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Have ever you heard
    A crow sing sweetly?
A singing bird,
    They sing discreetly.

They caw to scoff,
    Irk and berate you,—
To **** you off,
    And agitate you.

Brynn S Nov 2018
The rain bird whistles in my ear
The boustrophedon melody fallowed loud and clear
Breach my windows and ruin my sleep
A ****** delight my eyes do weep
Cradle my head in wretched screams
Erase and memorize fallen dreams
Trapped in dusk my eye does wake
Migraines conjured will soon dissipate
sunprincess Jul 2018
When one thousand years has passed us by,
I hope mother earth is still beautiful
And there's fruit trees and grass so green,
And fresh air to breathe that's clean

There's animals alive of every variety,
fireflies, ladybugs, and honeybees
I hope there's an amazing blue sky,
with songbirds together flying so high

And I hope most of all flowers still grow,
and there's a winter with falling snow
Juniper Zed Mar 2018
As with all things
That object you hold
The song that you sing
Are connected in a web of meaning.

The 300 year-old tree was alive
When the doe lost her fawn to the hunter
When your ancestors spoke their native tongue
When the songbirds were blissfully unaware of their mortal song.
Unheard it was then, and now it is a legend.

And just as the sun rose
For one last songbird song
So will it set on you
For we know of our mortality all along.
We call out to your imagination,
It's the only place you'll be able to understand.
Beyond sorrow and happiness,
Come master the air and the shadowlands.

We do not hear our voices sing,
They’re for you, your calling,
Gifts from a perennial spring.

Pure in heart, words lose in flight,
Leaving wings to trace the skies, bringing,
Ecstasy, to an unknown height.

The body falls back to university,
Tears they'll run down your face.
The final grasp disappears,
As you give chase.

And all that you’ve dreamed of,
But do not worry, you are me and you are I
We are flowers in the sky.
Debut poem for a series of new paintings about songbirds I'm working on.
Austin Bauer Mar 2017
The hope of
an early spring
was disappointed by
the quiet snowfall
last night.

I stand this morning
surrounded by
the peeping and chirping
of happy and hopeful

I hear the breath
of the earth, and I know
you're telling me
everything will be
just fine.

I will not quit.
I will not give up hope
for I know
even in
these cloudy skies,
even in
these lasting nights,
even in
this brumal moment,
you are here
so I will not give up.
Neither Nightingale or Crow
Neither Whippoorwill or Sparrow
Perched on phone lines, never trees
Still those birds have the right to sing.

Target of bad boys’ B B Guns
Splashed with water canons
They fly til they can fly no more
And tremble in the shadows.

Their feathers have a bit of shine
When sunbeams fall just right
But all too often that just makes
Them that much easier to find

And targets them for hatred rocks
Thrown by those who only
Recognize a Woodpecker
And a Robin Red Breast.

Too bad their music goes unheard
Most often it is beautiful
If they could sing with the other birds
The music would become symphonic.
I heard the first line in my head with no idea where it would go.
Do you ever wonder
if Robert De Niro's
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