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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.
My mind… is like a cage full of birdsHow do they live together?
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.
The Mourning Dove
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
Trade without consent Forced from a forest of trees Fear asylum of steel
The birds are flying Away from something shady. These birds sense danger.
Baby birds and food. Who is going to feed them? Stomachs growl for food.
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
Bird brained and feathered, Sharp beak, eagle eyes and claws, It’s ready to fly.
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.
Quiet canary/ Has discovered her lost song/ By searching her heart.
Have you ever heard the mockingbird sing? For the first few seconds of its sweet song, I always believe it to be a Cardinal
Birds sing songs to me. And I learn to sing them too. The songs of Haiku
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.
Flying Flying Falling
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?
Lonely bird Wings imprint on the pavement
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,
The poor pigeons coo
What do I see?
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,
A green parakeet eats seeds ever so peacefully chirping on a tree
Airplane Airflight First time Lips white Passout Fly high Don't look Bird's sight
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.
A night owl isperched on a weeping willow,watching souls pass by.
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
Birds soar through the sky,
Shielded By My Winged Love When days fall down Your knees cry Your arms weigh you down Let me hold you
Dotting across page to Page,
Everyone knows what happens
To Walk a Mile in the Rain
She is sitting in a gorgeous
Kiss the Sky Embrace the Ocean Birds call me equal.
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'd like to fly but it's a silly notion, I'll take my chances with the ocean.
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
The cardinal is red Happy as can be With its wings spread
"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.
Small bird, Broken wings Left to die by all that pass Is there no mercy?