Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The humming rush of water
Is hypnotizing me
The songs of lonely birds
All perched on separate trees

The soft rattling
The brush of vibrant leaves
All pull a string that's deeply
Planted in the roots of me

Chiming along
I am a lonely bird
Perched upon a tree
Where no one sees

Crying out
I sing with the clouds
Wings lifted
Ready to flee

Tentatively brush dark leaves
With muster I push on to see
Where this overgrown path
will lead

Lungs filled
On the fresh

So drawn I push forward
What do I see
But a small part
Of what appears to be me

I step forward
One more time
I am longing
To see

Where this

Do I continue
Will I succeed
Do I push forward
Do I proceed

Am I lost inside
This lonely forest
Do I hide
Where no one sees

Do I wait alone
Where the silence lulls me
to hypnotic tones

Of lonely birds shown
perched upon a tree
Seated stock-still among the unsettled press of pressed bodies, faces tight, eyes tired, all pressed for time, I looked away and took to scrawl, hands shaking for the woman I've hardly met.
There's something to be said for the first impression infatuations that jam the bicycle chain in your vocal cords. She saw me, my sweat-slick palm frantically extended to hers. And then I walked away, curbing the coiled spring in my step with little thought for the fact that her presence would thenforth be no promise.

But by the time I take to the root of life after love, literature, our eyes have met a time or twelve more anyways.

Is it the Earth or is it just me that believes there could be something richer, intangible as a fistful of jam underwater, but sharp and craved as its flavor?

Or maybe I'm shallow. Susceptible to impulse from the first glance in the looking glass to want a few days and no more. Short run time makes a festival no less spectacular. But it’s the closest thing to madness to be so far out for something I can’t put my finger on.

Because our shared sphere makes full moon and silver spoon feel like one in the same: my thin excuse to savor blood.

Til comes from the frenzied beginning the shamefaced end of obsession, quashed like an invasive species trying only to take wing where it shouldn’t.

It’s sad. It’s necessary. Fending off the black bib I’d like to wrap tourniquet-tight round my heart, so I could waste my nights on birdsong to keep me awake until morning.

But that’s another line on which all people are divided: those who delight in the breaking of the house sparrow’s neck, and those who are sorrowful with or without. Well-disguised are these pointed bludgeons to the thoughts that could otherwise last, to the things that shape life.

And what is a proverbial fistful of ******* jam to LIFE?

...In truth, so much.

But that which makes you feel routed, which strips your own mind on which you've always fallen back on of its splendor is far from the best for a person. Never out of casual love upon which I can rest my bare neck could I abandon this heart's fullest brace.

When love is strength, never let there be the moment of deepest weakness when beak meets spine.

This day’s been a spectacle. Marvelous. Frothing at the mouth as it sings.

But now, I’ll plan to put myself to bed at a reasonable hour. Wipe red-stained feathers on my festival attire, and lay awhile to feel new again.

And though I’ll howl—Only howl. Never bite the hand that fed my eyes their twinkle—and think fanciful thoughts even when a long night’s diminished, let it be remembered that love is built barbule by barbule, different from afar to up close.
It's winter. I've trembled these past winters, but this year is warmer than before. The moving landscape feels like progress, even when we move in opposite directions. I know to keep the river out of my lungs.

I'm still pressed in among stressed souls forced sessile.


There's a woman in the West, but horses to the Right.

The day and night and another night will fade in their time, and I'll melt that worn steel to make spurs.
Dedicated to those worth gathering fish from the river with more flavor than strictly professional for.
Isaac 4d
Miniature Cows
Miniature, you might not see it.
  Realistic, you might mistake it.
   Creative, how can anyone make it?
     Fast and slow, can you see it's patterns?
      Brown, black and white, yet no blues and blonde.
       Can you see the light or are you stuck in the eventide?

2. Cows in the field
The cows are dancing in the field, the green grass below their feet. "Moo!" the cows cry in joy, with the birds flying in the electric, light blue sky. 'Why can't I fly?' thought one cow, who was stuck on the ground forever and more. But this cow is sure about one thing, They can fly, but only in dreams.
I thought 'why not' and posted another one, but I saw the second one and did both.
As I dance across the meadow,
I hear you call out
As I wade through the stream,
I see you catching trout

Although you may not know me,
I have seen you many a day
As through the fields I go,
Sometimes you watch me play

You sit comfortably
Inside your home
As I sit under a tree,
In my hand a large tome

I read the words aloud to you
Though you may not understand,
And in my voice you hear
The tides ebbing over sand

It makes you nostalgic,
Longing for warmer days,
Evenings spent darting
All through the heavy haze

You steal through the darkness
One with the night,
And I watch one last time,
As you take flight

You’ve kept me company
Through these long years
Now with you I’ll soar,
So dry your tears

Through the air you flit,
Welcoming wings lifting
My soul is free to fly with you,
Simply just existing
I really like birds, can you tell?
Zachary Hall Jan 13
I am trying to stay calm
But how can I rationalize the irrational
For the first time in my life I am utterly alone
                   Darkness forces its way into the world
                   the music stops
the birds fall from the sky in masses of miniature bombs
There is no one left
      no one to laugh with
or cry with
no one to hold close
I dare not close my eyes
for if I do I fear they will never open again
       and I too will be lost to the world
Try as I  might, I can feel the end
I can see the final days clear as crystal
it will start with the eyes
Then too my body- legs, and arms- useless
  but the mind will hold on, in agony searching for something
and as the blood begins to fill your mouth, slowly clogging
You wonder why
Why am I alone
Why have I to suffer this on my own
You shudder, gasp, ***** for the air in one final show of sanity
and fall over
Staining the white marble, with your crimson blood
And once again you are alone
So right now i am trying to stay calm
sunprincess Jan 9
Three birds of a family writing poetry
One bird writing about his friends
Another writing of blue birds in trees
And one bird writes of birds and bees
Birds writing together stay together
sunprincess Jan 8
Somewhere down on main street
A bureaucratic bull is stumbling through
An antique store so fancy
An upscale shop filled with shimmering crystal and lacy *******
And just like those new birds of spring
Ladies suddenly freeze, stop and stare
As he with broad shoulders sniffs the air without a care
Ian Robinson Jan 4
Up in windows
Sways a birdcage
with a tweety-bird
singing to the cat so far below
with it's taunting song
it sings a song of tease
as the cat chirps back
claiming it's treat

The bird so high and mighty
does not consider the cat
to be more than a worm
but the cat
just sees a snake that can fly
a meal for the mites
Soon will come the spring
where with It's loving warmth of the sun flowers with bloom again to bring joy after the winter
birds will sing there song
and feed there young those
who flew warmer countries to beat the winter chills shall return home
to build their nests to rear their young oh to
be In England In the
Soon will come  the spring to warm our hearts again to hear
the songs of birds who build again their best to rear their young
gabrielle Jan 3
two birds flying,
back and forth,
in the clouds of it heavenly
chasing each other freely.

it was just like my love -
chasing you,
and not loving me.
chasing only,
chasing you endlessly
Next page