Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lawrence Hall Sep 20
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                           A Station Stop for the Hummingbird Express

Hummingbirds buzz the sugar water buffet
At this junction for the connection to Mexico
I feel I should be wearing a white apron and cap
Refills for everyone – and will that be to go?

No ideological baggage, no bumper stickers
Their maps all drawn for them by an invisible Hand
Their simple duties a transcendent joy
An ancient mission through divine command

Hummingbirds buzz the sugar water buffet
Then with a goodbye to summer they wing away
Aimée Aug 2022
Little, speedy hummingbird,
Dashing place to place,
And all I see,
A smear of green,
Zipping by my face.

Little, shiny hummingbird,
Always flashing by,
Your colors bright,
Catch the light,
Glinting low and high.

Little, hungry hummingbird,
Flitting by do fast,
Dewdrops fall,
From flowers tall,
You sip from as you pass.

Then little, tired hummingbird,
Perch upon a twig,
Wings quit swooping,
Eyelids dropping,
Dream of growing big.
I love animals:)
Lawrence Hall Jun 2021
Lawrence Hall

                                 Refilling the Hummingbird Feeder

Now here is a bee
So anxious for me    
                     to be
Far away from it
To bee, or not to bee...
Writing things down
Feels like
Plucking hummingbirds
From inside my head
And holding them
In the palms of my hands
In front of me
So that I can
Eye them
Let them go
And finally
CK Baker Jan 2020
Two Anna's hummingbirds, dance at the door
under the pane, in a mid-morning pour
whispering winds, voices through chimes
a whimsical picture, woven in rhyme

Perched on a limb (just a few yards back)
a pileated pecker, with breast of black!
foraging sparrows, partners in crime
picking out seeds from conical pine

A weighted blanket, and dark roasted brew
sipped on a rocker, with the daily news
the stream keeper watching, fluttering high
dipping and darting, at (wild) passers-by

Baseboard heaters, comfort the room
four months to go, to the April bloom!
the afternoon passes, in dense gray fog
a sliver of sunshine, catches a log

Into the evening, a soft glowing light
gusts on the water, gulls take flight
crows at a distance, nestled in trees
branches swaying, to a south-east breeze

Patterns of nature,  the rhythm runs deep
those rich forest gems, to the soul they will creep
an archway to heaven, with guiding raccoons
look over yonder…the quiet tan moon!
These 2 lovely hummingbirds really did put on a show today!  In the middle of winter nonetheless!
Just like a Disney special!
Absolutely delightful!
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
You woo me deep
into the ecstasy of your pristine chasteness...

where dry leaves of Aspen and Beech and Birch
sussurate to the music of a lazy breeze,

where Hummingbirds
**** in frenzy
nectar from the orange glees
of the flame-of-the-forest trees,

where Hawthorns
lure the breeze
to weave its vibrance
in their domes of green glory,

where shrunken streams
bask in their white pebbly flourish.

Like an enchantress,
you lure me to the depth of your
rapturous bliss!

To say farewell, my heart pains.
I leave a beat of my heart
to ramble with the roving breeze
perennially in your alluring meadows!
Emily Mitchell Feb 2018
Words I love... jovial clear inconspicuous Bamboozled Incognito opalescent pearly radiant Airy green sprig mushroom Sprite twig nose toes land Sunset deep Vision laughter flame tongue heart hunger cold mold tail rail Grail hand ring sing orange Tangy Sweet scent delicate mysterious deep inside a rose dark hidden within the Mind lights of many colors the layers of an onion peeling away revealing the Pearl inside the oyster...


The scent of an orange Tangy Sweet energetic enthusiastic Lively vibrant bright wet sparkling jittery hummingbirds...


Acorn Leaf twig mushroom dark deep loamy Earth dig in moist brown worms and moles Growing Seeds tiny things beginnings...


Butterflies.. Jewels peacock colors drifting on the breath of the Breeze beautiful gifts tiny angels flitting from flower to bright flower...

Collection of Stream-of-consciousness poetry snippets written on a note card when I was a kid... used as a bookmark for an unknown amount of time...and found recently on a dusty shelf.... it made me smile to read them... ^__^
Joe Cottonwood Jul 2017
Me, a teacher of poetry, the idea is insane.
Yet I’m here once a week at the nuthouse. Oops. Hospital.
A lunch conversation with a nurse.
“That old guy, Russell, he seems so gentle,” I say. “So normal.”
Russell writes about hummingbirds.
“It’s either here or prison,” the nurse says.
“Oh,” I say.
Actually I’m not allowed to ask about patients.

But the nurse, now she’s worked up.
“Russell had custody of his granddaughter,” the nurse says.
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“The mom died,” the nurse says, “the baby was six months.”
“Oh,” I say.
“To call him ‘*** offender’ sounds too clinical,” the nurse says.
I say nothing.
“He must’ve bought Vaseline by the bucket,” the nurse says.
“Um…” I say.
“He ****** that baby every day,” the nurse says.
“Three hundred and sixty-four days a year,” the nurse says.
“Christmas, she got a holiday,” the nurse says.
“Oh,” I say, and I push my plate away.

“Sorry,” the nurse says, “I ruined your appetite.”
“Not your fault,” I say.
“I hate hummingbirds,” the nurse says. “I hate poetry.”
I say nothing.
“Can a poem be ugly?” the nurse asks.
I reach for a fresh napkin, slide it across the tabletop.
“If a poem could ****,” the nurse says, “I’d write one.”
From my pocket, I hand her a pen.
Next page