The Laws Of Nature
In the lonely wood of Clara orange breast robin pipes his song
A warning to all Clara robins 'that this here space to me belong'
And neighbour cock robin listen and the message is understood
Of old cocky himself master at the corner of the wood.
Every morning of the Spring time from branch of tall larch tree
He utter forth a warning in a song like melody
As if to say 'hey neighbour robin stay clear of my boundary'
For if you venture across my border blood will be spilt needlessly.
Even in the wilds of the wild kingdom all creatures are not wholly free
Some are bound by law of Nature to stay in one territory
And like us mortal humans they fall out and disagree
And they wage war on each other and for the loser it's die or flee.
In the lonely wood of Clara on this bright morning in May
Orange breast robin pipes his warning 'keep away oh keep away'
Keep away ye other robins from my wife and family
Dare ye venture across my border this acre belong to me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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Double entendre? for M'lady fay
Clear crisp notes on the morning air.
The blackbirds joyous melody,
which he sings loudly to declare.
This is my home territory.
To human ears a liquid trill,
to other birds a warning; clear.
I will not hesitate to kill
intruders who dare venture here.
This is my domain, mine alone
and I will guard it jealously.
So heed my warning and be gone
I wield supreme authority.
A pretty song. A warning note
which issues from the blackbirds throat.
31-Jan-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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First Robin of Spring
Today heard a beautiful
sound, it was up in a tree,
sitting on a branch so alone,
spring is near by.
As my first robin to
see is looking down
on me, so peacefully,
robins are a sure sign,
warm weather is on its way,
a new start, new beginning,
beautiful sounds coming
from this beautiful robin.
Winter so cold, so long,
snow almost all gone,
spring flowers just
a stone throw away.
Dear robin you bring such
joy and comfort to my
heart listening to you,
your welcome here anytime.
wrote 3-14-07
Prequel..cock Robin.
PREQUEL..COCK ROBIN.
THE DAWN MIST HANGS LOW THROUGHOUT THE VALLEY
CREATING THE SHROUD WHICH ALLOWS TIMID CREATURES TO VENTURE OUT
IN THE DISTANCE, THE WOOP OF A DOVE, RAT-TAT-TAT OF WOODPECKER RINGS OUT
SOON ALL LIFE TAKES THEIR PLACE, MAN AND ALL.
WOODCUTTER SAM COPPICES IN A SUSTAINABLE WAY
AS SOON AS HE IS GONE THE ANTS AND WOODLICE ARRIVE TO CART THE CHIPS AWAY
LIFE CAN BE SWEET HERE, HARMONY ENDURES
THE SQUIRREL AND THE JAY ARE ONE..THESE ARE MINE..THOSE ARE YOURS
BUT THERE'S SOMETHING MISSING, ROUTINE HAS FINALLY RELEASED THEIR MINDS
WHERE IS COCK ROBIN'S CHIRPING OF THE TWITTERING KIND?
HE MUST BE IN THE SOUTH OF THE VALLEY, SAY'S JOHN CROW
OH NO, THIS ISN'T THE DAY HE'D GO
SOON THE WORD HAD GONE OUT, COCK ROBIN HAS NOT BEEN SEEN
HE'LL RETURN BEFORE LONG AND TELL US WHERE HE'S BEEN
THE HOURS WEAR ON, THE RUMOURS ABOUND, ALL ARE LISTENING FOR THAT CHIPPY-CHIRPY SOUND
IN THE FOLLOWING DAYS WITH NO MORNING ACLAIM FROM COCK ROBIN
THE TEARS SHED ARE HIDDEN IN THE MISTY WETNESS OF THE MORNING.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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Robin Redbreast
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, --
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.
Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.
The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow, --
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.
poem by William Allingham
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Warning From Above
We have been believed
So beautiful earth
But we never realized it
Until it got angry
We have been loved
By so many people
But we never cared them
Until they left us
We have been given
This great life
With its existing ‘till now
But we would never understand
Until we die
It’s a warning to everybody
A warning from above
To humans
To realize how blessed we were
And how beautiful it would be
If we heard the warning
But nobody hears
Nobody cares
‘Till this warning
Incised hurt
In our history
This is a warning
From above
Realize how believed we were
How loved we were
How given we were
And how unthankful we are
Hear this warning
Or you’ll see the same disaster
You’ll be in the same despair
We’ll be in the same hell
poem by Clara Odelia Ciutara
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The Black Feathered Songster
The black feathered songster with the golden bill
He sings on the tree by the babbling rill
The song of the blackbird melodious and clear
A familiar voice in the Spring of the year
In his song males of his own kind the message of warning does hear
To my borders you better not venture near
At this time of year his own kind not a friend
In his song a warning that his patch he'll defend
Concealed in her nest from predator eye
His partner sits on her eggs in a bush nearby
When she and her mate back to Nature have gone
Their genes in their young are destined to live on
Birdsong to us may seem a beautiful thing
But 'tis not out of joy that the songbird does sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tampa Robins
The robin laughed in the orange-tree:
"Ho, windy North, a fig for thee:
While breasts are red and wings are bold
And green trees wave us globes of gold,
Time's scythe shall reap but bliss for me
-- Sunlight, song, and the orange-tree.
Burn, golden globes in leafy sky,
My orange-planets: crimson I
Will shine and shoot among the spheres
(Blithe meteor that no mortal fears)
And thrid the heavenly orange-tree
With orbits bright of minstrelsy.
If that I hate wild winter's spite --
The gibbet trees, the world in white,
The sky but gray wind over a grave --
Why should I ache, the season's slave?
I'll sing from the top of the orange-tree
`Gramercy, winter's tyranny.'
I'll south with the sun, and keep my clime;
My wing is king of the summer-time;
My breast to the sun his torch shall hold;
And I'll call down through the green and gold
`Time, take thy scythe, reap bliss for me,
Bestir thee under the orange-tree.'"
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Poor Cock Robin
My garden robin in the Spring
Was rapturous with glee,
And followed me with wistful wing
From pear to apple tree;
His melodies the summer long
He carolled with delight,
As if he could with jewelled song
Find favour in my sight.
And now that Autumn's in the air
He's singing singing still,
And yet somehow I cannot bear
The frenzy of his bill;
The keen wind ruffs his ruddy breast
As to bare boughs he clings;
The sun is sullen in the West
Yet still he sings and sings.
Soon, soon the legions of the snow
Will pitch their tents again,
And round my window-sill I know
He'll call for crumbs in vein;
The pulsing passion of his throat
Has hint of Winter woe;
The piercing sweetness of his note
entreats me not to go.
In vein, in vain, Oh valiant one,
You sing to bid me stay!
For all my life is in the sun
And I must fly away.
yet by no gold or orange glow
Will I be comforted,
Seeing blood-bright in bitter snow -
A robin dead.
poem by Robert William Service
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Where Have All The Robins Gone?
Where have all the robins gone?
They've left and gone to soon
Their empty hollow loving nests
are stilled against the moon
A Spring that was, has come and gone
The worms have dug down deep
Summer's warmth has left the earth
Fall's harvest here to reap
I beg the Winter stay away
To cruel and cold for me
But nature has it's purpose
Rest now......then you will see
Spring returns the Robin's breast
Lost in fields of flowers
Growth anew abounds on earth
The wealth of fresh Spring showers
© 2008 (All rights reserved)
Pipes O' Pan At Zekesbury
The pipes of Pan! Not idler now are they
Than when their cunning fashioner first blew
The pith of music from them: Yet for you
And me their notes are blown in many a way
Lost in our murmurings for that old day
That fared so well, without us.--Waken to
The pipings here at hand:--The clear halloo
Of truant-voices, and the roundelay
The waters warble in the solitude
Of blooming thickets, where the robin's breast
Sends up such ecstacy o'er dale and dell,
Each tree top answers, till in all the wood
There lingers not one squirrel in his nest
Whetting his hunger on an empty shell.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Robin
Where is the robin?
Where is the spring?
Show me your sweet red breast
that surely will bring
the warmth, the warmth.
I need to feel the warmth.
Let me see that worm pulled
from beneath the ground.
Listen with your cocked head.
See what you have found.
Hope springs eternal
for spring is on its way.
Mr. Robin Red Breast
I know you've come to say
Springtime is here.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Robin.
little red robin outside the glass
catching all the rain on a dreary day
i knew nothing of his past
but i felt familiar with him anyway
red-chest robin with his face in the dirt
all his friends were slimy little worms
he called the dry, thin twigs his perch
mothers keep your kids away; he’s crawling with germs
little red robin, how could you be
the brown-mask bandit of the maple tree
little red robin, can you hear my plea –
get down from up high before you feel too free
i knew it couldn’t belong until the sprig would break
a grim “cheerio! ” to the world he cried
his little red soul then the lord did take
when he swooped into the pane and died
Rain and the Robin
A ROBIN in the morning,
In the morning early,
Sang a song of warning,
"There'll be rain, there'll be rain."
Very,very clearly
From the orchard
Came the gentle horning,
"There'll be rain."
But the hasty farmer
Cut his hay down,
Did not heed the charmer
From the orchard,
And the mower's clatter
Ceased at noontide,
For with drip and spatter
Down came the rain.
Then the prophet robin
Hidden in the crab-tree
Railed upon the farmer,
"I told you so, I told you so."
As the rain grew stronger,
And his heart grew prouder,
Notes so full and slow
Coming blither, louder,
"I told you so, I told you so,"
"I told you so."
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Robin
Robin perched on twisted branch;
Sun reflected branches,
Sparkling morning light
Take in the moment;
As it flies by.
Robin twittering on a twisted post;
Cool breeze blowing leaves,
Cross this winters floor.
Spend a moment,
As it flies by.
Robin perched on spade handle;
Fluffs up his breast,
Against the winters morn.
Take moment, trap it
As it flies by.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Triolet: The Robin's Song
The robin perched atop the tree
Signals spring his warbling song;
How long will I be pleased to see
The robin perched atop the tree?
Because it seems he sings for me,
I feel I want to sing along
With the robin perched atop the tree
Who signals spring his warbling song!
poem by Richard St. Clair
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House At Pooh Corner
By kenny loggins
From uncle charlie and his dog teddy, liberty records, c1976
Christopher robin and I walked along,
Under branches lit up by the moon.
Posing our questions to owl and eeyore,
As the days disappeared far too soon.
Now I wandered much further today than I should,
And I cant find my way to the three-acre wood.
So help me if you can, Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised, theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
And pooh.
Winnie the pooh doesnt know what to do,
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose.
He came to me asking help and advice,
And from here no one knows where he goes.
So I went in to ask of the owl, if hes there,
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear.
So help me if you can Ive got to get,
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
Back to the ways of christopher robin,
And pooh.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House At Pooh Corner
By kenny loggins
From uncle charlie and his dog teddy, liberty records, c1976
Christopher robin and I walked along,
Under branches lit up by the moon.
Posing our questions to owl and eeyore,
As the days disappeared far too soon.
Now I wandered much further today than I should,
And I cant find my way to the three-acre wood.
So help me if you can, Ive got to get
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised, theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
And pooh.
Winnie the pooh doesnt know what to do,
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose.
He came to me asking help and advice,
And from here no one knows where he goes.
So I went in to ask of the owl, if hes there,
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear.
So help me if you can Ive got to get,
Back to the house at pooh corner by one.
Youll be surprised theres so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky,
Back to the days of christopher robin,
Back to the ways of christopher robin,
And pooh.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Robin Hood, An Outlaw.
Robin Hood is an outlaw bold
Under the greenwood tree;
Bird, nor stag, nor morning air
Is more at large than he.
They sent against him twenty men,
Who joined him laughing-eyed;
They sent against him thirty more,
And they remained beside.
All the stoutest of the train,
That grew in Gamelyn wood,
Whether they came with these or not,
Are now with Robin Hood.
And not a soul in Locksley town
Would speak him an ill word;
The friars raged; but no man's tongue,
Nor even feature stirred;
Except among a very few
Who dined in the Abbey halls;
And then with a sigh bold Robin knew
His true friends from his false.
There was Roger the monk, that used to make
All monkery his glee;
And Midge, on whom Robin had never turned
His face but tenderly;
With one or two, they say, besides,
Lord! that in this life's dream
Men should abandon one true thing,
That would abide with them.
We cannot bid our strength remain,
Our cheeks continue round;
We cannot say to an aged back,
Stoop not towards the ground;
We cannot bid our dim eyes see
Things as bright as ever;
Nor tell our friends, though friends from youth,
That they'll forsake us never:
But we can say, I never will,
Friendship, fall off from thee;
And, oh sound truth and old regard,
Nothing shall part us three.
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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