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The Good Pussy Dec 2014
                         Bird Bird Bi
                      Bird  Bird  Bird
                     Bird Bird Bird Bi
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
                       Bird Bird Bird
           Bird Bird              Bird Bird
      Bird Bird Bird       Bird Bird Bird
       BirdBirdBird         BirdBirdBird
          Bird Bird                 Bird Bird
David Ehrgott Nov 2014
My doggie he whistles a song through his nose
On this Thanksgiving his story is told
He waits for the birdie to perch on his nose
Then with a swift move he swallows it whole
Feet, beak, and feathers, everything goes
Down through his neck to his stomach you know
Well even a little dumb doggie knows this
The taste of a big juicy turkey is bliss

Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I wanna eat a bird
I wanna eat a bird

Jack La Lane lived a long long time
He told me the secret to his long long life
Don't eat a pig and don't eat red meat
Don't eat a duck it is very bad luck
Don't eat Italian, French food, Chinese...
But you can eat plenty yes plenty of these
A chicken a turkey is all you will need
If you want to live to one hundred and three

Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I wanna eat a bird
I wanna eat a bird
Bird bird bird bird bird
Bird bird bird bird bird...
Cats and Birds communicate well. The Cat stalks the Bird and the Bird flees for its Life and then the bird is caught and killed by the merciless hunter. Now that's a pretty clear communication.  Birds are cats prey. It has caused a dilemma for me over the years because I love cats but I also love birds.

I already had two parakeet birds when I brought my first cat home. To remedy any conflict I put up a shelf and kept the bird cage on the shelf. The shelf was up high and I had to step on a stool to reach it but it granted the birds absolute safety from my two cats while I was at work or away. The second cat I got was a female gymnast that could jump high and climb anything but the shelf was not in her reach.

Over the years my original set of birds changed because they died, except for a blue colored bird that survived the three other birds in the span of ten years.  I named this bird "Bluebird."  Everytime a bird would die I thought it was sad that the single bird was all by itself and I would drive to the pet store and purchase another bird to make the world right.

After the third bird died there was a short lapse of time that Bluebird stayed by herself.  I noticed that Bluebird was not sad at all.  In fact, I never saw her so happy.

She started singing all the time and jumping merrily around the cage like she was having the time of her life.  She would go into the corner of the cage and do little somersault flips in the corner of the cage that were so funny and cute that I would laugh out loud when I saw her do it.  I would make a clicking noise to the bird that she would repeat back to me and at that point I just couldn't find a good reason to purchase another companion bird for my single bird that was so happy to be on her own.

At the end of the day when it was time to relax, I would be in the living room watching evening television with my two cozy, affectionate cats.  Usually pet people consider their pets their family as I did, and I started bringing the bird cage in the living room in the evenings so that Bluebird would spend time with the family.

It is perfectly alright to laugh at this because it is hilarious that someone would consider their cat creatures their family but I was sincere, single and loved my pets which have always been a major part of my life. Since I didn't have anywhere to put the birdcage I just set the cage on the floor against a wall right in front of me so I could see the cage at all times.

At first my girl cat would sit in front of the bird cage and just stare at the bird and watch the bird closely.  I would make an announcement to my cat that Bluebird was a family bird and not for hunting.

As time passed, the cat would lay casually by the bird cage and watch the bird casually.  Further down the road the cat would lounge and take naps by the bird cage, abandoning  the need altogether to watch the bird so closely.  The other cat stayed away from the cage and was not interested in the bird.

The cat and the bird started playing through the cage.  A game of tag was initiated by the bird. Now, in the evenings they played tag through the cage and I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself.

My twelve pound girl cat was gentle and careful as she pawed where the bird was chirping and jumping inside the cage and insisting dramatically that the cat catch her and when the cats paw touched the bird through the cage it was caught and the bird would acknowledge the catch by touching the cats paw with its beak and then continue jumping all around for the next tag.

They did this on a regular basis.  It was neat.  It was love.  It was fun. Sometimes when the cat would leave the cage and be heading a few feet away, the bird would make a lot of chirping sounds as if calling to the cat and the cat would stop, turn around and go sit back at the cage keeping the bird company.

The bird actually called the cat back to the cage to hang out.  I was never so brave as to let the bird out of the cage to play with the cat without the protection of its cage.  

It was just a pleasure to see the cat treat the parakeet bird as one of the family as the two of them became very good friends.
Vani j Jul 2016
little bird
cant fly; cant fly
eyes always
looking at the sky
Never heard of a bird that can't fly
**** up lil bird
cold soup;
is all u gonna ever try
feed ur lovesick heart
lil bird
lovepotion is losing its high
oh lil bird
dont freeze wen ur parents
tumble you into this wholehell sky
dont get cold lil bird all dey want for u is to find ur own sky
bt shame lil bird ur mind has found its own neverland sky
oh lil bird ;if u could just fly
i know lil bird how u like the high
jst try; just try
ur siblings are shouting from the sky
u watch them lil bird with awe inspiring sigh;
and u turn your face lil bird
coz u cant face d lack of same love u find in their eyes
are u not trying lil bird???? tell me  or  have u jst glued your
eyes to the sky
fear lil bird has it turned you to
a box of ice and u keep looking for fire  to turn you from cold to nice
in the night ; hiding in the shadows  comes ur fight
keep fighting lil bird searching for dat thing  dat destroyed you
from the start
an enemy  so variant even u wont recognize  no one sees it lil bird
but u know lil bird how it is dat u hav to fight keep fighting fight fight fight fight fight fight fight..........
u laugh lil bird ...about how u thought once dat ppl were so high now u see them in the real light
dey got blood on their lips lil bird fools think that smearing lipsticks  can make it hide
but in the same light can u see urslf too lil bird
******* off of ppls love to make u high
oh sick lil bird how is ur idealism
love is your drug; yellow avian
and u want it unadulterated even more than your diet
even a slight impurity; u r spinning out of sight
stop dreaming lil bird come back from d neverland sky
maybe dey r jst ppl
and maybe dey r jst trying to survive
even with blood on their lips
and even with a foot that has
never touched a shoe for life.
so come lil bird come down from the neverland sky
they will never know  how it feels to see  the world , and want to change everything from left to right, to see someone in pain and get their own heart ripped apart
or how a song can make someone feel alive
and how when  you watch a movie and for a day become the character u like
funny lil bird  how u remind me ....
and when you want ppl to understand you without words.....
watever lil bird jst come down from d neverland skies
Cluttered head of a lil bird
wL Nov 2017
Little bird, little bird.
Fall asleep on my lap.

Little bird, little bird.
Take a breath and breathe.

Little bird, little bird.
Listen to my voice.

Little bird, little bird.
The rough melody it cries.

Little bird, little bird.
Shut your eyes.

Little bird, little bird.
Don’t look at my shade.

Little bird, little bird.
Feel the cotton in your ears.

Little bird, little bird.
Help me.

Little bird, little bird.
Everything is crumbling.

Little bird, little bird.
Because everything is breaking.

Little bird, little bird.
Break and crumble.

Little bird, little bird.
Oh, the sweet lullaby you scream.
she is the bird
Looking out my window
There's two birds watching me
A black one and a red one
Both are sitting in my tree

One as red as fire
The other dark as night
A squirrel runs between them
Neither one takes flight

Red bird, oh red bird
Watching over me
Red bird, oh red bird
Just what is it you see?

The black bird is the devil
With eyes as black as coal
He'll be watching from a distance
When they put me in my hole

The red bird he is special
Always watching over me
And when I go to heaven
Beside me he will be

Red bird oh red bird
watching over me
red bird oh red bird
just what is it you see?

The blackbird switches branches
Planning how he'll get my soul
But, he'll be watching from a distance
When they put me in my hole

Silent, never moving
Both are sentinels, like stone
But, I know it is the red bird
Who'll be there when I go home

red bird oh red bird
what is it you see?
red bird oh red bird
watching over me
red bird oh red bird
watching over me
labyrinth Apr 2015
I am a caged bird, my song is calm
my master lets me sleep in his palm
I am a caged bird, my song is weak
my master likes to kiss my beak
I am a caged bird, my wings are useless, they're clipped
my master thinks I'll leave with every drink he sipped
I am a caged bird, my eyes are dark and brooding
my master thinks its his fate to which I'm alluding

I am a caged bird, my master broke my cage
Because my song changed after seeing his rage

I am an injured bird, my song is calm
my master lets me sleep in his palm
I am an injured bird, my song is weak
my Master likes to kiss my beak
I am an injured bird, my wing is pierced
my Master only hurt me because I hurt him first
I am an injured bird, my eyes are hopeless
my Master says he misses my caress
I am a happy bird, I cannot fly
but with my Master I need not try
I am a Happy bird, I cannot sing
for my Master, my sweet king
I am a Happy Bird, I laid an egg one day
it seems like master will let me stay

Master doesn't want another bird, he says
I am a content bird, I take my egg and part ways.

Master is looking for me, he looks insane
I hold my egg and cry, I need not explain

I am a hiding bird, I do not sing
for fear that through the forest my song will ring
I am a hiding bird, I dropped my egg and it died
for fear that this baby would know the reasons I cried

I am an injured bird, wont you please come see?
I won't even take off the ring he put on me
I am an injured bird, wont you **** me now?
He's hurt me too much to break my vow

I am an injured bird, I miss my Master
the one before his blows came faster
to be continued
Kendra Janz Jan 2019
When the Silver Bird takes wing
No one cares to notice.
No one looks it’s way to see
If it will falls or rises above the clouds.

The Silver Bird never caught an eye
Or thought to itself,
“Perhaps today.
Today they will admire
My outstretched wings and
Be in awe as I soar through the sky.”

To call a Silver Bird happy is,
By far, a hyperbole.
Whenever the Silver Bird
Thinks a thought of happiness
It is no longer a Silver Bird.
Instead the dread that is
It’s every thought
Defines the Silver Bird.

Hovering above the world
Is the home of the Silver Bird.
Without detachment
The Bird would fall to the ground.
And that would be the tragic end.

From the heavens, a Silver Bird is always watching
You do not see them,
As they linger far away,
They watch every movement
Of others, carefully calculating
The intent of others

Nevertheless, the ones who stop
And take the time observe the sky
The ones who pause and listen
Will be the first to gaze on the Silver Bird.

How unappealing is the Silver Bird?
With tattered wings, rotten beak,
No two Silver Birds look alike.
The only way to know of the Silver Bird
Is, simply, through ugly blemish.
That is the mark of  the Silver Bird.

Then the fortunate one who is the first
To ever lay eyes on the Silver Bird
Will move on. They will forget
They ever caught sight of the Silver Bird.
After all, who would want a bird
As broken as the Silver Bird?
That is what makes the Silver Bird a Silver Bird.
sol Nov 2015
Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
Fly through the storm to me.
Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
Find your way to me.

And if you call upon me,
I shall not take too much,
And I shall not leave too little.
For I am a humble thing.

Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
A quick thing you be.
Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
Find a place to perch happily.

I am a smaller thing,
With bigger wings.
And I am the color of crimson,
For I bring you the morning sun.

Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
Grow yourself legs and walk with me.
Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
Get yourself a voice, and tell me.

I am one for flying high,
And I belong in the sky.
Do not look at the ground,
For I am not one who resides there.

And at the times when you need me most,
Is when I am most silent.
For I count on you to hear me singing,
Even when the rain is quite loud.

Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
You are a delicate thing.
Little Red Bird, Little Red Bird,
Fly from my palms now,
And go to someone else who needs you,
More than I now do.
"Hope is a delicate thing,
Flitting like a songbird from one soul to another.
Treat it kindly.
Or it shall cease it's soft singing."
White Bird Lyrics
from It's a Beautiful Day

"White Bird" is track #1 on the album It's a Beautiful Day. It was written by David La Flamme.
White Bird
In a golden cage
On a winter's day
In the rain
White bird
In a golden cage

The leaves blow
Cross the long black road
To the darkened skies
In its rage
But the white bird
Just sits in her cage

White bird must fly
Or she will die

White bird
Dreams of the aspen tree
With their dying leaves
Turning gold
But the white bird
Just sits in her cage
Growing old.

White bird must fly
Or she will die
White bird must fly
Or she will die

The sunsets come
The sunsets go
The clouds Float by
And The Earth Turns slow
And the Young Birds Eyes
Do always Glow
And She must fly
She must fly
She must fly

White bird
In a golden cage
On a winter's day
In the rain
White bird
In a golden cage

White bird must fly
Or she will die
White bird must fly
Or she will die
White bird must fly
Or she will die
White bird must fly

My music and poetry is another way I express myself in my creative writing.
Dakota Demery Oct 2011
The Scarlet Bird, it calls to me,
The Scarlet Bird, I try to flee.
The Scarlet Bird, it wants me dead,
The Scarlet Bird, it's in my head.
The Scarlet Bird, it soars above,
The Scarlet Bird slays Hope and Love.
The Scarlet Bird, it's Fear and Hate,
The Scarlet Bird, it's Tears and Fate.
The Scarlet Bird, it's Cheats and Lies,
The Scarlet Bird, Earth slowly dies.
The Scarlet Bird, it's War and ****,
The Scarlet Bird, there's no escape.
The Scarlet Bird, we cannot hide,
The Scarlet Bird, it's now inside.
The Scarlet Bird, its eyes ablaze,
The Scarlet Bird, the End of days.
The Scarlet Bird, it marks our Doom,
The Scarlet Bird, our Scarlet Tomb.
Hello. Remember in my Bio how I said "Some of them are quite dark?" Yea, this is one of the ones I was referring to. I still hope you all like the writing. Please comment/critique etc. Thanks for reading :)
theo holland Oct 2011
I am Private and he is mine.
  I see him follow in the feet of the other men  
  when his white eyes are turned so is his face  
  he sits in an aisle behind a glass too straight  
  I call to him but the glass is too thick  
  I am he and he is I so how can the separation be stopped  
  my heart is pattering and he sees it  
  a small bird wakes in the nest  
  eyes open  
  the cold salt  

It is all over yet only to those who remember  
  there is always the now if the then was kept forgotten  
  the then is me and he is the now  
  the others stand around us with long hair
  one has white eyes and skin too cool  
  he is dead and standing
most stand in lines straight on forever  
  some turn around in small shuffles  
  some glance over one shoulder slowly  
  those most eat and drink and eat and drink and eat and drink  
  there is nothing to eat no space to turn and no features to see  
  we look and move and eat to go  
  the one with the white eyes and the skin too cool knows but cannot die fully  
  he first scared me and now he is here
we are here and there  
  he and I  
  the one with the skin too cool too  
  the small bird cries out on the edge of the nest as the wind whips around  
  it cannot fall so alone  
  we cannot see it fall  
  there is no space and nothing to eat  
  the white eyes drift away with no movement  
  they seem to be searching

We sit now  
  although surrounded there is no one around  
  the glass is too thick 
  I can hear the thoughts of the others and he can hear their actions
  the walls seem to go on forever
  forever blocking the light
  his light
  the whites of his eyes signaling recognition and reflection  
  the light allows his sight to see me through the glass  
  he is mine  
  he is not dead  
  I am he  
  the cold salt  
  the pattering heart holds me still and devours me
  I am not dead  
  take that heart away from me so I do not wrench it from you  
  the others look on and see nothing for there is nothing  
  it is only in my pattering heart  
  the bird sees something on the ground in the shape of a open heart  
  the bird falls to the other  
  the cold salt

Before I felt him  
  I tried to save him but the glass was too thick  
  the aisle was too crowded before and now it is too  
  everyone dressed in their best black but wearing nothing of meaning  
  they are the same the others  
  I patter at the one sided glass  
  he cannot hear me  
  the darkness of the shadow hides me from him  
  the shadow of the cross deafens him to the birds song  
  I am he and I cannot hear me  
  I pray for the book under the aisle to be true  
  I pray he will see me soon  
  I pray my prayers are needless  
  he wants his pattering heart  
  I want the cold salt on the cheeks of the best black dressed    
  the bird has no cold salt left    
  the fall took them away  
  the heart shaped ground stopped the cold salt forever
before the men and the women were together and now they are the same  
  the one man with the white eyes moves closer  
  I like his skin too cool  
  the buildings mixed and separated them  
  together was complicated  
  together and alone was complex  
  he is large  
  yet there is space for me  
  when he is I cannot be touched  
  no one knows he is dead and I am alive  
  they do not remember  
  that small bird feels another    
  the cold salt and skin too cool

I am still alone but with him alive  
  here is where I can see him  
  this place too small is where I wait  
  I saw him in the rain and fell to him  
  the bird fell to the pattering heart  
  he is still down there  
  his skin too cool and his eyes too white  
  I want those eyes  
  they smile up at me through the lighted glass even  
  the skin too cool reaches me and I am fed  
  there is no food but his skin  
  there is no sight but his eyes  
  he is the smile   
 I am the happiness  
  I am him  
  the bird smiled on the way to the heart shaped ground  
  it hit the ground and the cold salt stopped  
  the cold salt
the ground hits
  the pattering of my heart beats all the louder against his one sided glass  
  now illuminated
  the light warms his heart and cold salt 
  it patters in time with the rain   harder and harder like the ground the bird hits 
  over and over until his patters with mine 
  he is me
  he is mine 
  his cold salt 
  I miss those 
  I lose them to rain down on him and he feels their sound 
  he is not the smile now 
  I feel his heart pattering 
  mine patters the hardest against his glass too thick and too straight now lit 
  in this room too small surrounded by the others but without him I am alone 
 I am his happiness 
  I want his skin too cool and eyes too white 
  I am his smile 
  the cold salt and the skin and the eyes and the smile are me
he was lost to me one too many times
  my not dead man was kept hidden behind a glass too thick and too straight 
  I cannot see what is hidden even though I am hiding 
  the others sway now   there is no room in here to move 
  the ground is gone 
  the small bird sings 
  he is mine 
  he looked up when I first pattered on the glass 
  he saw nothing 
  he was not going to then without the light 
  now the cold salt illuminates the pattering heart 
  his cold salt
I am sitting at the top of a building in the rain 
  the rain falls just as the bird and my heart 
  the ground fast approaches 
  a glass too straight through which I see him 
  he is alone in his room 
  the one with the skin too cool 
  his heart now pattering through his wrists 
  it falls and patters like mine did and does for him here 
  I want my skin too cool
the best dressed do not want to really see him 
  they do not want to see me 
  so they remember 
  I am in a room too small wanting his skin too cool
the others with the long hair carry ropes in their hands or a gun or a bottle 
  we are all in a room together but cannot fit 
  there is no room 
  there is no light 
  the aisle is now empty and the glass is still too thick 
  I am he 
  I walk 
  the cold salt drops 
  I am not dead until we are all dead 
  he is dead the room was too small and could fit no one 
  the small bird loved his skin too cool 
  the man sees the small bird jump for him 
  I am the bird 
  I am the man 
  he is me 
  he is mine 
  I have his skin too cool and now pattering heart  I am here 
  the cold salt falls now with his smile and my happiness

Private, he my friend.
He mine.
  He come back to me even now.
  I don’t have to tell him anything, he knows.
  They all looked at me, but to him I say nothing, nothing needs to be said.
  He reached safety and came back for me.
  His love penetrated, and now mine patters even more.
  I cried cold tears when I saw him fall.
They never left my cheeks and he dried them.
  I see him in my room and play with him like all friends.
  The church glass was the last place I saw him.
  Wet with rain from my tears he was a bird, broken and small.
  Sundays were hard for him and me.
  I had love for him in the pattering of my heart.
  I tell him that over and over now, and he understands.
  He my friend.
  The one I only have tears for anymore, even after the rainy day took them from me;
  after his body reminded me of the small bird on the ground under the nests.
  He did not come back to the school or to his home, but to me.
  I am his pattering heart, only fully opened now.
  I don’t have to explain that the men and priest made me into this.
  They took my love and warred against it.
  They told me to feel this and not that.
  Love was red and boys were blue.
  Now I know why the stained glass which separated me and him was all colors.
  Now I’ll be on the lookout.
  I tell Private what a new winter this shall be, another one to warm my cool skin.
  We’ll be warm together, Private.
  I don’t remember the verses of the Lord.
  The black book under the pews, those hated aisles, have no rememory to me.
  All is he, and he is mine.
  We would be one again, you tell me in my room late at night.
  Private came back to me by falling, like the baby birds on the farm under the nests too high.
  You warm my skin and catch my tears.
  You got close and I am now.
  When you fell I wanted to lay with you and now I can.
  My pattering heart and its contents now flow freely from the arms longing to hold you again.
  I am close. 
  I should have been close then.
  I wanted to.
  Nowhere I had lain in peace since the rain and the fall.
  Now I can lie like the birds and their young.
  He come back to me, Private, my friend, and he is mine.
Let me dispel now the allegations that will surely follow: this is a piece written in the poetic form of Toni Morrison from her novel "Beloved" and is in no way meant to plagiarize, but rather to build on the genius of her work.
the early bird gets the worm, right?

the early bird inches her way out of her nest in the morning, longing to stay snuggled up next to her lover.

the early bird leaves early so she can afford the rent on her nest that is falling apart.
the early bird goes to work and gets an early start on her day, just to come back home to an empty nest and sleep for three more hours.

the early bird takes long and scolding hot baths to ease her aching joints and to participate in some “self care”, even though it never really works.
the early bird stares at herself in the reflection of the faucet and dissociates.

the early bird takes some sleeping pills and tries to fall asleep at a reasonable time, so she can be an early riser the next day, too.
the early bird tosses and turns.

the early bird thinks about the dishes that are not  done.

the clothes are not washed.

lunch isn’t made for tomorrow.

the early bird has three tests this week in college and hasn’t studied for a single one.

the early bird hasn’t had *** in a week.

the early bird feels unnoticed.

the early bird feels like she is not enough.

the early bird feels like she will never be enough.
this is the first poem I have been compelled to write after about 5 years of not writing.
I wrote this in my bathtub.
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
zumee May 2018
A worm came into the open.
A bird came.

The mouth of the worm came open:
"Bird, open!" came the worm.
"Open." came the bird, mouth open.
The worm came.
"!" came the mouth of the bird.
The worm,
into the open mouth of the bird,
The bird,
mouth open,
Came the worm, came the bird,
Came the bird, came the mouth,

The mouth of the bird came open:
"Worm, open!" came the bird.
"!?" came the worm.
"Worm!" came the bird.
"Open, open!" came the worm.
"Open." came the mouth of the open.
"Open." came the worm, mouth open.
The bird,
into the open mouth of the worm,
The worm,
into the mouth of the open,
The open,
mouth open,
Came the bird, came the worm
Came the worm, came the mouth of the open,
A poem made out of its title.
chris Apr 9
the bird I saw at the water park
that bird flew so freely
it seemed so happy to me
because it has wings that I don't have

it is able to go anywhere it wants to go
but that bird is very lonely,  
because it's flying after departing its mother

the bird I saw at the water park
the bird I saw at the playground
the bird I saw on the plane

the bird that was always alone, will fly
freely to find friends
it's not lonely anymore as it flies together

hey, bird bird bird bird

the bird that was always alone, will fly
freely to find friends
it's not lonely anymore as it flies together

hey, bird bird bird bird
Reilly Cole Aug 2013
Baby Bird, Baby Bird
It's Time To Leave The Nest
Baby Bird Baby Bird
You Really Need Your Rest

Little Bird Little Bird
It's Time To Spread Your Wings
Little Bird Little Bird
You Won't Know Times Passing

Ancient Bird Ancient Bird
It's Time To Say Good Bye
Ancient Bird Ancient Bird
Let's Sing This Lullabye
A bird lived its life lonely,
None came for its help,
It kept hunting for fruit pulp,
Considered relations and family unholy.

When its mother lived on difficulty,
Other relative birds, treated it a person of mediocrity,
Refused to follow generosity without partiality,
To keep them safe, pretended their incapacity.

Elder sister of the lonely bird kept threatening,
About the future inabilities and loneliness,
For a family life, kept telling it undeserving,
Told it would face disappointments without liveliness.

Life kept the lonely bird, lonely,
The bird never cared about it,
It had its mother with it,
Life went lively & happily.

Lonely bird had a fear in its thought,
What happens, in loneliness if I am caught?
It felt severe anguish and fear,
On occasions, its heart fell in tear!

Its elder sister, treated it with disrespect,
In spite of it being, an aspiring intellect,
Life of lonely bird remained downward,
It got itself ready for situations untoward.

The lonely bird kept struggling and thriving,
With its ambition and goals put its life driving,
Going remained really impossible & tough
The path to dream remained very rough.

Its fellow birds, remained happily settled,
For lonely bird, things looked to be tangled,
It was skilled, opportunities remained disabled,
With rejections, life continuously growled.

The lonely bird wanted to turn phenomenal,
Didn’t look out to happiness personal,
It did not have family,
In its wealth remained, being hit poorly.

Life went downward with pause,
It was on long term ambition and cause,
The bird turned itself a hungry beast,
To put it away from loneliness, at least.

If none is there, to take care,
I would die! I would die!
For a worldly mission, if I dare!
Of loneliness, I would never cry!

Elder sister of lonely bird threatened,
You were born a layman
Will die an orphan!
Because you are a madman!

The lonely bird, responded for it in life,
I was born a layman,
Will fight for my mission like a madman,
Will die always fighting world evils as a spearman.

There was ring! There was a ring!
It was named Bhagat Singh!
It told me life is lived on its own,
Others shoulders are used at time of funeral.

There was an alarm! There was an alarm!
The name was Abdul Kalam,
It told me Always be the unique you,
Even if world wants to change you everybody else.

Loneliness sometimes hit it like thorn,
Nothing could make it torn,
Through difficulties it was born,
It lived life to make this world adorn.

Loneliness turns out ubique,
I am not alone! I am not alone!
I am an unshakable stone,
I am unique! I am unique!
Loneliness is quite a pain. When it is turned as inspiration, it can be a great fuel. There is nothing to fear or feel ashamed of it. Being alone, gives us the complete opportunity of being unique. A soldier cares for only ambition. Not for any personal happiness. One who is alone is destined for a phenomenal life. You can face treachery, you can face disappointments, and you can even feel fed-up. One needs to divert this fuel towards their aim. If you are alone, do not leave the world alone. Be an unshakable stone that stands a pillar against all difficulties. You will turn an iron man soon.
Rachel Lowson Oct 2014
Sing of hope my little bird,
Sing of the world beyond your bars
Of the endless reams of sky
Of the endless reasons why
You sing of hope my little bird

Sing of sorrow my little bird
Sing of all that hurts your heart
Of those who think you're their prey
Of how you'll show them someday
Why you sing of sorrow my little bird

Sing of the truth my little bird
Sing of the times you're left alone
Of the days there seems no hope
Of the ghosts making you choke
As to sing to me the truth my little bird

Sing of freedom my little bird,
Sing as you can at last let go
Of kissing goodbye past mistakes
Of the lift brought as the chain breaks
When you sing of freedom my little bird

Sing of your triumphs my little bird
Sing of how amazing you are
Of your courage and being bold
Of your falls never taking hold
Letting you sing of your triumphs my little bird

Sing always my little bird
Sing and just keep on singing
Of all that makes me proud
Of how you sing out loud
Sing always and forever my little bird
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
I am a bird chair
Bird chairs may have not caught on yet
but I promise you
they soon shall
I work well with a bird lamp

Wave at Window and Book Me
a How-To-Encyclopedia
of bird chairs and lamps
Chapter Four is all bird flags
You know how hot suburban jungle gets

Stringing lights around moon
is not  so difficult
When wind is at your back
much easier in a bird chair
And with a bird lamp

Shoe painting is mentioned
in the glossary
just in reference to
sadness your bird chair
might be experiencing

If you wish to re-floor carpet bag
bird chairs are perfect
Big things are happening in bird chairs
Look out for bird jet next
Herman Nucleosis Oct 2014
Little bird, the Little bird
She'd always dreamed to fly
To lush greens and rolling hills
And the warmth of summer's sigh

Little bird, the Little bird
She'd always dreamed to go
To dance with silk and satin
And say goodbye to snow

Little bird, the Little bird
She'd always dreamed to see
Her garden flowers in full bloom
While sipping her afternoon tea

Little bird, oh Little bird
If only you had known.
Now your wings are clipped, clipped, clipped
And your pretty mouth is sewn

Little bird, oh Little bird
It's not the hills that are rolling
But what was between his shoulders
And the sept bells are a-tolling

Little bird, oh Little bird
Even your Nest they've taken away
The Lions and Flowers are dancing now
Round and round their tasty prey

Little bird, my Little bird
When will you ever see
I will wait for you to howl again
And remember the Wolf you're meant to be
An ode to Sansa Stark

Winter is Coming,
And the wolves will come again.
Pauline Celerio Jan 2014
Once upon a time in a land faraway
Was a little bird who wished to fly.
Decked on the branch of the sturdiest tree,
He wished to someday soar so high.
He watched the blazing September sun,
and felt the chilly mountain breeze--
But the beauty he wished to the mountain god
Was to finally have his own pair of wings.
The seasons changed and leaves have fallen,
But the little bird has never forgotten.
Someday he'd join his father soar,
in the beauty of the lovely September morn.
The seasons changed and the leaves have grown,
Yet the little bird still wished to fly;
And little has the little bird known,
that the mountain god has already tried.
The god has given the wings he wanted,
and gave it to his father dearest.
But the mighty father with the greatest feather,
has hidden the wings the little bird wanted.
The seasons changed and the flowers mourned,
And the little bird still wished to fly,
and when the mighty sun has finally adjourned,
the little bird was left to cry.
But one strange December night,
the little bird saw his father come,
and up in flames his father light,
the wings that was supposedly his.
The little bird did not understand,
and his father said he did it for love
and the little bird has nothing left
But a memory of the wings long gone.
The little bird did not understand,
for he knew he was born for the sky,
and never again would he feel the land,
And never again would he hope to fly.
The father thought his son was fine,
and showered him with everything:
But then his son, with his piercing eyes,
told his father to remind:

"What's a sun without its fire,
to bring its light to everything?
I'm meant to soar, I'm meant to fly,
But what's a bird without his wings?"
Rip Lazybones Oct 2014
The wind always ****** me off. Tossing my hair from side to side, and usually on the opposite side the ship is swaying. Always so nauseating. Leaned against the railing I watch my ship mates joke, rough house, and drink. I would describe them as quaint, but Neptune forbid they hear me and I have to explain what another word means. Illiterate ******* . I gave one of them a dictionary one time in hopes they would be inspired. They returned it to me two days later with all the words about *** and female organs underlined and circled. Why do I have to be stuck with these people? Brain cells keep committing suicide every time one of these chumps rabble something to me.

**** it all, here comes one. Just go away, ****. ****, what could he possibly want. Maybe if I lean back now I can just fall into the water and drown. The wind gives me another fist up my nostril by blowing his stench my way. "We be landin' soon! Ye comin' wit us dis time or are ye gunna stay behind and work on your fancy doctor voodoo or trace your ***** in one of your books to **** it to lata?" They all start laughing and whoopin. "Well I need some things, and I can't trust you idiots to bring me anything back besides rotted meat and disgusting women! So I guess I have to get off the boat this time." He made some typical fairy joke toward me and went back to drinking with the others.

The spotter cried his typical thing about seeing land, as if we didn't have eyes to see that massive hunk of blot that isn't water coming toward us. Maybe this time I can get "lost" and never board this ship again. I don't care where I go or do. After she left, it doesn't matter. If I could find some decently witted science wiser, I'd give them my journals and let my soul free from this cursed rock. Until then, my studies are far too important to be lost to these mongrels.

On a brighter note, the island looked to be a dense tropical stage type of island. Perfect! My greatest chance to find some herbs in quite some time. Maybe they will even have a wild large cat these guys can fight. With any luck, it would eat them all then die choking one of their pieces of jewelry or **** it from their various ****** diseases. That would just be heaven. Rid me of these animals and I could get some ingredients from the majestic beast's corpse. Their eyes and blood are good for various mixes. My thought is disrupted by the sweet smell of the isle on the breeze. Sweet sweet hibiscus, we came just at the right time of year. My leg ticks on the ground with excitement. Moments like these make me forget all my misery, the rush of progress. The high of walking back with sacks full of goodies. Rushing to my mortar and pestle. Thank you, Neptune for surfacing such a wonderful place.

The captain's door kicks open as we pull up to shore. "Alright me hearties! Time to do what we do best. Let's go find some meat to eat and some meat to poke!" A cheer from crew erupted. I caught the last boat going to shore. I brought every empty sack and a few various journals to record. Each stroke of the paddle fills me with a little more glee. We all land on shore, but there is a bit of wildness in the air. None of the crew seems to notice. No birds in the area flying by or perched. A pathway of large trees are knocked down. I point out to the captain what I have observed. He gets the wild look in his eye and points over to the path. "This way, boys! We got something big to ****!"

Walking behind the group as I scribble doodles and notes in my journal. A lot of the trees that are downed have large slashes in them. Every now and then we come across and splat of blood or some feathers. The feathers are quite large and colourful. Ahead we can see a clearing to what looks like a cliff range. The lush green ground is now leading into red clay. Large talon prints are starting to appear. The captain leads us in the direction of the prints. As we go further, decomposing carcasses and skeletons litter the path.

Never in a hundred life times would I be prepared for what we were about to see. At the edge of the cliff lies a giant nest, and in it was a pure terror. It's back had more colours then I even fathomed were in existence. It's tail feather alone was larger than our ship. The crew seemed genuinely disturbed. "What the ******* is that?!" yelled one of the crew members. The behemoth was instantly awoken. It stretched it wings and stood up in its nest. The bird turned around and faced us. Holy ******* ****, this thing was some sort of massive giant macaw. Being the size it is, I doubt it eats the kind of pleasant things its cousins consume.

To compensate for being woke up, it looked as if it was going to make a quick meal out of us. This is perfect! Maybe all these idiots will get butchered and I can just slide away. I looked over to the captain, and his eyes were over flowing with wildness. With a saber and flintlock ready, he ordered the charge. With mighty yells they all rush the bird. The giant ***** its wings and uses the gust to blow down the crew. It hops into the air and comes down crushing several members under its blood stained talons. Even with dried, caked clay I could feel the vibrations from his force. The captain takes aim with his flintlock and nails the bird in the left eye. The bird let out a large screech before pecking down and reducing more crew members to a pile of protein and bone.

At this point in the battle, there are only thirteen of us left. ****, that is an unlucky number. Are they going to fluke this and **** that thing? ******* it, I don't want to eat bird for the next few months. I continue to doodle the beast as the battle rages. A quick swipe from his talons eviscerates a few more members. The crew has done nothing more than leave a few cuts on the beast's legs and a few bullets lodged in his plumage. The bird surges into the air in a rage. He quickly snatches up 3 members in each talon and tosses them off the cliffs. Five of us remain including the captain. Swooping down and gobbling up two more members, the captain doesn't even begin to bat an eye. There are only two fighters left. The captain is climbing up the leg of the bird as the last crew member gets pulled apart by the bird. The bird not noticing the captain scaling his back hops toward me. It turns its head so its unwounded eye can see me. The head snaps back to forward face and hops toward me.

The captain is now on top of the beast's head, perfect. I reach my satchel and pull out two full glass bottles. A loud squawk comes from the bird as it prepares to eat to me. I quickly pitch one of the bottles at the head of the bird. The glass cracks on its head and liquid goes all over the bird and the captain. Smoke begins to roll off of them as their flesh drips off their bone. Realizing I won't need the second bottle, I put it away and sit down as the bird's nerves twitch out its last moments of life. What is left of the captain is dripping down the bird. The corpse of my saviour collapses to the side.

Finally, as I deserve to be, I am alone. Alone on a giant island of who knows what else, but for the first time since she left me; I'm smiling. I can work and research in peace, and with any luck someone of worth will discover my remains years later and find my journals. I am left with what I was born with. Nothing, but what lies between ears. I both thank and apologize to you mighty fowl. My all the souls scattered on this island be comforted by my joy.
Adam Childs Aug 2014
Living freely in this world
My vulnerability, feels so lost
As it seeks the skies to escape all
Perched high away and hiding
My heart forsaken
For her vulnerability
Has left her

The little bird has flown

My warm retreating heart lives behind
Many layers of frozen ice
A teardrop falls
As I see the loss potential
Where here my heart should sing
Great jungles it should bring

Come back, come back little bird

I stare into my murky depths
My legs are taken by giant jaws
I twist and turn as he swallows me whole
My standing in the world taken
I merge with this crocodile

Far away a bird twitches

I look out into the outside world
And see the disregard and arrogance
Which fuels my anger like oil on a fire
As they disturb the peace on my pond
May their flesh quiver
With my ancient growl

high above a bird leaves her perch

I am the last living dinosaur
Born from a time when, T.rex ruled
And birds with teeth reigned overhead
And I still live in waters
Where Piranhas seek to
Frenzy on living flesh
Am I to be scared of you

A quiet bird flutters closer

Bring me your contempt
For I am hungry and love rotten meat
And your disregard feeds my fury
so please circle my pond
Where my heart rests softly
With rich and green waters
Bursting and growing in love

A little bird tweets overhead

I will lounge and grab
And you will be blind
And lost in my depths
I will turn you over and
Your arrogance will feed me
Yummy yummy
I slip away from the beast

A little bird perches on his head
Still mistrusting him
For he carries a triumphant smile
As though injected with poison
The little bird says
You know I love you crocodile
But I am still not safe

Disgruntled he returns to his depths
On the inner side of the pond
Faraway he finds me again
Staring into dark waters
As though it could speak
Many times has he watched
Arrogant mammals reach and fall
Coming back consumed with
Pain, rejection and failure
Both looking and hiding from the truth

A bird tweets I LOVE YOU

With both a ferocity and compassion
He pulls me down as a tonne of flesh
Slaps itself ******* this earth
I twist and turn as I struggle
With my own truth
As he rips my pride off the bone
Be aware of my tongue for it is
Possessed by a crocodile's lashing tail

I really Love you the bird cries

The beast feasts on my bitter truth
And sour reality, I am not
Strong enough to take
And spits out the sweet lies
That keep me from myself
As he pulls me down into my own depths
Such a beautiful beast
For he feels no need to evolve
Perfect as I am he says
As it fills me with his power
To be exactly who I am
How I love this Crocodile

A bird approaches

My heart free from noise
Inside and out
A silence nestles in me
And all innocence is seen
Beautiful souls float freely
Butterflies dance and play
As all is gentle around me
And especially in me

And my beautiful vulnerability
Now returns in sweet song
As the bird rests softly in my jaw
A strange paradox becomes so very clear
With a little bird we hold so dear
This is my second effort as soon as I wrote the first one I was not happy with it as it was not clear enough what was dealing with the subjective and the objective hopefully there is greater balance in this attempt . Let me know if it works
Adam M Snow Jun 2014
Little Bird
Written by Adam M. Snow

Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
It drifts alone in the open air,
untouched by either
blue of the ocean
or the sky above.
Untouched by the bloodshed stains
of the earth below.
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
Like the tears
of unborn children,
dead before birth with
their question burning
forever, "Why?"
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
Perched on a tree,
watching man fall
before its eyes.
Is there no compassion
from that little bird
towards humanity?
Does the little bird not
feel sorrow?
Like the tears
of millions of hungry children,
cold without a home.
Their voice muted,
by the wars of greed;
their deaths in vain,
blood on our hands.
Does the little bird not
know sorrow, like we do?
Unable to fly
so freely like the bird,
lost in our own way
of life;
the endless greed,
the pointless bloodshed,
millions of lies.
Does the little bird not
know sorrow?
Always flying so freely,
freedom on its wings.
Untouched by either
blue of the ocean
or the sky above.
Untouched by the bloodshed stains
of the earth below.
Does it feel sorrow?
That little bird,
who greets the morning
with a song,
always cheerful,
always chirping.
What does the little bird feel?
Is it sorrow?
Pointless Circle Aug 2019
Blue bird, blue bird,
high in the skies
You fly so well no one can see you
Blue bird, blue bird,
far from my eyes
So beautiful no one can see you

Blue bird, blue bird,
Sat on your star
You burn so hot no one can see you
Blue bird, blue bird
You got so far
You got so bright no one can see you

Blue bird, blue bird
Falling feathers
You sold your wings for them to see you
Blue bird, Blue bird
In the rivers
You sank so deep no one can see you
The main perk of being on the internet is not having to be yourself anymore
misstree Feb 2015
Little bird little bird
where'd you go?
I can't seem to find you
I've searched high and low.

Little bird little bird
I can hear you crying,
Tell me where you are
Can't you see I'm trying?

Little bird little bird
I can feel your pain,
Tell me where you are
Can't you see I'm going insane?

Little bird little bird
why must you hide,
I just want to dry
All the tears you've cried.

Little bird little bird
You're killing me,
You're driving me away
Why can't you see?

I'm going little bird
Since you won't let me in,
Can't say I didn't try
But I definitely didn't win.
So much hidden meaning. Oh well, I'm hungry.
ryn Sep 2014
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell

Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days

Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew

Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring

Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep

Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo

Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention

Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight

Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live

Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living

Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes

Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
Krys Pressey Apr 2012
Are you lonesome, little bird?
Can't fly away now;
Limping with hurt.
With that broken wing of yours;
So fragile, so weak.
You need someone to lift you up
Oh, little bird.  
Hold you closely, and fix you're hurt.
Fix that wing, you poor cute bird.   Help you fly away again, little bird.

Oh, are you hurt now, little bird?
Lost and alone, in this cruel world.
Chirping on the forest floor; Waiting for that savior.
Oh, I'll come and find you, little bird
I'll pick you up;
My precious bird.  
Finding you out there,
Hold you gently.

I'll help you fly away again, little bird.
Adopt you as mine now,
Without a word.
I'll fly you away now, my little bird.
No more crying, my baby bird.
To other shores of unspoken hurt.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
        Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
        Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
    This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:—
      Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
      Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—
    ’Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
      With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
      Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my *****’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
      She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath
  sent thee
Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked,
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Krys Pressey Jun 2012
Are you lonesome, little bird?
Can't fly away now;
Limping with hurt.
With that broken wing of yours;
So fragile, so weak.
You need someone to lift you up
Oh, little bird.  
Hold you closely, fix you're hurt.
Fix that wing, you poor cute bird.  
Help you fly away again, little bird.

Oh, are you hurt now, little bird?
Lost and alone, in this cruel world.
Chirping on the forest floor; Waiting for that savior.
Oh, I'll come and find you, little bird.
I'll pick you up;
My precious bird.  
Finding you out there,
Hold you gently.

I'll help you fly away again, little bird.
Adopt you as mine now,
Without a word.
I'll fly you away now, my little bird.
No more crying,
My baby bird.
To other shores of unspoken hurt.

When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.


O powerful, western, fallen star!
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d! O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul!


In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash’d palings,
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle……and from this bush in the door-yard,
With delicate-color’d blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.


In the swamp, in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary, the thrush,
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.

Song of the bleeding throat!
Death’s outlet song of life—(for well, dear brother, I know
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would’st surely die.)


Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris;)
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes—passing the endless grass;
Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising;
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards;
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.


Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags, with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil’d women, standing,
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn;
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour’d around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where amid these you journey,
With the tolling, tolling bells’ perpetual clang;
Here! coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.


(Nor for you, for one, alone;
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring:
For fresh as the morning—thus would I carol a song for you, O sane and sacred death.

All over bouquets of roses,
O death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies;
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes;
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
For you, and the coffins all of you, O death.)


O western orb, sailing the heaven!
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since we walk’d,
As we walk’d up and down in the dark blue so mystic,
As we walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after night,
As you droop’d from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on;)
As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something, I know not what, kept me from sleep;)
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere you went, how full you were of woe;
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cold transparent night,
As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night,
As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb,
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.


Sing on, there in the swamp!
O singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes—I hear your call;
I hear—I come presently—I understand you;
But a moment I linger—for the lustrous star has detain’d me;
The star, my departing comrade, holds and detains me.


O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?

Sea-winds, blown from east and west,
Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting:
These, and with these, and the breath of my chant,
I perfume the grave of him I love.


O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?

Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes,
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air;
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific;
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there;
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows;
And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.


Lo! body and soul! this land!
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships;
The varied and ample land—the South and the North in the light—Ohio’s shores, and flashing Missouri,
And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover’d with grass and corn.

Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty;
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes;
The gentle, soft-born, measureless light;
The miracle, spreading, bathing all—the fulfill’d noon;
The coming eve, delicious—the welcome night, and the stars,
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.


Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird!
Sing from the swamps, the recesses—pour your chant from the bushes;
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

Sing on, dearest brother—warble your reedy song;
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

O liquid, and free, and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear……yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart;)
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me.


Now while I sat in the day, and look’d forth,
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops,
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds, and the storms;)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides,—and I saw the ships how they sail’d,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages;
And the streets, how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo! then and there,
Falling upon them all, and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail;
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.


Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,
To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still.

And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me;
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv’d us comrades three;
And he sang what seem’d the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

From deep secluded recesses,
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the carol of the bird.

And the charm of the carol rapt me,
As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night;
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.



Come, lovely and soothing Death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate Death.

Prais’d be the fathomless universe,
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love—But praise! praise! praise!
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.

Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?

Then I chant it for thee—I glorify thee above all;
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

Approach, strong Deliveress!
When it is so—when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee,
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death.

From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee—adornments and feastings for thee;
And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

The night, in silence, under many a star;
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know;
And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil’d Death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song!
Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide;
Over the dense-pack’d cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!


To the tally of my soul,
Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,
With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night.

Loud in the pines and cedars dim,
Clear in the freshness moist, and the swamp-perfume;
And I with my comrades there in the night.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,
As to long panoramas of visions.


I saw askant the armies;
And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-flags;
Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc’d with missiles, I saw them,
And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and ******;
And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)
And the staffs all splinter’d and broken.

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of young men—I saw them;
I saw the debris and debris of all the dead soldiers of the war;
But I saw they were not as was thought;
They themselves were fully at rest—they suffer’d not;
The living remain’d and suffer’d—the mother suffer’d,
And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suffer’d,
And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.


Passing the visions, passing the night;
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands;
Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul,
(Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying, ever-altering song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,
Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,)
Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves;
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring,
I cease from my song for thee;
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,
O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night.


Yet each I keep, and all, retrievements out of the night;
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,
And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul,
With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe,
With the lilac tall, and its blossoms of mastering odor;
With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird,
Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep—for the dead I loved so well;
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands…and this for his dear sake;
Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul,
There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim.

— The End —