The House Sparrows
The house sparrows in Spring under house eaves build their nests of hay
And renowned for their chirping they chirp all the day
In cypress and hedges from predators they hide
Familiar in gardens they are known Worldwide.
Brought to this Land by people from Lands far away
Around human dwellings they are happy to stay
Of shyness and lack of self confidence house sparrows are free
And on their worth or lack of worth some choose to disagree.
Originally from Africa of the weaver family
In gardens and Parklands them one often see
Familiar in their feathers of light gray and brown
They search for crumbs under the park benches in the parks of the Town.
The common house sparrows are birds everyone know
Familiar to gardens and to the hedgerow
Classified as songbirds though they don't have a song
They are famed as chirpers they chirp all day long.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tree Sparrows
Than their cousins house sparrows they are far more shy
The moment they see you into bushes or trees they do fly
They do look attractive when seen in the sunlight
Though in colouration from the house sparrows the difference does seem slight.
Tree sparrows are birds one doesn't see every day
From human dwellings from their cousins they live further away
For insects and seeds they search on the ground
And in Winter in flocks their numbers abound.
Like house sparrows chirpers they too cannot sing
But than house sparrows more wary of humans which is a good thing
They seem rather restless when humans are near
One might say of them their's is a healthy fear.
In grassy places near bushes and trees them I often do see
But they fly into cover when they notice me
Their cousins compared to them seem rather tame
Tree sparrows for them is an often used name.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There Isn't Any Doggerel There
There isn't any doggerel there this morning
The inspiration well in me is dry
I hear the sound of footsteps on the sidewalk
And silver gulls along the foreshore cry.
And on the silky oaks house sparrows chirping
For house sparrows don't have a song to sing
And magpie lark the black and white bird whistling
His pee wee notes have a familiar ring.
And through it all the noise of passing traffic
And gas and smog pollute suburban skies
And Humankind I feel is the big loser
Where voice of Nature compete with man created noise.
Of any inspiration i feel empty
I feel burnt out from scribbling doggerel
The poets are gone to join the poets of heaven
And i am bound for the poetasters hell.
On silky oak the plain house sparrows chirping
And magpie lark is whistling pee wee
And man created noise compete with Nature
And silver gulls are calling by the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Nicest Season For One To Die
The nicest Season for one to die must surely be the Spring
When the Parklands wear their Wildflowers and song birds pipe and sing
And young birds are chirping in their nests and the sparrows all the day
Are busy under the house eaves weaving their nests of hay.
If I'm not burned to ashes then why not bury me
In that old graveyard on the hill preferably by a tree
Where in Spring birds will build their nest and sing their songs above where I lay
Though what happens to your remains when you are dead doesn't matter some do say.
We all belong to Mother Nature and to her we must return sometime
The reaper takes the young and old and those in their life's
prime
And since I too must die I hope 'twill be when flowers are in full bloom
In the prime of Spring when the air scent sweetly of Nature's own perfume.
Bury me in the Graveyard on the hill where peace is to be found
Beside a tree where birds nest and sing content in their home ground
A quiet place free of man made noise when Spring is in the air
In Nature's bosom I will rest beyond any living care.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The First Of September
The morning it is breaking cloudy and gray
It does seem another cool late Winter's day
But the birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
Believe it or not 'tis the first day of Spring
The first day of September the day of the year
When to Australia in the Southern Hemisphere
The Spring she arrives for her three months stay
With much warmer weather just a few weeks away
The Spring has arrived with her wildflowers and green
And her beauty in gardens and parks to be seen
Spring she arrives and she brings with her new life
And in parks and gardens Nature's beauty is rife
For the first day of September a cool chill in the breeze
But the birds chirp and whistle on the bushes and trees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Beautiful Day In October
The flies are buzzing in the sunshine and the little dark brown honeybees
Are busily gathering nectar from the flowers of the blossoming trees
On a beautiful day in October of around 27 degrees
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very faint breeze
Under the house eaves lined with lots of feathers the house sparrows have their nest of hay
Non singers devoted to chirping they seem to chirp all through the day
Such beauty to inspire poets and artists the beauty that Nature create
The willy wagtail with tail wagging is perched on the back garden gate
A tiny black and white long tailed flycatcher always on the look out for flies
One who mobs the much bigger magpie undaunted it does seem by size,
A beautiful day in October butterflies flitting in the sunlight
And fuchsias and roses in full bloom such things that make a pretty sight
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very slight breeze
And all around the sunlit garden the buzzings of flies and of bees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poems Are The Sparrows
Poems are the sparrows,
Swing they branch to branch,
In the green tree of poetry,
They chirp and pick the grain,
Of diction, thoughts, metaphors,
And bring in their beaks,
The straws of meters,
And thorns of realities.
Poems are the Sparrows,
Build their nests place to place,
In the valleys of poetic minds,
To lay and hatch eggs of wisdom,
Awake they early in the morn,
To sing hymn, when gently
Breeze begins to blow, to and fro.
The sparrows chirp in my heart,
And when hiding behind the tassels,
Extend I my hand to them to catch,
They fly away; and when I scatter
The grain, they cluster around me,
To sing the chorus of love and peace,
My restless heart then pours
Them on pages of the book,
And the starving ears become,
Impatient to listen to the honeyed,
Lines of love.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Port Fairy In Spring
In Port Fairy by the ocean nesting birds chirp and sing
On a sunny day in early September in the early Spring
In a lovely old place on a beautiful day
The Spring is in town for her annual three months stay
In the home gardens and parklands shrubs and trees and flower beds in their flowers
And the coastal lands green after recent Spring showers
In Victoria Spring is such a lovely time of the year
And with each passing day warmer weather is near
The mud nesting magpie larks call out pee wee all day
From Utopia Port Fairy does not seem far away
Near Griffith Island one can hear the ocean's loud din
As the big waves at high tide to the beach rumbles in
In the old coastal town for it's beauty well known
Port Fairy it does have a charm of it's own.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A pair of Sparrows on my lovely Lemon Tree
Those were the days
So joyous and carefree
When I could watch the preening of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Summer days were so short, winters were so long
And for endless hours one could go on a kite flying spree
When I could watch, hopping here and there
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Enjoying tender sunshine in winter is a past
And chapattis from an earthen hearth a history
When I could watch, assembling of a nest by
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
What seemed to be mundane at that time
Life in my backyard so ordinary
Bliss it is in hindsight, chirping of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
I still sometimes motivate myself
To get off the treadmill and shake the shackles free
But can’t anymore find in my back yard
That pair of sparrows and that lovely lemon tree
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree..
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree.......
30 July 09
poem by Ravi Singh
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Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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House-warming
Our house anew is built at last,
Despite the struggles of the past!
A happy family now resides,
With Almighty God us besides!
Gone are the days of lack of space;
The new house wears a painted face;
Born is a harmony and peace
That God-willingly shouldn’t ever cease!
The house looks cozy and gorgeous;
The cost is anybody’s guess;
God bless our house and its in-mates,
As we journey to Heaven’s gates!
Our house must turn a happy home!
All brethren are always welcome;
Let love and prayer fill the air,
And faces wear smiles and laughter!
God bless this family and house;
Let Jesus Christ be King and spouse;
Let forgiving hearts show the world
That wounds will heal, however old!
Let brothers live and serve the Lord,
As per the teachings of God’s Word!
Let common blood and flesh stay strong,
And emanate a happy song!
Let parents feel proud of their sons!
‘Let parley work better than guns! ’
Let neighbors sense Christ’s own presence,
Within the house and o’er the fence!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-22-2009
poem by John Celes
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Alms
My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.
I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane..
I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.
I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.
There was a time I stood and watched
The small, ill-natured sparrows' fray;
I loved the beggar that I fed,
I cared for what he had to say,
I stood and watched him out of sight:
Today I reach around the door
And set a bowl upon the step;
My heart is what it was before,
But it is winter with your love;
I scatter crumbs upon the sill,
And close the window, —and the birds
May take or leave them, as they will.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The First Of 08
The first day of 08 a warm and a humid day
And weeks of weather such as this on the way
A furnace like breath in the afternoon breeze
In a forecast high of 39 degrees
From the constant heat their only form of ease
The sheep congregate in the shade of the trees
The renowned chirpers house sparrows the only birds one does hear
On the first day of January in the Southern New Year
In towns and in cities from here near and far away
The revellers of last night are hung over today
A cool change is coming in the forecast we do hear
As to the prime of Summer we are drawing ever near
The first day of January and so warm is the sun
And another New Year has already begun.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Treecreepers
Elusive birds them one don't often see
Treecreepers build their cup shaped nest of bark behind loose bark of tree
From predators concealed and hidden away
And pinkish spotted eggs the female lay.
Shy woodland birds of humans they show respectful fear
They climb tree trunks in search of insects and when human to them venture near
Of the tree trunk they disappear to the other side
Of watchers eyes they'd much prefer to hide.
They will never be renowned as birds of song
Though their familiar chirps one hardly could get wrong
The ornithologists and bird watchers on studying them don't spend much of their time
And they seldom have inspired the poets to rhyme.
From the day they leave the nest until the day they die
From ground up they climb the tree and then to the next tree fly
To climb again in search of invertebrates such things they like to eat
They must have great strength in their tiny feet
In wooded places they like to reside
And from predators their cup shaped nest they hide
Shy little birds when human to them venture near
To the other side of the tree trunk they disappear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Seventh Of June
The tiny frogs singing in the roadside drain
And the sky overcast it is looking like rain
And though not in any way cold enough for to snow
The wind from the hill with a chilly breath blow.
The bird who does sing every day of the year
The silvery billed magpie so pleasant to hear
Once heard him one never could hope to get wrong
Familiar to all is his beautiful song.
For the seventh day of June it is not a bad day
And Spring after all is not that far away
In the nearby park I can hear the pee wee
And the sparrows are chirping on the garden tree.
The Autumn is over and Summer long gone
And on the first week of Winter the clock ticking on
The magpie is fluting his beautiful tune
It is not a bad day for the seventh of June.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Spring In Victoria
The bottlebrushes laden with crimson flowers
And there is warmth in the October breeze
And with her Spring has brought her blooms and greenery
And birds are singing on the sunlit trees.
Spring in Victoria my favourite time of year
The birds build their nests and raise their families
The weather not too cool or not too warm
A high today of 17 degrees.
The distinct call sounds of the magpie lark
And the Indian mynah sings his scratchy song
Some birds are easy to identify
And by their voices you never get them wrong.
Spring in Victoria is a time of bloom
And sun shines brightly after the brief showers
The fruit trees cloaked in blossoms of pale pink
And gardens look resplendent in their flowers.
My favourite season is always the spring
And spring in Victoria is now in her prime
The wild birds sing and gardens are in bloom
But Nature's beauty fades with the passage of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What are we? what can we become?
We can be just snails if we want to,
But we can be sparrows too,
We must choose, we cannot just be silent
& undecided
Forever,
If we choose to be snails
Then we will know what we want
We want a river and some palms
To plan our slow travels,
If we choose to be sparrows then
We at least know what to do next,
We shall grow beaks, and wings, and
Soon we need the sharp claws too
To defend ourselves
At least we also know what we need,
Just nests to lay our small eggs,
Twigs of trees to rest upon
Our weary bodies,
We choose what we are
To become what we can be,
We start on that decision, and then
We will see what suits us
To be the best from the rest,
Who still ask
What are we? what can we become?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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66
What are we? what can we become?
We can be just snails if we want to,
But we can be sparrows too,
We must choose, we cannot just be silent
& undecided
Forever,
If we choose to be snails
Then we will know what we want
We want a river and some palms
To plan our slow travels,
If we choose to be sparrows then
We at least know what to do next,
We shall grow beaks, and wings, and
Soon we need the sharp claws too
To defend ourselves
At least we also know what we need,
Just nests to lay our small eggs,
Twigs of trees to rest upon
Our weary bodies,
We choose what we are
To become what we can be,
We start on that decision, and then
We will see what suits us
To be the best from the rest,
Who still ask
What are we? what can we become?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Back There In Old Duhallow The Frosty Fields Are Gray
Back there in old Duhallow the frosty fields are gray
And the wildborn birds are silent at the dawning of the day
And the chilly winds of January sough in the naked trees
And ice is on the dark pond from the hard overnight freeze
In January in Duhallow the hedgerows looking bare
And in the rushy field by the river the shy and elusive hare
In the greyness of his surroundings quite visible in his coat of brown
For to warm the coldness in his bones through the rushes racing up and down
From the fields of old Duhallow the Spring seems far away
And the cattle in the farm-yard shed are bellowing for hay
And hungry birds by the back door squabble over crusts of bread
And before the warmth of Spring weeks of cold weather ahead
And the chirping house sparrows in the back-yard the only birds one does hear
Back there in old Duhallow tis a cold time of the year.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Play of togetherness
Yes nice play of togetherness
Feel nothing different with total oneness
They need no empire or vast land
Come together only to become friends
Nothing to bother not even house
Only sweet passions to rouse
Act may bring so much happiness and melody
Apart from playing part assigned by nobody
Do the birds care about norms?
Are they in touch or well informed?
They know the arrival of spring
They have only to wait for surprises to bring
They need no material to build nest
They have their own are as best
No art, no labor but little care
Penetration in nest nearly impossible to dare
No scientific medium to air the music
Peace and melody with so much magic
Anybody may stop on the way and watch
Try desperately to have glimpse and catch
How much closeness with mother earth?
Roots deep in and to hold for worth
May never fail or create shortage
Peaceful living with clear message
I heard sparrows have disappeared
Near extinction and new births totally feared
No more colorful birds may be seen on our window
We have smashed the nests and new one did not allow
We face Tsunami and murderous cyclones
Uproot completely and leave behind bones
Will we not take any note of disasters?
Will not hear call from our divine masters?
Birds do for us nice singing
Bright sunshine with little warning
Let us be friendly with entire creatures
We can build and leave with happy future
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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