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BasilLvoff Aug 10
The melancholy poetry of spring
Austere December upside-down has turned.
A lilac bush has blown with many sparrows
And snow-white moon is shining like an iceberg.

Clouds in the sky are speeding chased by wind:
They are of blue silk sewn by caring Nature;
The streams are running fast both here and there,
And one can smell the melting snow of winter.
Jenny Gordon May 3
I really wanted to make a more secure case comparing the cardinal to those redcoats of yore, but, ah....

(sonnet #MMMMMMCxxVii)

I have a scarlet lover who, ere pale
First hints of dawn, begins to court, til thence
Smiles and soft laughter thus ensue fr'intents.
His perky voice and deep red coat avail
Long-cherished loves, as I think Brits to scale
So perfect; aye, put on the kettle hence
Tae brew a *** of rosy lea to fence
My porridge, while my cardnal'd sweetly hail.
Wee sparrows are my playmates as they stir
Such happiness as only lovers do.
If Tyler swears he loves me, Shakespeare fer
All that gives me perspective as he'd woo.
Perchance I shall be independent: your
Wish, Baby.  But then I will not need you.

And I tweeted it too...and then he sez he didn't intend that.  I love him.
Sally A Bayan Apr 14


Sky is a blend of pink-orange-violet,
dim...but birds are already awake
steaming coffee wakes the senses
rooster calls on and on.....its silhouette
completes the early morning landscape...

it's that perfect moment...when
tradewinds blow...carrying scents
of the harvest season............when
horizon turns to the clearest of blue,
the eyes feast upon moving straw hats
...big and small.....

under the radiant morning sun
sparrows fly high and low
over lush golden fields of rice,
stems are now bowed....grains are ripe...

maidens' sweet voices join the air
hands and sickles move with flair
cutting.......in practiced strokes,
small hills are formed from gathered stalks
feet move in their rhythmic walks
laughter and conversations become songs
their cadence, brought by joys of the season,
weary thoughts have no space.....no reason
to exist, when sounds of glee are seizin' in...

hours can't be stilled.....excitement sobers
sun gives way to the moon and stars,
sickles are kept....laid beside mortars
and pestles......voices turn softer,
waning...slowly fading...into dark corners

................soon, cicadas' song takes over...

when harvest moon glows, a breathing silence
rules over the shadows of the field...no fences,
just the moon watching, and a Guiding Presence...

thank *** for another bountiful harvest
threshing awaits....but bodies are spent
..............tomorrow's another day!


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 15, 2018


the traditional harvest time in my country
there was so much fun in the old practices...
front and center
is the one she blew
for me
blown from that dandelion

Jenny Gordon Feb 11
...as Mum taught me.

(sonnet #MMMMMMCMIX)

Did sparrows gaily call as wont, t'avail
Espresso with Dad's lecture of a sense
Long since forgotten, just where blue skies fence
Is't Sunday morning's placid airs as frail
White clouds lent April's winking eye a pale
Note of grey yonder, what? for aught intents?
How Janry owns the jest was poor as hence
These ***** wastes look dead, likeas to scale.
O yes, they market florals ere March tour,
Cuz stylish girls must be the first to do
Um, April Fools a proper notice.  We're
All shivring in wool rollnecks now, but you
Just want mair golden hours to cull what'd stir
That keener sense Spring shall anon debut.

Well, a fashion party the beginning of January landing me with a pretty pair of filigreed silver drop earrings with faux diamonds, I have no necklace to pair with the same, noting afresh ruefully that pearls do NOT match.
Natalie Jan 27
If you ask me
It's almost corrupt how we hear stories and dream of places in the sky that we cannot reach because our wings are clipped and we cannot fly
These perfect places mock us, they leave us questioning our worth
I've jumped and tried to reach them, only to fall back to the dirt
I want to find a haven, I want shelter from this rain
But I'm nothing but a frail and fragile bird hitting window panes
I lie around and, with open arms, welcome my fate because I'll be a skeleton before I get to heaven if I keep moving at this rate
They're watching as I fly, only to crash back on the ground
And I've hoped for so much more than this, but all my thoughts are bound
I accept I'm being hunted, but I don't ******* care
I accept that I am dying, but I guess it's only fair
I beat these wings on shattered things that scar and rip apart my skin
I shield my eyes but still go blind from all these wrongs I try to hide
I build my foundations on rotting nations that will soon decay and put my hope in tattered ropes I wear as necklaces each day
I wail and shriek and cry when I can't hear that still small voice
But am I really truly listening when I keep drowning out the noise?

I am nothing but a sparrow, but I can't be worth more than they
When I cry and pull my hair whenever I receive another day

I'm a bird in it's flitting
Please unbend me
winter dawn
sparrows tail-dancing
atop the tall grass
Haiku Donna Jul 2017
little earthy birds
dancing happily on grass
with summer daisies
Haiku Donna Jun 2017
Sparrows sing sweet songs:
echoes of forgotten dreams
never truly die
love sparrows love there singing so sweet especially in mornings :)
Destiny Smith Oct 2016
they dance around the issue at hand
like two sparrows around a breadcrumb
and unaware of the cracks in their tiny hearts
they shed their fragile feathers, one by one
until neither of them can fly away
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