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Two lovebirds

Little birds in a cage
Little birds in a rage
Blue, green, red and pink
Plumage in a bundle sits and thinks

When night comes perched
puffed-up feathers falls asleep
An hour before dawn all dreams searched
Chattering, quarreling, screaming-singing leaps
From cage, to wall, to ear
Penetrating to outside song
In reply to cries, far and near
Similar performances all day long

Little friends from birth
Flightless friends of earth
Enclosed ' together with only
Music, to be free.
True Love Forever.
Flamingo.

Flamingo, flamingo,
up in flight they go,
pink as snow,
flying high, skimming low,
beautiful Flamingo…
Out of Africa.
Angharad Jan 27
I was in awe and entranced
watching the dance,
of two lovers in flight
Slow and involved
I died there below,
envying the romance of the Red Kite
MetaVerse Jan 26

Flying in falling
     Softly snow, five blue pigeons
And a white pigeon.  


Ejiro Jan 21
When put into the chains of captivity
their freedom is diminished
their songs are crushed into dust
we’re only the wind can pick up their pleads
lost to the sight of nature
for what is life without flight
their wings are reduced to shadows
not a single breeze to stir their feathers
no sky to lift them up their feet
so they only cuddle up together side by side
never to stretch out to the wild
the ones who capture the birds
force them to sing a tune of obedience
but the birds decline
in a heavy cost they keep their mouths shut 
the bars between them are meant to seem safe
according to the capturers
but in the eyes of the birds they view it as prison
without information about time or place
they keep their beaks low to the ground
knowing that they are more than musicians
with their melodies growing bitter
despair is the only thing humming out their mouths
Melanie Jan 19
in the way a little bird collects
sticks and shiny things
I've been collecting anything I see
that might make you smile
I love to think that I could be,
even in a small way,
part of your joy
sneaking my love to you between chirps
stick by stick
Perched high above the world,
Rests the poet bird.
A lost species,
Of the lonesome raven family.
Who stands among the branches,
Of the bald willow tree.

He weeps,
For lovers in London.
Split by chance,
Which took one to the heavens,
And left the other alone on the Earth.
But when his eyes dry,
Again he will fly.
With somber stories,
Tucked between his tear stained beak.
For anyone wondering, the subtitle reads "Sad Bird" in Latin. I wanted to style it after a traditional field journal of animals.
so-
A    mb-
        re,
       Sw-
       a-
      n's,
    cu-
    rl-
ing,
ne-                Rarely,
ck. takes, the time, to, longingly,
straighten out. If, it, took, a honking
step, toward; a banal, straight line. Wo-
uld, Lir, hear, his children's; swansong?
Or, pinion feathers, flip, on breezes, as,
              they,
                  flap, about?

© poormansdreams
When I was small I always thought I'd be turned into a swan by my evil stepfather. But, I've warmed to the proud honkers in my old age.
Lizzie Bevis Jan 5
In rooms where private thoughts take flight,
behind closed doors, in the quiet of night,
remember well this British tale,
that the air has ears that often sail.

Each muttered affliction, each resentful sigh,
may find its wings and touch the sky.
For secrets kept in mortal *******
build nests with beaks that know no rest.

These walls have feathered spies,
and flocks of lookouts in disguise.
Your words, once freed from anger's fire,
may flutter back to stir their ire.

So hold your tongue and guard your thoughts,
nature's lure intends that you get caught,
and the smallest sparrow on the breeze
may carry tales across the seas.

What is spoken in your solitude
will echo in the multitude.
Remember, that birds have ears and eyes,
and are eager to share all across the skies.

©️Lizzie Bevis
A poem inspired by the British Idiom - A little bird told me.
This carries the meaning of receiving information from a secret informant, in this case a bird.
The root source is thought to be from the Bible, Ecclesiastes 10-20:
“Do not revile the king even in your thoughts, or curse the rich in your bedroom, because a bird in the sky may carry your words, and a bird on the wing may report what you say.”
Adriana Jan 3
At the window sill I sit to weep my sorrows
Ugly birds join in on my grief
Their hard caws echo my sorry cries
In mourning I have become a bird as unsightly
As grieving crows in barren trees

Why might I weep a loss not lived?
A child's tears I stopped from spilling
Caw ugly birds, for your sorrows
So I might join your wretched song
To pour my troubles to cold skies

Hands made to hold the world, cannot hold a wide-eyed child
Foul cries, like ugly caws, do not comfort
Wipe your eyes youngling, you will never have to caw to the skies
Stop weeping creature, thought you might only cradle dreams
Leave the birds to weep for you
I will never be a mother
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