Robin

by Ustaz Fitrah
(Whitby, Yorkshire, United Kingdom)

Robin

Bolding about
the freshly turned garden,
Drilling at worm
and centipede,
Picking over
hand raked soil,
Unruffled
in your clock hopping quest
for invisible sun-seed.

We eye each other from a distance
that closes as the shadows crawl;
In no time you are about my ankles,
darting in at the very turning of the fork.

Once before
When you were too trusting,
The trickster wolf was on you,
Gripped your thorny legs with moonish fangs,
And spun you
Breast first
Into the iron-red sun.
Remember your shrieking
At that mythic branding hiss of pain?

The distant memory
of furnaced cruelty
erupts around us now
as this earth breaks
into the trilling ‘tic-tac-twicker’
of your enduring blossom song.

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Noisy Old Crow

by Sylvia Stern
(New London, WI)



Noisy old crow in the big oak tree
Looking down at the world of you and me.

What is he saying as he caw-caws-s-s?
Is he laughing and talking just because,

He is known to be a smart old bird?
Or does he like to repeat all he's heard,

Like his relative the bossy Blue Jay,
Who also has a lot of things to say.

Neither is known for musical song,
While the Jay is nature's warning gong,

The old crow is like a crusty, rusty old bell,
Who squawks and talks what he has to tell.

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A Little Glimpse of God

by Kathlene Perry
(Lodi, CA, US)


Outside my frosty windowsill
Sat a little red bird so sweet and still.
He cocked his head and blinked his eyes,
As I watched in wonder and surprise.

He didn't see me sitting there;
Of my presence he was unaware,
And as I pondered o'er this tender being
I realized what I was seeing.

I sat transfixed at such a sight,
And held my breath in pure delight;
The miracle of life was here -
What a privilege to be so very near.

His heart beat strong within his breast,
And I knew that it would never rest,
Until the Master of the plan,
Would still it with his gentle hand.

Then a lovely tune he began to trill,
Sweet notes that caused my heart to thrill,
And I thought I caught a glimpse of God
In his twinkling eyes and sprightly nod.

And suddenly he took to flight;
Red wings against the glistening white.
The beauty I shall ne'er forget;
A moment not recaptured yet!

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Soaring

by Jeanne Fiedler
(Bergen County, NJ)

Purple Odessy

Purple Odessy

The Goldfinch inflames
the fiery green meadow
that she uses for a perch
to fly into the cosmos.

The sun beating hard and loud,
scintillating breaths of light;
the image of the glaring finch
becomes a shadow in the dusk.

Tossing and swerving, gliding
throughout the horizon,
the sky blazed with firelight,
blinding those who venture too close.

She soars to the sparkling star
Rivets up and down gracefully
disappearing into the cosmic realm
to become one endlessly and always...

One of the mystical forces of angels.
where she's healed with the bright
glow of the majestic white light...

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robin redbreast

by Bethany
(LONDON)

Goodbye, goodbye 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!
Robing 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 leathery 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 what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.



The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatsack 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.

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To Fly Away

by Kathlene Carol Perry
(Lodi, CA)

To Fly Away

"We're here, we're here," cried the baby birds
to their mother who perched on high.
"We were so afraid when we left you -
never more from you will we fly!"

"Oh, yes you will," said the mother bird,
"When the time is right one day,
You'll spread your wings in that big blue sky
and from me you'll fly away."

"Oh no mother dear," said the baby birds
from the nest where they sought to hide.
"The world is so big and scary too,
right here with you we'll abide!"

"For now, dear ones, you'll stay with me
and I'll never leave your side.
Together we will learn and grow
and I will be your guide."

"We'll swoop and dive and chase all fear;
we'll rejoice in being free,
and the day I wave goodbye to you,
you'll turn and wave to me."

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For All Us Birds

by Joe DiMino
(USA)

I watched a bird in flight
And thought, a marvelous thing
Are wings;
The same dear bird
Put on a show,
Did several loops
And then a bow
(All for me I know)—

On thermal high I rose;
Stretched out my arms
And followed—
Such a sight to see
If someone watching
A heavy bird in flannel-shirt,
On tipsy-toes—aflutter—looping in earth
(I put on a show,
Just for fun you know)—

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Backyard Vacation

by Wanda G. Black
(Oregon)


I sit here and gaze at God's blue sky
With white puffy clouds drifting by
And the vibrant green of grass and trees
And the flowers all bowing in the breeze

Then I look out across the peaceful pond
At the woods and the pasture just beyond.
And closer in, flying into view
The finch, the cardinal, and the bluebird, too.

In the redwood swing, I lean back and then
Enjoy the melody of the wren.

The whir of the hummingbird darting by
The sight of the buzzard, floating high.
The robin defending its hidden nest
By chasing away the cowbird pest.

I sit out here and swing along
As I listen with joy to God's nature song.

And as I listen to each trill and peep,
I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Comments for Backyard Vacation

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May 20, 2014
Rating
starstarstarstarstar
Thank you
by: Anonymous

Thank for this wonderful poem. My grandmother passed recently and we were looking for a poem to read at the service. She loved animals, but had a real soft spot for birds of all kinds and this poem just captured her perfectly. It makes me smile and think of happy memories of Grandma and her birds.

Mar 09, 2014
Rating
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what a vacation
by: Deb

Thank you for your wonderful poem, I can see the birds in the backyard, it was just what I was looking for.

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Sunning

by Dorothea Barth
(Vallejo, CA)

Though camouflaging with the floating log,
Reptilian roundness cannot quite disguise,
As morning rays break through the morning fog,
Two traveling turtles sun and socialize;

Devoted ducks seek comfort from beyond,
Alight upon the unassuming ark,
Suspended in the sleepy greenlit pond,
Suffused with algae in a golden park;

Now silver feathers, watchful wings alight,
A solitary heron’s sweeping surge,
Logbound toward a favored landing site,
Claims from the fleeing ducks their precious perch;

At noon no sunning birds afloat remain,
A transformed log, a seven-turtle train!

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Bird Words

by Terry Michael Riley
(Lake City, AR. USA)

The sanctuary of a back porch lounge
My place of rest and contemplation
Each morning I sit with contentment
Enjoying the feathered serenade

The questioning coo of the mourning dove
WHO - ARE - YOU - YOU - YOU?
The mocking bird answers -
PRETTY - PRETTY - PRETTY BIRD

All the thrush then sing in harmony
Their auditions to Harry Potter

DUMBLEDORE? DUMBLEDORE?
SNEAK - A PEEK!
KEEP - KEEP - TRACKING -
WAY - HIGH!
A - OGLING LOOK
YOU WILL SEE? YOU WILL SEE?
O'WARBING ME!

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Black Sky!

by Sandra K. Gillmore
(Marshallville, GA)

Black Sky!

Black Sky!


BLACK SKY!

A million birds come by our house to sleep through every night
Then they wake up and fly back out by clusters when its light
First there were a few, then several, a hundred, even more
Then we saw a thousand, then ten thousand from our door!

They whoosh by in the wind like leaves in the Fall
They group so thickly it seems sometimes they form a wall
They dive, they plunge, they flit, they soar
They just keep coming, more and more!

Swirling like tornadoes downward
A thousand fly as one
Forming shapes and ever changing
We hope the show is never done!

“Black Sky!” You’ll often hear us yell
As we run out to greet them
“Holy Moley! Check it out!”
We shout as we look up to meet them!

The birds they play their games, you see
They take turns gathering in each tree
Then in a flash hundreds of thousands flee
Their wings blow boisterous gusts past me

In the summer we can’t hear them
Cause the locusts are so deafening
When a storm is in the air
The speed at which they come seems threatening

They criss cross in the sky producing patterns that they show us
They flitter passing by making their chatter like they know us
They save their poop for other spots and rarely make a mess
They grow in numbers by the day; we’re thrilled they are not less

The neighbors seem oblivious as they walk or ride on past
We point and yell and show them, yet they have their at-hand task
I’ve written to bird watchers and emailed lots of friends
I’ve called organizations that to nature their staff tends

We’ve even had some visitors to come and watch the show
But every night it’s different and the numbers always grow
So we feel very blessed to be the audience of these
Birds of the air so light and fair - a gift inside the breeze

By Sandra K. Gillmore 10-03-08

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This Poem is for the Birds

by Wendell Hall
(Wallsburg, UT USA)

Mad as a wet hen, a little bird told me,
"It's a fowl thing for poems that reference us

to be as scarce as hen's teeth and it would be

a feather in your cap, a splendid thing... yes...



to crow about, and you'd be sitting in the

catbird seat, killing two birds with just one stone

if, like the early bird that catches the larva—

tastier than worms—you too were a lone



bird—not like those of a feather that flock to-

gether; so eagle-eyed, missing nothing, like

an owl not giving a hoot, you'd swallow two.

One swallow does not a summer make, unlike



two or four or more, as lame ducks may suppose.

"Little bird," I said, looking like the cat that

swallowed the canary, as bird-brained as schmoes,

for calling it small. A feather in its hat,



to birdies that don't get caught like sitting ducks.

A larva in claw is worth two in debouche.

"In the open" it means, instructive, dumb clucks:

"Don't bumble or tumble into booze or hootch."


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Parrots

by Lois Henderson
(Velddrift, Western Cape)

Parrots are a funny bunch −
They often curse and swear −
You really cannot take them out to lunch
When your grandmamma is there.

They like to stride atop a cage,
Much as a soldier might,
Then hang upside down from the top railing −
Oh my, what a sight!

They’ll sample many a tasty morsel
Proffered with anxious hand,
Then shy away from the very next damsel
Who flashes a wedding band.

Never try to shut them up,
Or tell them “Stop it!” – that’s rude –
They’ll chatter away at you non-stop,
Just as a parakeet should.

But do not blame them for their foibles,
For they are sourced in us.
If only we’d leave them back in the trees –
Or, at least, allow them to do as they please –
Rather than force them into a cage
Against which both beast and bird may rage,
They could remain as the good Lord intended
And not become one of us, appended.



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Waiting

by Bevyn
(Califronia)

Cardinal in the Snow

Cardinal in the Snow

It was sitting there still, staring
The look in its eyes was settling
It was waiting for something
Just waiting

It was getting anxious, like a child waiting for its candy
I could see it in his eyes
He was waiting for it
Just waiting

Then slowly he moved, shaking the snow off the branch
The time was almost here
But he was still waiting
Just waiting

And then with a sudden movement he was gone
He flew with his wings spread out
I could see him in the distance on another branch, waiting
Just waiting

Then a bird just like him landed on the snow covered branch
I could hear beautiful singing, it sounded like angles
And now, I will be waiting until my next outing
Just waiting

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No titles here -Haiku and Tanka

by Earl
(Montgomery, Alabama USA)

hummingbird

fast dancing in flight

vibrating in air

like the helicopter

blade in precise rotation



moonlight

beams radiantly offshore

still cloudy night

reflecting on the bright water

a display of large great whites



the calla lily

like wedding champagne glass

captures the eye



break of dawn

songbirds singing loudly

reddish sunrise

glistens on the label

of my fiberglass rod




boy scout camp

telling campfire stories

tales of horror

reported by the local news

serial killings in two states

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Birdsong

Birdsong slices through the air.
It chirps and tweets without a care.
Robins yell their too-loud call,
During their song, sparrows sing for all.
Some other birds join in with tweets.
Other birds, like chickadees.
Nightfall nears. Chirps fade away.
Getting rest. They've sung for today.

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