i would love to
be able to identify
a bird from its call
or the shape of
wide-spread wings
as one flies overhead
in theory
it may seem impressive
but if i were to
successfully distinguish
a chiffchaff from
a willow warbler
based on the patterning
and colour of
its plumage
or the shape
and length of
its tail feathers
i struggle to think
of a single person
who would respond
with more than
an indifferent
mocking or
pandering "oh"

When I see quite the quiet quail,
I quiver.

When I spot the proud peacock prancing,
I ponder.

When I hear the wonderful warbling of the wood warbler,
I wander.

When I feel the reclusiveness of the rail,
I remember.

When you retreat into the reeds,
I reset.

When in Reason’s nest,
my mind may rest.

You were a feather in the wind,
when I
was the young breeze
beneath your tired wings.

waking up to the birds chirping
the sun peeking through the trees
there really is no better feeling
than that of a soft spring breeze

When spring arrives, it touches nature’s heart, and awakens it into a new life
Trees are blossoming
Beautiful Lilly flowers are blooming
Fields are dressed in a green garment
Blue butterflies are flying
Bees are buzzing
Baby bunnies are playing
Birds are chirping in backyards
Water springs are bursting
Water waves are dancing
Nature is burning love

I wonder, if we as human being could bring out the best in us, and show the whole world our inner beauty by the touch of spring?

Hussein Dekmak

Shotgun Birds
In the sky the birds fly up high
Dodging shotgun pellets
Fired from the ******* farmer
See how they turn and roll
This way and that oh yes
One is hit on a wing
Spirals down to fall

Like a wounded bomber plane
Wait till one lands
On the irate farmer's head
Bang bang goes his gun
Up high fly the hot lead
Hit is another seagull
His white feathers now red
On and on the fight goes
Shotgun farmer versus birds

To be a bird
free on the breeze
taking in the charm of trees
to feel the light and taste the air
is not a gift that we can share
shackled to the ground it seems
we must content ourselves with dreams
leaving you to own the sky
while we look up and long to fly

each morning bird watching
is a silent meditation
I have pigeons sparrows seagulls
megpies in my gaze
their delight of falling
makes me smile
I watch them teaching their wings
for each day
picking up the debris of sleep
spinning around each other
they start cheerful conversations
about the taste of the air
steal crumbs of wonder
from each other
a woodpacker comes
from time to time
its red stain is fun
none of them travel to you
they get round and round
wayching out
their own flight

Here comes the beautiful blonde
in the blue coat that kills me.
She was out in the snow all night
looking for an African
gray parrot that someone
let slip away,
calling with a voice
that could coo even the
wildest of beasts down from the
heights of the cold trees.

All your tears are fresh in the morning
Yet, I wait for every clear evening to cope
Wrestling the desolate storm without hope
Hearing closely for sight of some longing

You remember when we watched the rain
A rogue wind hit us and we weren't the same
With every push and shove drew us further apart
We tried to justify the walls because help never came

Did we have some change of heart?
The sun and Earth aren't quite estranged
We were birds of the sky that lost trust in flight
As we endure every month in silence and slight

It's October, I listen to the slow burning of your arms
We have seen worse times in the past and waited hours
Moving ahead from our last, first to last, for the stars
To start a fire, you have to trust the dark