Birds
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crossing from
the park
to the bank,
stepping over the remains of a grackle
on the grass
that glides
into the sidewalk
and
suddenly
dissolves
at the verge
Streets bustling with cars, Trees crammed with birds. But afar in a family’s yard, A gathering is happening with an exchange of words. All was calm with the meet. So many uncles and cousins to greet. Hot dogs, burgers, peaches and jam, It
Every morning birds sing sweetly on inverted beds
Within mortal frames mornings are for coffee and contemplation
The croaking toad
The spitting toad
Is ill
Time and wind pass
Like poor cowards.
Some of us never really learn to fly
Some birds hop from the nest
Destined to taste earth
Destined for the fall
And some of us stay behind
Afraid to fall like the ones we lost
picking ripe plump figseach one marred by pecking holes~ pleasantly plump birds......Mark Toney © 2021.8/29/2021 - Poetry form: Haiku (for you)
A rain cloaked the streets of Rome
Droplets that once held life
Visible to the naked eye
A life of music and laughter
Poured out of the clouds
Here again, i'm cradled by the unreleasing arms
Of the white, shot sun's grim descent
It always finds me frantic, unprepared
I try to talk myself into some kind of world of understanding
Find empty auditorium seats
Every nun wears a ring
Brides of god
an astonishing act,
as if deception of hell
came true with bush marks
and artists cheering
Rain is wetting windows,
but what about trees
Seemingly...
Friends come and go... Like ships 🛳 that are full of a lot of cargo....There are those that are not in reach or seem out of sight...
We come from all walks of life,
For some reason brought together here.
Learning how to reach new heights,
Learning how to cope with our fear.
There's got to be purpose underlying it all,
Questions in my mind
Floating inside without any answer,
I am mum right now
Got nowhere to go
Darkness surrounding
No chance of light
Vivid vision
Nonetheless I am firm.
Firm but clueless
birds twitter abouthidden pond comes into viewwater laps softly.
.
© 2018 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
I lurk from the window,
To view a beautiful rainbow,
With its multiple colour seven,
And it looks just like heaven.
When the sun sinks in the west,
Stars with the moonlight,
The sky is a green stagnant swamp.
The marching thunder approaches,
More rapidly with every peal.
Dawns light tries to infiltrate,
But it is muted by the oppression ,
Of the vault of steel clad clouds.
Last night the breeze sang a lullaby.
This dawn it screamed in howls.
The distant rumbling approaches,
Unlike the peaceful quiet of last night.
The wind is lifting swirls of leaves.
There once was a wise crow it said
“I carry the world upon my head”
though it’s fate was to end up dead,
the world will bloom where it will tread.
Inhale the scent of fresh cut grass,
Smelling crisp in the morning dew.
The fighting hummingbirds begin their clash,
As the morning starts anew.
While Spring's lovely days
Are warm and sweet,
The pristine colors of brush and grass swirl together like paint on an artist's hand after a day's work.
Deep green cedars sprout, like rocks out of the sea, from the pastel yellow and purple tide of aging grass.
The quiet of dusk in the after light
The sound of rain when it first begins
The warmth of a hug long needed
The peaks of mountains I have never reached
The sound of gravel crunching under my shoes
i.
Osmotic processes do not shield the irony
and yesterday
when i returned from the bane of my existence and the meaning of medieval torture
Flying over the Rockies
Or Sierra Nevadas
Flying high like our whipping flag
Wind under wings
Flying like our nation
But an eagle cannot fly forever.
Surrounded by natural beauty, God’s greatest creation…
In the absence of urban ruckus and cacophony…
Crickets lull us to sleep, whippoorwills herald the dawn
The air becomes dry
and the wind stops mewling
familiar hymns that I stopped singing
So that I may talk to you
A feather, left behind a trail to beyond and unknown. The world looks scary at first but little do we know the little bird is growing up. The High and lows of life hit you like waves in the ocean.
Leap, run, Sunshine, grass, trees, wind, breeze.
The air is soft and the world is open.
The heart is pounding and the mind is wondering.
Step out into the opening.
we are flocking togetherthere's no-one to leave
be the aim and the arrow
VVVis for Victory
that's a lucky escape
The birds are flying
Away from something shady.
These birds sense danger.
Peach clouds tumble over an
autumn morning.
Cool, almost impeccably sharp
Yet
Soft, light, feathery, cushioning the
blow:
A collision of ecstasy
Frozen grass breathing again with
The fall was harsh, the winter was bitter.
A frozen field failed to yield spring life
except for one flower. It was no quitter.
It pushed and pounded on the ice in strife
Words on a page like birds on a plane just a double standard no words can explain
I tried to figure out what the birds tried to say
Tweet, tweet, tweet, not a social media page
My hero is invisible.
She comes out in the bright colors that cross my mind,
The beautiful stories that feed my imagination.
My role model is the reason why my trees are green,
Poetry, for me, has always been a bird,
Not like the one that stays outside the window every morning,
Not like the one that sits in a cage at the side of the room,
Frantic wings beating blindly,
Bombarding the window pane.
Beak nimbly tap tap tap tapping the glass it doesn't see,
Jewel toned chest sparkling sapphire in the sunlight.
Limericks, sonnets, and great epic tales
Flash steadily before my looming view
My fervor while reading, which never fails
Brings delight and joy from stories anew.
Voyaged to whereabouts both near and far
The mockingbird has
No cry of its own
Can sing every part
But finds no harmony
Has no seat in the choir
No tree in the woods
A single gray
Among black flocks of crows
Dawn until dusk
A crow sits on a swingset
The winter sun goes down
Lonely cries of crows
Become the only sound
A keyboard clicks
Crows keeping time
Meaningless words
That strain to rhyme
A metronome
As I lie here all around me I see
A whole world of creativity
The Birds, oh how they sing
With their little ones under their wing
Thy bird, thy bird, flying with such grace,
You take off to the skies with such care,
You fly like a world war flying ace,
And land after being in the air.
Up, up, up and down
the softest petals
and hardest crown
the earth has fallen clear and clear
with birds that all the world can hear
Your deep red feathers contribute length to your shape,
But it's more than physical features that add to my gape.
Morning "I'm awake!" calls and late night "No bedtime!" squeaks
I shall chase the sunand catch the starsride the moon however farclimb the peaksand swim the oceansnorth to southmy heart opensThe stars your necklacethe planets your rings
Without rules,
Without restrictions,
No need for a guide or a handbook,
Life would be simple.
The birds would sing,
A beautiful song,
Wrapped in the comfort of their nests,
Outside my window
The last leaves left clinging to a tree
Blowing against the bright sky are triumphant still
Fluttering relentlessly like one hundred starlings
Practicing to take flight
I’ve been contemplating for the past three days,Words to describe my precise emotions,And I become embarrassed by myself,For not even being able to, in such a s
Dear My Faded Doves, At first, I thought I couldn't do it. But I did. At first, I thought it would be too painful. And it was.But I did it. I did it.
One Thanksgiving his mother told me this story
About how as a child he used to catch bugs
He loved them
He would run around the yard scooping them into a little mesh box
They’d once seen you in my valley
by Vir Singh
Galaxy of flowers
Suddenly appears in my valley.
Colourful butterflies
Are playing with flowers,
A bridge among barricades
A bird among bears
Love is free, love is peace
Trust from a tired heart
Energy from an exhausted mind
Love connects, love supports
Ever since I wore a size 3 in shoes i've always wanted to fly
Like the sprakling BlueJay
Maybe like the sneaky Red Robin
I could learn to stand out more, like a hawk
i like to dress for an imaginary girl(we will meet each other soon) by putting ona silk tie with subtle Chinese birdssewn in.she may be picturing me in her mirroras she applies exactly the necessary line
The birds of may
are chirping away
on this sunny day
down by the bay
as i'm eating my breakfast on a bale of hay;
what a matinee
The song has yet to be sungWhich can harmonize my affectionTo a voiceElegantly enough for you—You who haveRepeatedly untangled my spiritFrom where it lay spilt on the concrete.
The stars are your friend.
Twinkle sharp in the sky,
Against the dark, I can't decide
If your radiant or stunning.
Maybe both.
Your beutiful like bird songs.
Hard to understand,
Spring is a cheerful
And warm time
Flowers are blooming
Birds are singing
And having babies
The cold climate is going,
And spring is near
Have you heard, have you heard,
Of this feather-shedding bird,
The eagle, our freedom, our country, our cause?
It’s sick, it is, sick as a dog,
With dried up eyes and ears and tongues for laws.
Have you ever heard the mockingbird sing?
For the first few seconds of its sweet song, I always believe it to be a Cardinal
They tell her it’s good for her
and that they’re guilty they noticed too late
that it’s vital for her
it’s wrong
(what she’s been doing during this prolonged period of pain).
Whether my body is tired or it is fully awake,
Whether grief and guilt weigh me down or joy keeps me as light as a feather,
I still find needed comfort with you, my friend.
You keep things simple,
I’m scared of myself
For when school starts
See, I’m not depressed
But in form time
My mind works overtime
Sweet sentiments the birds sing to me,
This greenbelt of tall and lean,
shimmering tropical colors of green.
It peaks through my window,
dancing facets of light.
Touches the skin and warms the sight.
When daylight hits the wall
When it scorches the curtains
When the sun beams through
My birds sing for me
Excitedly they bob their heads
Up and down and up and
They scream with delight
I know that there’s a clearing’s reprieve
for weary travelers:
ones with honey thoughts,
those like geodes,
us like patient coal.
I’ve never ever seen that lake
but I hear
I'm like a bird, flying high
Everyday in the sky
I get shot, and I cry
This is ending my life
I fall down, on the ground
No one hears this sound
On the street that I’m bound
Its almost time,
summer is ending
there is no more pretending
its time to get back to the nitty-gritty.
Starting college is like high school again,
4 years to go,
settle in and strap down,
this bird is cool now
Actually it is not
the bird is now fine
i.
the cacophony
of capitalism mutes
the euphony of birds
ii.
you can still hear it
the harmonizing of birds against
the white noise of construction
the effortless breeze roared
while the waves were talking
the dark clouds got angry
while the palm trees were dancing
I am screaming
while the seagulls are chirping
the sun was smiling
There is a small bird all in red
Who decorates my winter tree.
He wears a coat of scarlet
And sings this song to me.
Pretty, pretty, pretty
Que! Que! Que! Que!
by A. Gagliardi
By A. Gagliardi
There’s a black-capped, tiny bird
That sits up in the tree.
He stays around in Winter time
and sings his song to me.
Chick-a-dee-de-dee. Chick-a-dee-de-dee,
My home is the sky where I fly freely.
Where Mother pulls the aba off my back
and Father leads the way while we soar.
Where Sister’s wings are soft and vibrant
and we chitter and chatter and twitter
Image author unknown
Those grey birds
They beat their wings
Droves of feathers following
Up and up into the air
Flying high with little care
One bird, two birds
I forgot the taste of reality
On brick-dusted lips because
I can’t speak the truth.
It’s too hard to say:
Weary bird with fleeting breaths and stumbling steps; your wings twisted with your disposition as you fell through tree tops and met me in this collision.
I am the Magpie.
When Winter came, I flew South;
“It’s warmer there,” they said.
Will I ever see my home again?
When Winter came, I flew South,
But I will return home in the Spring.
I wish I was a bird, you see
They fly oh so freely
Tiring as though it might be
Their strength is spectacular really
Maybe their diet it key
Birds are nothing less than awesome
They tell me to write what is awesome,
and my fingers tap the keys like a blind spider’s mandibles,
drawing a blank.
No flies tonight.
They tell me to write what is awesome, and Pluto looms on my screen,
I am awoken, not by sounds.
The sun egging me on with its rays to arise.
Birds conversing, cheerful small talk.
Inviting me to join the world outside.
The breeze, a mornings greeting.
The radiant energy from the sun shines
Reveals itself through the cracks of the in between branches of oak trees
As you exhale as a long sign of relief
You inhale The scent of freshly cut grass
I've been searching
for a way out
of this blurred vision.
Among checkups and lenses
I watched through pink frames.
Instead I am ostracized
The bird's song flows with the wind
It's heart soars through the blue sky
Her dreams reach into the night with the stars
But she is trapped in a cage
Made of doubts, restrictions, fear
The day will come
I am the cup of ramen noodles I keepforgetting to take out of themicrowave. I am the orange juice that spills on a fourteen hourinternational flight. I am the mint plant on the windowsill that only thrives
I watched a bluebird on a window sill
She sat there placid, calm, and singing.
We shared the morning sun out in the chill,
We let its rays shine down on our faces; freezing.
What do birds see
When they watch me?
How am I considered?
Glancing downward,
Oh little bird,
You see many people.
From sky or perch
When your eyes search
What do you find in us?
Serene, still and calm I lie,
Stretched beneath the heavenly sky,
Lapping the dewy grass around me,
Silently I ripple and smile.
For long, long days,
I watch the birds overhead fly,
I'm happier than a bird singing a song.
It's all because of you, mom.
You bring me from my darkest moments and make me happier than a bird singing a song.
My only wish is for you to continue being the same.
When the storm clouds rolled,
I lifted my head to the sky.
When fate the lightning foretold,
I smiled but didn't wait to die.
Lifting my skirts, I danced through the rain,
I grew out my wings and flew to a new place,
They said that's what they're for, so I sought out my space.
A space for me to find my own-
To color my feathers,
To say that I've grown.
Trees,
A thousand years old,
Touched by a thousand hands,
Fingers trailing softly over rough bark.
Trees,
A thousand feet high,
Home to a thousand birds,
I don't think birds realize how blessed they are.
They are born with wings:
the very instrument that so many humans crave.
Yes,
it is true,
we have legs.
All of our dreams have been the same- to spread our wings and take flight with the hot sun beating down and strong winds blowing.
Do you ever feel paper thin?
See-through, transparent
Like everyone knows what you’re thinking
Even before you’re thinking it.
Do you ever feel naïve?
Inexperienced, unprepared
If you think of Spring, what do you see?Flowers, eggs, bunnies, or bees?I see the grass, green and lush;The streams filled with a serene gush.The sky is a blanket, infinite and blue;
If I could change any one thing
I'd like to be able to sing.
For though I excel in much
my voice cannot do such.
The way the birds sing a song
makes me sad that I cannot sing along.
Global warming man
We need more ice cubes for real
We can change the world
The world is nice
Sooooo nice
So we need to save it you know?
Flowers are beautiful
And so are the birds and bees
Global warming man
We need more ice cubes for real
We can change the world
The world is nice
Sooooo nice
So we need to save it you know?
Flowers are beautiful
And so are the birds and bees
Shielded By My Winged Love
When days fall down
Your knees cry
Your arms weigh you down
Let me hold you
you may think i'm referring birds are animals with feathers
wings that permits to fly
soar in the air with grace
flying above the clouds
but to be quite honest
that's not what i'm here to recite
I envy those with wings
The ones who know the beauty of a sunrise
The ones who see the clouds spread out across the sky
Like the sand of the ocean floor
I envy those with wings
For they can see the sky
I have heard it said
That our souls have feathers.
I don’t know whether this is true
But I-
I am a magpie.
A collector
Of the ornate
The obscure
The outdated
Hello songbird creature of flight, what brings you here on such a woeful night.
Destined with powers to soar all around yet you sit and not make a sound.
Can it be that you are ill or just waiting for time to spill?
The sun rises rises in my soul. The rays dance and explodelike lyrics hitting the ear. I am the song. Illusionsshatter like glass. I morph into a dazzling tapestry of shadow and light. Thesetting sun no longer reminds me of death.
Dark hair
Frames her angular face
Protruding cheekbones
Paperwhite skin hiding lacy blue veins
Dark eyes
Follow me around the room
Judging me
Looking at me
Wanting to be me
The sounds of a sweet bird; lively, buoyant, and free,
The sounds of a bitter bird; bleak, melancholy, and confined.
My heart is a birdcage
Hanging from a tree branch and
Moving with the wind.
You can look inside-but don't touch!It might fall
and
break.
Sometimes my heart is the bird inside
Set down your pen,
Look to the sky,
At the birds around you
And how they fly.
Their wings of paper
Their calls make words.
Words that float in the air
And settle on the ground,
Might I relate to you?
Could you feel the way I do?
Just slip me a smile-
it's all it takes
to leave me up- wide awake
A flicker-
a glance
my chance-
to lean in
a kiss
"Why does she write?" the kids at my school always ask
"Words are unimportant!" they say, "Words do not last!"
I pretend I can't hear them, I quell their horrid words
But deep down, I wish I could soar away like a bird.
I write because the words give me no rest.
They are voices in my mind
and they pester and whine
to be set
free
They are soldiers
waging war
their battle cries both
music and
How wonderful it is to not be bird watching in the Rainforest, trotting through its monstrous foliage and swatting its pestering mosquitoes. I much more enjoy my cozy backyard where I am aware of all happenings and sure of every corner.
Sitting at home on a hot summer's day,
A pen in my hand,
What in my poem could I possibly say?
There on the balcony the blue jay sits,
His feathers shining beneath Nature's light,
In the night, I heard a songbird sing.
It was such a sight to see the most beautiful thing.
Every night, he would flap his wings and then, start singing.
Today is a day
That I will dream
I will dream of undreamable things
I will make up words
I will make up songs
Even if the world doesn't want to sing along
A walk in the park would be nice
the trees blowing, swaying to the winds rhythm
It's where the birds sing.
Watching as all the humans speak.
all the beautiful women flash in the latest and hottest fashion.
Let’s break it down to the dirty details.
You broke my heart, but have yet to know.
Maybe you won’t either.
Apollo, a bird of mine,
He is noisy much of the time.
Unless he's sleeping, sitting on me.
Unless he's busy, eating or drinking.
Then he's yelling for me.
I barely get out of the van.
Whippor, whippor, whipporwill,
Sing your song little whipporwill,
Sing what is yours and no one else's
Your beat, your will, voice is yours.
You don't know what to do
But that's okay because nobody knows
Just let the sun shine on your skin
And let the clouds carry you there
Let it all in
And don't block anything out
Get on top of this mountain and sing with me
we're the loudest two birds from here to sea
no one can stop us cause we fly high
no one can stop us, we're to busy in the sky
The warmth, the beauty of a true masterpiece
The flow of the breeze, giving the leaves temporary wings
The rustle, as they wage waer to stay firmly on the tree
In the end a loss, and now must lay on the ground
A bird sings his sweet song high in the tree
Hoping to attract the one who loves thee
She hears his song and goes flying to see
Her flight he sees and knows she is for me
They do the dance and take a chance on love
Birds can be of many a feather,
Bright colors distancing those who take heed.
But many birds may flock together,
When all are hungry for the same feed.
A flock of many hues and shapes rare,
As I fly through the dazzling sky,
I watch as life goes by.
With busy streets and lots of people, I notice the ignorance that occurs toward the beauty of nature, placing my kind in lots of danger.
Birds are shown in many different colors.
I could hear them chirping with their yellow beaks.
They always sing when they are in a tree.
They always fight over food.
Birds can sometimes get you frustrated,
Birds have beautiful colors.
Their feathers of red and blue and golden yellow
ruffle together against the sky.
I write as a bird soars the crimson sky.
The peering eyes of my pen search for food.
They gaze upon a thought, a dream, my prey.
I swoop and, with my talons, catch the thought.
There is no hope.
What with my cries.
Like a vulture without death.
Like a raven without lies.
The world is flawed
As so many can see.
Like a crow without brothers.
Like a dove without a key.
