What's Up Doc?
This hat's too small
it's cold and dark
full of kings and queens
chirping birds
spotted handkerchief's
How's a rabbit supposed to get some sleep
.......by magic
poem by John Churchill
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Abstraction Fo The Word Chirp....
i hear birds chirping
early morning
on those trees
clouds arrive, light
spreads,
green becomes too green
in the fields of
life,
i hear birds chirping
sweet to my ear
i give it priority
abstract. delet morning
move out clouds from the picture
double click green fields
focus on life
delet birds
add volume to chirping
it is all chirping now
just chirping
chirping chirping
the essence of chirp.
i have abstracted it from
everything else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Set them free..They will multiply..
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time,
colorful birds to colored birds,
chirping birds to singing birds,
flying birds to walking birds,
cunning birds to love birds,
Watching birds is just a lesson,
making mind to have a vision.
collect the twigs to make the nest,
one by one, they think the best,
choose the right tree,
just high and free,
Making the nest perfect,
without any single defect,
The birds toil together or alone,
all day long until it is done.
I bought two love birds,
that were kept in a cage.
Hung the cage under the balcony,
above the reach of dogs not felony.
chirping disturbed their sleep,
Nikko, the dog set them free.
Only two flew away,
but I have a few dozens now,
making their nests,
right in front of me, on the trees.
Watching the birds is real fun,
no need dime, only the time.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Big Black Rabbit
A big black rabbit passed right under the moon
On great dark wings to soar and swoon.
I called, “Oh great black rabbit where are you off? ”
An old fool beside me did chuckle and cough
“That’s just a raven, which is only a bird.”
The old man drew out slowly each word.
But it was a rabbit that I saw soaring,
My cause for assurance is birds are boring.
poem by Matt Johnston
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This Kingdom
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
The wild and eerie winter is upon us,
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
Your solution to royalty is absolutely ahead,
The summer believed me, it was absoluteness,
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
We say and did formulae of chemistry in bed,
The same post of evil as absentmindedness,
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
Our results bespeak in front of the led,
The exact opposite of leading is malice,
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
When does the king seek kindness from the misled?
Your happiness is special with malpractice.
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
The understanding I sought was hunger to be read,
A shining example of pride is in books of passiveness.
We can not witness a criminal who has been dead.
Had the kings and queens of this kingdom bled?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Let Me Sleep
Cold wind blows on the souls of my feet
Heaven knows nothing of me
I'm lost, nowhere to go
Oh, when i was a kid
Oh, how magic it seemed
Oh, please let me sleep
It's christmas time
Flowered winds was where i lived
Thought you burned, not froze for your sins
Oh, i'm so tired and cold
Oh, when i was a kid
Oh, how magic it seemed
Oh, please let me sleep
It's christmas time
Oh ... oh, when i was a kid
Oh, how magic it seemed
Oh, please let me sleep
It's christmas time
Oh ... oh, when i, if i was a kid
Oh, how magic it seemed
Oh, please let me dream
It's christmas time
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riverboat
Riverboat,
Revolution!
Light,
Darkness,
Stuff,
Selection,
Seed,
Weed,
Need,
Deed,
Heed!
In this world,
Back to life,
Queens,
Kings,
Juggling,
Watching,
Kings and Queens! !
The theory,
The story,
The history,
The glory!
With the pressure;
But, 'sorry' is a sorry word.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The New Routine
dinner at six pm
blackout comes at 7
so we sleep as early as that time
and with nothing to do
we make love in the dark
and too tired
we oversleep till 5 the next morning
when electricity resumes
we sleep without air-conditioning
pre-conditioned now
to this long lasting emergency situation
i content myself to the sound of silence
some chirping birds sometimes
and crowing cocks at dawn
and screaming chickens landing
on the ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Trip
Like an unripe melon
Like a conquer Magellan
Like a handy capped Helen Keller
There is a moonster in the cellar
He has been there since last November
I was once a member-
Of his palace
Until I was hit in the head with a mallet
Creeping along the halls
I have spotted the moonster in conversation with the white rabbit
Me thinks that white rabbit has a nasty habit-
Of being late
Last time they nearly locked the gate
Is his clock too slow?
Or is telling time his foe?
At least the moonster and purple tiger know
Acid is a trip that is not a trick for kids
But the rabbits white hair show great age
Maybe his mind is like that of a mage
I saw him once pull himself out of his own hat
Very impress for a magician with a assistant gnat
He buzzes around the rabbit’s head, a dark shade of blue
The rabbit does not reek, I have seen him use his wife’s shampoo
If I may take the time
I must say for a rabbit his wife is a dime
I even saw her and purple tiger in the shower at the same time
Of course the white rabbit was too late to catch them of this crime
Just then I told the purple tiger not to eat the white rabbit or the Chinese Girl
“She is your world! ”
You just don’t know it and she will not show it
So he devoured the loaf of bread instead
poem by Vincent Dali
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Magic Never Runs Out
The words “Magic Flute” delighted me when
I was small, I ran about with shiny objects as
Magic Flutes, little cars as Magic Dinky Toys,
a long stick covered in foil was my Magic Wand,
I always carry a toy endowed with Magic Powers
by me, a beautiful children’s book is my talisman,
a guarantee that magic never runs out; an ethereal
fairy, an array of miniature birds, a dragonfly sitting
on my computer, create all the magic I need…
poem by Margaret Alice
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A Farmer
Clad in shabby dress, stinks sweat,
A churlish who works day and night
In the field,
To speed up the pace of progress,
To continue the game of politics,
The destiny of kingdoms
Lies on his rough palms,
By dint of his being,
The kings are kings and
The queens are queens,
He is the father of civilization.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Love Magic
Love tenderness
love madness
love passion
I continue without pressure
your love is magic
I feel perfume,
I see flowers
love affairs have thousand flavors
I hear your name in the wind
in the sing of the birds
in the cry of the rivers
in the dark and cold nights
in full light of the day.
Time passes
love passion
love magic
I still keep your promise
come soon.
Translated by Nelson Francisco de Andrade
poem by UMBELINA FROTA Linhares Pimenta Bastos
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Industrialization
an early morning treat
to the chirping sounds of the birds
the engines arrive in the form of the bus
the tractors and the caterpillars
the birds fly away carrying their songs
the chirping sounds fade
the buzz of the day is in the machine
paving, drilling, cementing, screaming.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Birds and The Worrier
it is raining and as usual
the worrier is worried about the birds
they have no house of their own
and they may die in the cold she says
unknown to her the birds are happier
flying in the rain
chirping and catching all the prey
that are too worried
about where to stay
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kings And Queens
We live in a world with Kings and Queens –
who blind your eyes and steal your dreams,
for you hope to have a life’s that grand, but reality is –
you are tied to this land, this land controlled by a “Hierarchy” the ones
in power,
the ones who say we are “free” –society?
Paying taxes so the Kings and Queens can have a bigger treasury!
Copyright 2006 Christina Sunrise
poem by Christina Sunrise
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The Land where I was Born
HAVE you ever been down to my countree
Where the trees are green and tall?
The days are long and the heavens are high,
But the people there are small.
There is no work there; it is always play;
The sun is sweet in the morn;
But a thousand dark things walk at night
In the land where I was born.
Have you ever been down to my countree
Where the birds made happy Spring?
The parrots screamed from the honey-trees,
And the jays hopped chattering.
Strange were the ways of the water-birds
In the brown swamps, night and morn;
I knew the roads they had in the reeds
In the land where I was born.
Have you ever been down to my countree?
Have you ridden the horses there?
They had silver manes, and we made them prance
And plunge and gallop and rear.
We were knights of the olden time,
When the old chain-mail was worn:
The swords would flash and the helmets crash
In the land where I was born.
Have you ever been down to my countree?
It was full of smiling queens:
They had flaxen hair, they were white and fair,
But they never reached their teens.
Their shoes were small and their dreams were tall:
Wonderful frocks were worn;
But the queens all strayed from the place we played,
In the land where I was born.
I know you have been to my countree
Though I never saw you there;
I know you have loved all things I have loved,
Flowery, sweet, and fair.
The days were long,—it was always play;
But we,—we were tired and worn;
They could not welcome us back again
To the land where I was born.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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January Mist
Sometimes at night I hear small birds lament.
Dark notes that seem to second moon's descent.
Cold is the color of a deep regret,
An etude perfected by winterset.
The world was music and it turned us round.
Stirred by the subtle atmospheric sound,
You gently sketched a snowflake on my face
Which shall be mine till light has left this place.
Such solace has the power to outlast time,
To lock a small bird's elegy in rhyme.
Somewhere beyond the January mist,
The magic of our landscape still exists.
Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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The Rulers
Who are these Kings, Queens and Rulers
that we see?
And what makes them any better than you or me?
Did our God create them to rule over men
and if He did then why, how or when?
No, I say this God I don't perceive.
We have created them. This I believe.
We acquiesed quietly, giving our consent.
My God did not make us to be subservient.
I believe way back in our history's past
something evil occured to make this last.
And so it continues right up to today
and the masses accept it as if it's fair play.
And who are these blue-bloods that conquer and rule?
These are not leaders They are too cruel.
These are the Kings, Queens and Rulers that we see.
And there's not a one of them
made like you or me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sleepy birds [Somnoroase păsărele]
Sleepy birds in trees residing
In the nests they end their flight,
Then in foliage they are hiding –
Sleep well, good night!
Only the cold springs are weeping,
While the woods their turmoil cease;
Flowers in the park are sleeping –
Repose in peace!
The white swan is gliding now to
The thick reeds, making small streams –
May the angels always watch you
In your sweet dreams!
The full moon above is gleaming
Spreading everywhere its light
All is harmony and dreaming –
Sleep well, good night!
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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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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The Famine
The famine’s wind has surely blown,
The rabbit looks for carrots sown,
Nothing nothing nothings grown.
The rabbit pauses with paw on cheek,
“This dismal scene inspires me not,
I think I’ll sleep
An’ let the brook babble on,
An’ in my dreams may hunger,
Be be gone.
Sadly in his sleep the rabbit dies
Then consumed by relentless flies.
The sheep dropp in their tracks
The cows are long since gone
The farmer pulls in his belt and
Hopes it’s not in vain
As he waits and waits and waits
And waits
For Rain
poem by Ken e Hall
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