EP 8h
Move on,
               M o v e  o n ,
                              M  o  v  e   o  n  ,
                                             M   o   v   e    o   n   ,

because, you were yesterday,
and the clouds are already passing by,
they've lost their longing for you
as should I do,
because you were yesterday.
I, I am tomorrow, I'm looking forward
to the endless possibilities.
I am where the birds go to fly,
and you? you're just where they've gone to die.
However, together, we are today,
and today the birds can be freed
but no promises can be made for if tomorrow they survive
or if they'll even last the day.
So for now, just let me nest whilst I

Move on,
               M o v e  o n ,
                              M  o  v  e   o  n  ,
                                             M   o   v   e    o   n   -   .   .   .

Just a poem about a boy-...
True love is:
                  A waxwing bird feeding
                  A cuckoo who was left in her nest
                  The starving cuckoo is pleading
                  The waxwing is doing her best.
That is where you walk
On the golden path paved
By frozen hearts like mine

This is where I walk
On the lonely and dark trails, which light is taken
By shining hearts like yours

That is your atmosphere
Filled with birdsong singing in joy and cheer
Birds that feed on fright felt by breached hearts like mine

This is my atmosphere
Polluted and dismantled
Abandoned by hope lead away by believing hearts like yours

We are as divided
I in this dim world with thunder and agony
You in that gleaming world full of happiness and liberality

Inbetween us a dash
I cannot reach your world
And in a flash, it is gone
Now nothing but grumpy monsters and dark rooms
My memory is captured by you, and my eyes caught by the moon
The memory
Why can birds fly?
And why can't I?
I'm just as free,
And spirited as a canary!

Yet here I stand,
Feet planted in the sand,
Watching birds fly by,
And wandering "Why can't I?"
Do you ever sit and listen
     To the bards of daylight
Do you ever sit and listen
     To the ghosts of the night
They both share their poems
Just to a different hue
     Of life
Lyn-Purcell Jun 9
Listen as the robin sings
ever so sweetly by still waters

And here, she soars through
high and free and little by little,
her nest is formed

When I feel grey with each day
like winter, I hear her songs
and it's like I'm under a new sun

So never underestimate the power
of birdsongs! I am grateful to have
and hear it's special beauty.

Sweet Robin, born of Joy and
Spring and Summer.
Spread your wings, your
love and brighten the day
This one is dedicated to Robin Carretti! I know it's not the best, but I wanted to say thank you for all your kind comments. I've always been one who's not only super shy but also very timid and afraid of the world. It's become such a nasty place now... and it makes me smile that on HP, people are supportive of one another! We're all craftsmen here. A little kindness goes a long way, it may be the light that one needs that day.

So, Robin. I hope you like this poem!
I'm grateful for everything and everyone I have here and now.
It gives me the confidence I need to make a move in life.
Be back soon,
Lyn xxx
lonely jungle path,
birds on high trees sound alarmed;
foot falls of darkness!
HectorBrown Jun 1
Emily landed, retracting her feathered wings. The floor rebounded, firing her upward but she gripped. She brought together sticks, arranging them circularly.
The mid-day sun burnt down on her confined, steaming hair. A group joined her. She rested.
I remember as a quiet child
The summer days upon the grass laid
Banks of a timid stream
Sitting cross-legged, bending
To stroke the muddy waters
With a part of forgotten wood
And all around the warmth of
The summer's glowing sun

An intake of breath would
Bring the scent of tall trees
Bounding to my favorite nest.
footsteps followed shallow paths
That meandered to and from
The stream which gurgled as a child
In excited and gay temperament

I did then pause in rapture of my sense
And touch a life of serene sublime
A tender moment to solitude
Yet as I sat flat upon the grass
A gentle butterfly swaggered
In its pride of showy acrobatics
White and blissful in balance
With my sun-filled dreams

Nature showered in a halo of blushes
Collected the dusty corn colors of summer
And sprinkled then at my feet
For a secret wish for me to dare
Then... through my reverie
I heard some voices cheer
Some boys scuttled the biggest log there
back into the stream it sped
Some part cooled in water
Some part basked in sun

I recall the echo of buzzing beetles
That zoomed across the water
And were hidden by the distance
On the other side
Some dragonflies hovered with curiosity
In some infrequent time
The red and green of their wings
Seems now lost to me
They shimmered like chrome
Of tireless helicopters

This was a busy side to my young years
What with barges of driftwood
And scurrying air-traffic
Yet the call of the water birds
Stayed only after the sun had set
And leafy foliage lingered in silhouette
The birds crossed the sky with
To me a mournful cry
As a reminder the day had said goodbye

Yet little did I realize then
That in flowering adulthood
I would return to those summer days in sweet lament
And cherish that moment of child content.
In contrast to the responsibility of adults, it's imagination which often gets left behind. Summer carefree holidays is a worthwhile memory when I get too serious
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