Wings
to Constantin Brâncuşi
The bird of time
unfolds in the song of the chisel,
rotates in the light of stone stars,
renouncing his stillness:
Look at the sky, the sky is alive!
It has wings in the name of the one who shaped them.
poem by Camelia Oprița from The word opens the human thought - Sfântul Ierarh Nicolae (2019), translated by Camelia Oprița
Submitted by Alexander
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Memphis Flyer
Take me home on the Memphis Flyer
Take me home to a point down south
Got to go just to keep from dying
Come on, baby,
You and me gonna play house
You and me on the wings of freedom
You and me leave it all behind
I can't say where it's all been leadin'
But come on, baby
Before we go changin' our mind
We can fly
Like a bird on the wings of a song
We get by
We're alive but you know that it won't
Be too long, be too long, be too long
Come on, honey
Time to be movin' on
Now or never, baby
Got to fly like a song of freedom
Got to fly just to save my soul
You get by on the song I'm singin'
Come on, baby
We're too young to be gettin' old
We can fly
Like a bird on the wings of a song
We get by
We're alive but we won't be too long
We can fly, we can fly,
We can fly, we can fly
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound of Silence
I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna
and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:
the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;
Krishna saying, I shall enter this.
And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.
The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.
The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence
as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;
even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.
The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Pair Of Earings 1
The jewel of stone cut lights
A knife blade shaped an exquisite beauty
Quivering on my ears
I like their sound
I think it’s the way the lady bird walks
I think it’s the way the sparrow
Moves its little wings
I think it’s the light whispering into my ears
The dark wounds of a carved jewel
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Our Bird In Your Cage
we have this bird
we both own it and love it and care for it
our bird
and you have this cage
that you only own
golden, new and strong and as you say it
so reliable
that when our bird is in that cage
it will be safe
and cannot escape
we feed this bird together
and give it water and birdseeds
and a place of twigs and swing
where the bird can play
and perch upon
like it is on a tree
days and years
we keep this bird in your cage
and we see it is dying
and wanting to be free
yet you say, this sickness is just temporary
time heals what has wounded it
and shall forget the power of its wings
days and more years
we keep this bird in your cage
and i have not listened at all
to the sad song of that bird
her waning chirps
her weakened wings
her way of losing hold to the dreams of its wings
today we see this bird is dead
but you have no sadness at all
you say, you will buy another bird
again to be kept in your cage
i could have told you
i am the bird in your cage and i too have forgotten the power of
my wings
i could have told you, i have long died
and have forgotten what freedom is, what love is, what i am
in the first place. How can i ever tell you?
you are my cage.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Preparation
THE little bird sits in the nest and sings
A shy, soft song to the morning light;
And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.
The song is halting and poor and brief,
And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
And the busy bill and the flutter slight
Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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inside Facebook
i am a song there
ready to be sung
you can sing me
if you want
i am my own lyrics
the notes are
taken from the
mouth of the bird
that sings only
at night
i am a song there
hanging upon a tree
like a very ripe fruit
you can pick me
and taste me
and then tell me
if i am selfish
for i am not
i am an offering
and you must not refuse
i am a song there
sing me and then
i will listen
and then i will know
who i am
where i am going
what i will become
it is your hum
your singing me
that can make me alive
your mouth can make
me a new bird
singing another song
for this world
tonight
look, the stars are listening
the moon is ready
for this dance of love
tonight
i am a song there
sing me now
give me life
touch me so tenderly
like a woman.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Cry You A Song
Flying so high, trying to remember
How many cigarettes did I bring along?
When I get down Ill jump in a taxi cab
Driving through london town
To cry you a song.
Its been a long time --
Still shaking my wings.
Well, Im a glad bird
I got changes to ring.
Closing my dream inside its paper-bag.
Thought I saw angels
But I could have been wrong.
Search in my case,
Cant find what theyre looking for.
Waving me through
To cry you a song.
Its been a long time --
Still shaking my wings.
Well Im a glad bird
I got changes to ring.
Lights in the street,
Peeping through curtains drawn.
Rattling of safety chain taking too long.
The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before --
Came down from the skies
To cry you a song.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dream 2
A dream that I have found
From in my heart alone
Comes here again around
And feels like weighting stone
It is of all feelings true
And gives as much to tell
But its what it will do
That makes its weighty spell
And I therefore am in dim
Of what this song might be
With full of its acronym
That I cannot thoroughly see
Its wings fly in the night
And gives me dim metaphor
I cannot sketch its light
Nor know what its song is for
It goes here its own way
And I find its travel bemused
I hear only its wings play
But still I am all confused
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Reflections On The Water
A Blue cloud
shaped like a bird
spreading its wings
on the water,
a clover leaf falls
creating some ripples
a fish jumping
trying to reach an
odd shaped flying
insect,
my face is crooked
waving like
a silk scarf
reflections of
half truths but
naked still
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Farewell Little Bird
Little bird,
why are you so lonely?
Did you not like your home
that I have prepared for you?
Look! it's made of gold!
Can't you see?
I have given you
the nicest place to live
because
you are so dear to me.
Little bird
please sing me a song,
the one
that I have heard from you
the day I saw you in the forest
before I made you mine.
Little bird,
why are you still lonely?
Is my heart for you
not enough?
Do you really want your life
back in the forest? ....
Little bird,
there you are!
now, spread your wings
I'm setting you free.....
Little bird,
I'd rather let you go
and see your happiness,
than keep you beside me
and see your loneliness.
Farewell little bird.
I wish
to hear your song again
......in the forest.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Hard Times
Music is silenced, the dark descending slowly
Has stripped unending skies of all companions.
Weariness grips your limbs and within the locked horizons
Dumbly ring the bells of hugely gathering fears.
Still, O bird, O sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
It's not melodious woodlands but the leaps and falls
Of an ocean's drowsy booming,
Not a grove bedecked with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam.
Where is the shore that stored your buds and leaves?
Where the nest and the branch's hold?
Still, O bird, my sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
Stretching in front of you the night's immensity
Hides the western hill where sleeps the distant sun;
Still with bated breath the world is counting time and swimming
Across the shoreless dark a crescent moon
Has thinly just appeared upon the dim horizon.
-But O my bird, O sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
From upper skies the stars with pointing fingers
Intently watch your course and death's impatience
Lashes at you from the deeps in swirling waves;
And sad entreaties line the farthest shore
With hands outstretched and crooning 'Come, O come!'
Still, O bird, O sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
All that is past: your fears and loves and hopes;
All that is lost: your words and lamentation;
No longer yours a home nor a bed composed of flowers.
For wings are all you have, and the sky's broadening countryard,
And the dawn steeped in darkness, lacking all direction.
Dear bird, my sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings!
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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From Dusk to Dawn
As the end of the day takes on a stillness,
and the daylight blue changes to grey.
The twilight suddenly becomes quite noisy
as the birds have their last say.
They flutter for position on the branches
and disturb the stillness of the leaves.
Squabbling for their night-time roosts,
with the magpies dominating with ease.
It takes quite a while for the birds to settle,
but there's a disagreeable one,
and that one brings mayhem to the treetops,
until persuaded it's time to move on.
As dawn approaches there's a movement,
a bird changes its place of stay.
An early bird welcomes in the new morning
as it gets its first sight of day.
Early hours and the treetops are waking,
the magpie tidies its wings and tail.
Yesterday’s bread is much too hard to swallow,
so it swoops down, and wets it in the pail.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Heart Of Stone
A broken wing, and a broken bone
Of a bird, that met a stone
Lied helpless And was bit despair
Looked above If god was there.
Short of food And short of breath
Was silently waiting For his death
Asked his wings If they could fly.
Yes they said why don't you try
He gathered his strength and wiped his tears.
And soon he stood Without his fears
His eyes stared at the Dark blue sky
But just then when he was about to fly
they grabbed his neck they grabbed it hard
with all his strength he could move a yard
and yes those hands did hurt his bone
he had met a heart of stone
some ugly hands and a beautiful bird.
He cried for help But no one heard.
His wings were flawed And his muscles were stiff.
He begged them to throw him off a cliff
oh dumb bird, don't you get,
look at you, it's a stone you met.
To this, the half dead bird replied
So what, if I die
Just for once I ll meet the air.
And also see if god was there.
Stories of wisdom, that were once told
But now this world had been so cold.
He wished if those blind eyes could see.
The bird was dead though his soul was free.
poem by Kanav Justa
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The Need For Affirmation
how i tried to be just myself in the corner
like a stone
but it is not at all possible
i am not just a stone
i am a worm
how i wish just to wriggle
and live in that
small leaf
but it is not at all possible
i am a butterfly
how i wish just to flutter
from one flower to
another
but it is not at all possible
i am a bird
how i wish to be just a bird,
a cloud, the sun, the moon
or the thousand stars
and then i become
a man
and it is enough
you just called my name
and it is perfectly a good beginning
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Life
I can feel it in the darkness
Getting closer in the night
Like a sacred song
You linger on
You give me the wings of flight
And I love your sense of power
Every hour every need
When the red light shows
Your arms enclose
Like the pillars of destiny
With one step forward
I know I can leave this behind
Never look backward
I want to move through space, through time
I want to get to it
Seek and youll find
Check the world - do it its my life
Theres a star shines over you and i
Its my life
Im just keeping my soul alive
Theres talk of revolution
Theres no solution to our plight
A red guitar can get you
But you still know how to fight
They say all roads come together
Every shoulder to the wheel
Solid gold future unfolds
When you give me the hands that heal
Im looking out, and I call your name
I go running in a circle
But I cant get back again
And Im calling I need you here
My whole life took a tumble
And Im so filled up with fear
My life feels like a runaway train
Im leading through a tunnel and I cant get back again
Its my life
Keeping my soul alive
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Extreme
at the extreme
coldness is the coldness of the arctic snow
and hotness is the hotness of the volcanic flow
he got them all and he survived them all
his palms know what are all these things all about
but he never stopped touching
he touched the rays of the sun at noon
with his hands opening in prayer
he touched the frost with his fingers
he disliked his fists
he opted more for the silence of the dusks
and the patience of some longer nights
at the extremes of seasons and events
he continued talking to the trees and all its leaves
to his horse to his dog to his door
to his chair to his bed
to his stair
he kept his prayers
He lives. He is very much alive. His solitude his nest.
His prayers shaped the wings of a white bird.
His stone his silence. His strength, his spirit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Divine Bird
i would skp the best musical concert
to listen one more time to this morning bird
it makes me regret for not having been
a bird watcher and getting to know the name
of every bird and how every bird makes sure
they shine their best in voice rather than feathers
for feathers are just for a show of form but the
voice how well they have cultivated themselves
with the bountiful freedoms strewn below their wings
it was only two mornings ago, i first heard him
sing in among the many trees lining the boulevard
outside my condominium, the Crescent Court
the enchanting haunting notes of his song shocked
me into wondering whether it was really a bird that
sang those pristine notes, notes that seemed to have
streamed out of the sacred sanctum of God, so many
diverse notes, so well handled, they sounded
like a song written by the Divine for one special bird
one most holy entree to the dawn of a new day
i prayed to the Divine to allow me hear that bird
again, a bird that has sung his way into my my poem,
a bird probably from another realm where birds could
understand the workings of the heavens better than men
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Some Distant Day
stillness wrapped in stillness,
memory ingrained in time.
an ancient holy book written
on a leaf, that falls freely,
turns bright with passion,
and crumbles into death!
who are we?
and what remains?
more than the inflection of voice?
less than scriptures etched in stone?
a star? a caterpillar? a gust of wind?
does the soul retain identity?
the spirit have a familiar face?
does the name change...
from Henry to pebble,
from William to speck of dust?
angel's wings, i think not!
neither pitchforks, nor hideous horns!
does the stone i read this poem to...
hear me? know what i've said?
recognize and feel comfort?
or is it all worms and time
and black and white photographs?
or a dropp of rain that feels
like a lover come back?
or are we just nails
rusted on the bridge of time?
do you know? do you care?
will your lips quiver
on some distant day...
trying to remember how
to speak my name?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am The Stone In The Horse's Shoe
I AM THE STONE IN THE HORSE'S SHOE
I am the stone in the horse's shoe,
The unwanted present that's no longer new,
I am the garden where the grass has died
And I am the tears that I cried.
I am the crust on the side of the plate
The left-over pieces that no one ate,
I am a shell washed in with the tide,
I am the echo after you lied.
Oh I am the heart that was beating with love
For the sun and the moon and the stars above,
I was the girl with wings of a bird
The one for whom it seemed that you cared.
But now I'm the stone in the horse's shoe,
Wave me farewell and kiss me adieu.
poem by Lesley Diane Sutherland
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The Fastest Guitar Alive
Orbison/dees
Hey here I go a lucky so and so
Happy cos I know Ive got my fast guitar
Singing pretty songs, knowing I belong
I am first and last, and always a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Rattling strings like a gattling gun
Shaped like a lovely woman
Stay right where you are
My guitar is a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Im rolling on like a rolling stone
Gathering no moss, I play a boss guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Strumming like a battling soldiers drum
Shaped like a lovely woman
Stay right where you are
My guitar is a fast guitar
The fastest guitar alive
Hey here I go a lucky so and so
Happy cos I know Ive got my fast guitar
The fastest guitar
The fastest guitar
The fastest guitar alive
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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