Your hair is like a pair of wings blowing in the wind,
Sharing this moment with a bald headed man like me.
You could have been anywhere you wanted,
But you responded to me.
You left the defenseless sky to be in the arms of a tree,
That’s rooted by the ocean.
As the wind picks up, like a wave out the sky,
You try to hold onto my arm, instead of fly.
It means so much to me to know you don’t want to leave my side.  
But as the sunset’s and every brush of wind paints the sky,
I know you must fly, high, like the ocean waves, kicking back the tide.
No words could be said, not even goodbye.
And though I’d give all the green I have to have you by my side,
I will forever hold this feather of yours that you left behind, to remain, to remind.  
11/13.16

A bird in the tree is worth two in the sky/a leafless tree that holds nothing but a feather
Saravanan 14h

When my mind wants to stretch as high as the sky

and  my soul would move in as deep as an ocean,

When my voice needs to reverberate earth's every nook and corner;

and  my body longs for a space to breathe my life out,

Oh Mankind! Why did you imprison me?

into that clusters of tradition I didn't choose for,

into those chains of men I didn't opt for,

into the god-forbidden civilization I didn't ask for

and into the clutches of death I didn't seek for.

amidst domesticated minds is Me, the caged bird

waiting for the vault to open and the closet to collapse for I know,

Strangulated souls will be liberated by death! -

the death of narrow-mindedness!

Chaetura 22h

Such joy a glimpse of her instills
as I scan the flawless sky.
Her dusky wings glide o’er hills
and on the breeze, soft as a sigh,
I hear the soothing call of her steadfast mate nearby.

In spring I await her return,
this graceful feathered acrobat.
She has left her winter sojourn,
the air her daylight habitat.
Voracious insectivore, she feasts on fly and gnat.

Night descends; she rejoins her mate—
one last flight before evening rest.
With poised arcs and loops they create
a many-splendored sight to best
the wonder of the scarlet sun sinking in the west.

Inside the chimney they retire,
their nest affixed to the brick wall.
That half-moon of twigs will aspire
to cradle her eggs, treasures small
as fickle June weather brings torrential rainfall.

In mere weeks hatchlings emerge.
With cicada-like cries so shrill,
they summon both parents and converge
to devour offered meals until
they outgrow the nest and find their strength matches their will.

Mid-summer, the fledglings first fly,
with resolve their greatest resource.
Watchful parents hover close by
as their young chart a maiden course
and learn to grapple with aerodynamic force.

Late August twilight, I observe
the sturdy young swifts on the wing.
Used to my presence, they swoop and swerve
near my head, bravely exploring,
then sail to the chimney where their parents are roosting.

By early fall, the swifts disappear.
Their vast terrain knows few bounds.
Flying south, young and old will veer
toward Amazon wintering grounds.
The chimney is now hushed, missing their chirruping sounds.

My first (and last!) ode. But if any creature is deserving of an ode, it is the magnificent chimney swift, whose survival is currently threatened by habitat loss.

Paint a picture with my words, see the sun and the birds, clear skies reaching back for the horizon.. see the pain in my eyes, the fear I disguise, my wings shredded, torn, and broken.

Lilly 3d

The falcon, too, was once earth-bound,
    And scared to leave the solid ground;
    (How curious, to be afraid,
    To use the wings that you were given;)
    But she joined hands with her own terror,
    And let it lead the path to heaven;
    (How glorious, to understand,
    To use the power of your demons.)

Star BG 4d

A plaintive song a black bird sang,
before he took to flight.
He did talk to remind me,
to be cautious of night.

I did see as he did fly,
he left a gift for me.
Some of what he ate that day,
flew right upon my knee.

Though he was so black as night,
I sent him a wish strong.
Telling him I was of light,
and knew I’d feel no wrong.

For the night has stars so bright.
They dance yes every night.
I have angels round me now.
Their cool and out of sight.

inspired by Timothy. Just as I finished a black bird decided to sing. He approves. :)

There was a time _
The phoenix bird set herself ablaze to rise again with the invincible power

There was a time

The dead seashells tuned the beautiful song for you

There was a time

The small town girl felt no sense of belonging

There was a time

A thousands of Lesser Whistling Teals came from far to survive on your land but never flew back alive

There was a time

The large Oak tree was dying silently, no one noticed

There was a time
_
My colors were fading but you're happy with them who stole my crayons

Once I was a complete Me before your false promise...
Once I was not a lost hopeless mind

But I was a bird,
and you should have known
I’d fly away.

I was not made to be caged,
but you can watch me fly.

Alan Brown Apr 21

a lustrous moon glossed in mist
shines on impatient lips longing to be kissed
while a thumping heart drowns in the dark,
weighted by a romance devoid of spark.

her heart is as restless as a dove,
starving for infatuation & love.
his heart is empty & cold,
living life only to grow old.

the hazy contour of slender hips  
dissipates as candlelight is extinguished by his lips;
her quick footsteps & the click of a door lock
are drowned by the steady ticking of a clock.

tonight she spreads her wings to fly,
eager for takeoff & sweet goodbye.
unchained, she is finally at ease.
abandoned, he shrinks to his knees.

He cries.
& so she flies...

Beau Scorgie Apr 21

My car
had been
drizzled
in honey
coloured
leaves
during the
night.

My son
and I
made a
spectacle
of how
the gold
fluttered
off into
the wind,
like a
hundred
monarch
butterflies
through
grey
streets.

I tilt
the rear
view mirror,
waiting for
lights to
change.

His soft,
buttery face
reflected
back at
me.

I wonder
how it's
possible
that such
a small
person
has the
power
to halt
the sand
through an
hourglass,
to awaken
sunflowers
by the
moon,
to derive
nectar
from a
stone.

What other
name
is there
for a
person
of such
power
than that
of a bird
which
arises
from its
own
ashes.

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