Fire]

I dont want knowledge, I want certainty
I dont want knowledge, I want certainty
I dont want knowledge, I want certainty
In the street a man shouts out loud
A wallet drops and money flies into the midday sun
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
Oh I get a little bit afraid
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
Sure I get a little bit afraid
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
I dont want knowledge, I want certainty
I dont want knowledge, I want certainty
In a house a man drops dead
As he hits the floor he sighs
What a morning
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
Sure I get a little bit afraid
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
With the sound, with the sound, with the sound of the ground
Sure I get a little bit afraid
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Oh I get a little bit afraid
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire (I dont want knowledge, I want certainty)
Earthlings on fire (I dont want knowledge, I want certainty)
Sometimes
Earthlings (I dont want knowledge, I want certainty)
I dont want knowledge

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bird's Wings

The bird's wing levels for the summation,
It dived once more but now it flies straight;
This evening is its dinner and lunch,
Killing itself and its kids, forming a nest.
The wings of an animal work for the better,
Injured ones last not, they do not last at all
For the flight of a bird is accompanied by all.
Mighty winds sever the flight so wild and free,
In order to pack the several costumes of the breeze.
Freedom comes from everything and all of our guns
Are shooting the air like a bird's flight and its freedom.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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