#lark
One day I sat alone drinking a pint,
My a mhuirnin arriving this mornin'
I said I'd greet her and then spend the day
Stroll'an' watch all the ships come to harbor
Her ship was due in from Dublin today,
She'd gone home for to bury her father,
And though she loved him she weren't feelin' grey,
He'd left her mom alone at the alter,
So there I sat, her ship taking its time,
A little red lark sung above me,
And then it landed, much to my surprise,
On my shoulder just ever so gently
I didn't move I just marveled in place,
The small clever lark sung on my shoulder,
And then from tweets to words slowly I heard
My dear love's voice come out of the small bird
My dear I don't have time
To ask how you are
God gave me but only a moment
To say I love you and don't waste your time
My ship won't ever make it to harbor.
I didnt know just quite what I should say
I was feeling a mix of emotions
I had no reason to doubt this small bird
But if so then my heart surely'd be broke,
My dear I can see you
Can't quite understand
I've died and I've gone on to heaven
In time you'll see
I've done all that I can
And have found yourself a new a mhuirnin
Then back to songs that bird's beak did return,
I couldn't help but shaking and bawling,
But as it flew off It left me a plume,
And I still keep that feather right on me.
In time I found love again,
Calling my name,
And boy did he say it so sweetly,
But every morning I still hear her song
My little red lark singing above me.
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
Let me die in your arms,
As I take my last breath.
So jovial of charms,
Like the first day we met.
True of time I missed you,
Nights crying of you gone.
My lost heart to you grew,
While angels cry a song.
Least not you forget me,
Your eyes knowing mine dark.
Feared above not to see,
Flying high a sad lark.
...Death close to your dear chest,
I will take my last breath...
Mar 31, 2021
Mar 31, 2021 at 3:11 PM UTC
The pail hurriedly fills to its brim
From a gushing river, pure and deep.
Unsullied by the chrysanthemums and lilies
Which encircle the babbling brook.
‘Almost full!’ proclaims the Lark
Perched atop an aged oak,
As the wet trickles down the bail,
‘Soon, soon, soon’ he sings his song.
Down flutters the Owl with a hoot,
‘What say you, Lark?’
‘With your songs so sweet and pail bursting,’
Feathered talons grasp the neighbouring birch.
The tinkling warble resumes,
‘Not yet full!’ the Lark weeps,
In a melodic trill.
‘Still. More must be filled.’
Amidst the river stones and collapsed trunks,
The pail sits, engulfed in the serene.
O'er the vessel the Owl hovers,
As talons clutch the sopping bail.
Suddenly, the jaws separate, delivering a soft hoot;
‘To be bursting is no more complete than to be hollow’,
Warns the venerable Owl with its warm,
Serrated feathers surrounding its pale face.
‘Well, when shall I quit?’ asks the Lark in a daze,
Raising its beak to the Heavens.
‘You shan’t quit. For we all strive to be full.’
Asserts the Owl, bathed in divine light,
‘The water shall forever drip in this stream, as it shall drip in you.’
As he ascends in a flurry, the pail too flies,
Splashing upon the adjacent foliage,
Now it rests
Neither full nor empty.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
There was an old poet named Mark
Who loved to steal walks in the park.
One day he was frightened,
A big dog did bite him.
He does nothing more on a lark.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 10:56 PM UTC
We are the people of the broken
With words we've left unspoken
We died when we tried to live
We've nothing left to give
We threw it all away
The rain came racing from the storm
On divided lands, reborn
I saw the Sun again
She smiled and showed her face
Then grew shy and turned away
The clouds above let fall the sharps
The hail fell and killed the lark
I saw a puff of smoke
Then felt the death of hope
And knew something was, gone
I see it all the time
Every scar and every line
Every claw and every fight
And everybody knew
But no-one was to move
And overcast the night took bloom
We are the people of the broken
With words we've left unspoken
We died when we tried to live
We've nothing left to give
And that was a mistake
I felt a shadow on my shoulder
And felt the night grow colder
I could see clear as day
The resolution in her face
She couldn't stand the pain
A hand of anger gripped my soul
And I knew, for it was old
I'd felt this way before
Every time I left that door
My old friend Rage, I bring you forth!
We are the people of the broken
With words we've left unspoken
We died when we tried to live
We've nothing left to give
So we dig under our skin
A shallow smile upon my flesh
Red and tan, nice and fresh
Because it hurts to be glad
When all elements make you mad
And you're left to pick the trash
It burns to feel the cold.
Netted by it we've been, sold
Just another failed escape
Another rearing snake
Another goose to chase
I know how old this all becomes
For years now, I've grown numb
Opened traps and screaming pipes
This garden of delight
Easy kindling, set alight
The past comes up to go down
Painted clowns to hide the frown
I'm sick of this circus
Totally ******* worthless
Clueless to my hurting
And oh the beating heart of hate
Fuels the lungs of twisted fate
And now I'm finally free
Rid my mind from toxicity
I am human, watch me, bleed
We are the people of the broken
With words we've left unspoken
We died when we tried to live
I can't seem to give a ****
And now I've finally hit **** it"!
I am a member of the broken
My battle scars prove that I'm hopeless
I wish all my pain today
Could finally be erased
Without me digging my own grave
I wish all my pain today
Could be left in yesterday
So I can finally get my way
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
He didn't know the love she had
Buried beneath her skin
Held behind the bars of her rib cage
Her heart was there, burning with desire
Beating within was the song of love sung by a lark
Alas, he couldn't hear it
From the surface he only saw an expressionless doll
He never listened to her when she tried to sing to him
That deafening sound that refused to please him
So instead of being left with a song
Destined to drive her to madness
She released the lark within
But that boy couldn't let her go
Tortured by the thoughts of her
Haunted by the memory of her
He defiled their trust
She could no longer stay silent as she planned
So she opened her mouth and told him
He was not a man
She hurt his pride and didn't mind
Her lark returned
But that pretty bird was consumed by rage
Her heart now burned with a different flame
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
.
The larks playing on a summer breeze,
and finches darting in betwixt the trees,
my mind is enthralled by what it sees.
*A lark lands on my shoulder,
and it sang to me a secret,
I would love to tell it to you,
but I promised I would keep it.*
© Pagan Paul (15/08/18)
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
There is a legend
about a bird
which sings just once in its life. more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth,
From the moment it leaves
the nest it searches for
a thorn tree,and it does not rest
until it has found one.
Then singing, among the savage branches, it pales itself upon the sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony
to outcarol the larkand the nightingale.
One superlative song,existence the price.
But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.
for the best is only bought at the cost of great pain....Or
so says the legend.This resonates deeply within me
because being an RHO negativeMother every Gyno MD advised
termination of my unborn a malicious prejudice
even called me hybrid race! the medical database is WRONG
I SAVED three of my children they were born
they live the loves of my life
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
and we see it all, as the waves of futures hazily and uncertainty fly over and above me. we look up to the scores of crying stars, lowering...inexorable rotations, over and beyond, permutations through these emotive colours of the dark: of skepticism? of timelessness? winding slowly, downwards, there's no wild here anymore; do you still hear the lark sing?
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
lark, perched and persistent,
upon that willow,
and billowing, that screeching wind around you;
and willowing, those branches stretched out to guide you;
and singing, that song reaching out to hold you;
and ages dying, fading away beneath those yellowed branches—
now you wait for the advent of spring, an eternal lament
of slowed, persistent flowing, of pointed, ageless growing—
of wallowing in the hollows
and promising in the branches,
and leaving in the sunset,
and learning in the shade:
she flew away, I think, to the edges of the sea.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 5:49 PM UTC
Curled up, bright yellow petals glinting like glistering metals
Trees that rise and bow, silent now
Cars rushing into the dark, crushing a slow-moving lark,
Cats curled up before a fire ignoring the nearby church choir
Singing melodious paeans to god before a stature soaked in blood.
A rising bright silver moon floating across the sky too soon
Howling dog and wolf scampering across each shadowed roof
In that, the foulest night of the year pumped-up with fear,
With sepulchral screams hammering the brain, the sane and insane
Shackled to the earth before, not after, death.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
One sleepless night I heard the lark
Chir-chirruping inside my heart;
Got up to find her in the dark
To capture her and set apart
Her stringless resonating harp
On which she played a note so sharp;
My very soul said: "Hark, oh, hark!
What is this iridescent spark
That set my every thought aflame?
For in its sound I heard my name!
That made my ear and eye so changed
That all the world illuminates?
It will not let me sleep again
Until my every breath is spent!"
I looked and looked and looked in vain
But carried with me the refrain
So every time I turned around
The sound was coming from without;
At lenght I closed my tired lids
And heard the lark sing from within;
And this is how I figured out:
I'm not the kindling. I'm the spark!
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
I can feel myself
slipping away.
I can feel myself fading
without delay.
I hold a lit torch
to save me from the dark.
I hear a nightingale
when I want to hear a lark.
I used to think that light
and dark were the same.
But now I know
that one is more tame.
Save me from the light
because all I know is the dark.
Bring me the nightingale,
and destroy the lark.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands
The light I did pursue
But the dark it did ensue
Though I ran with all my might
The darkness remained right by my side
It remained like a moonless night
No guiding light
To alumminate my flight
It wasn't right
The darkness I could not fight
In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands
The Sun glistening through the trees
I could almost feel the breeze
It brought me to my knees
To pray to a God that doesn't see
He's left me to all the fears
He's never near
He's made it clear
This God only listens with a deafened ear
In this darkness ment to stand
Only seeing brighter lands
I am the sheep lost in the dark
My soul it has no spark
Only sound, song of the lark
To my voice no one will hark
Please take my eyes I no longer want to see
The nothingness in front of me
I beg of you I plea
Imprisoned in the dark, left groping for a key
In this darkness left to stand
Forced to see the brighter lands
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:55 AM UTC
Caw! Caw! Calls the crow on a crisp fall morning
Nevermore! Nevermore! Yells the ravens forewarning
The mist lifts into the air
As the sun begins to rise
The priests are sending up a prayer
Babies shouting out their cries
The dog down the street going bark! bark! bark!
The canary next door gives a little whistle
Out of the brush in a hurry ***** a swift lark
Away dashes a bunny, straight into the thistle
A squirrel chatters away
At a cat prowling close
Diving in, a daring jay
Caught by the cat, almost
Never was there a morning
So busy as this
To hear the birds all chirp and sing
To describe in a word…bliss
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
A cuckoo sings its first spring voice
The cider maker cracks his cork on this year’s choice
English apples presented from pre years press
Picked and selected to impress
Bottled and ready for drinkers wide and far
Vision distorting with every jar
From orchards up and down the land
Drinkers search the best in town
Scrumpy be the drinkers rot
Weak willed should try it not
A test once tasted of a brewers fare
An enjoyment discovered but just take care
For once you have past the half way mark
You’ll soon be singing and dancing with the larks
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
There're much
More
Less
Interesting
Things
Occurring
In here
Than
The tumult
Outside
These
Windows,
But
It's ok:
I've learned
How
To make
Tears
Crystalline
And how
To bleed
With the setting sun
So stealthy
Nobody
Notices.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
The sprouting buttercup
dangles into the purpled,
doting sky. It's waxy spangles
nuzzle the moist,
crisply dewed, fluff
whilst billowing across merry air.
The yellow buttercup
dozes in spiced, lean dapples,
setting its soul ablaze in sumptuous echoes at the sheer
drape of dawn.
The teacup buttercup
outspreads it's wings
amongst tall spiked grasses
and wild flowers.
Shifting shafts and shards
of grass and glass
and forever awaiting the larks cry
which means its time to die.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
All winter's
spread scattered now,
leaves
dying damp on earth;
Banging at my chest when
you ask 'why?'',
tears stall time;
Pasts ebb
in the sky, lark-sliced;
Awaiting bloom,
all of life's spread bare.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC