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Cackling Mister Crow
Why do you make sport of me
Making fun of the very hand that feeds
You shop this yard at every morn for-
a free handful of cracked corn , relaxing atop
a public birdbath you've declared to be your very own
Tall pines to bask in the ten o'clock -
sun
Cool grass to hunt , hop , skip -
and run ....

Cackling Old Crow
You son-of-a-gun
Tromping through my garden for -
afternoon fun                                                              ­                                 You're a pirate with wings
A thief that sings
Hiding in a blackberry thicket with -
easy pickings
Standing at the feeder , scaring my chickens ....

Goodnight Mister Crow
Find a tall oak to rest
This farm would not be the same -
without my favorite pest
Do crow's dream I oft wonder
Dreams of airborne pillage and -
plunder
Copyright April 15 , 2018 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Stu Harley Feb 2021
oh
hummingbird
taking
their
ritual birdbath
inside
a young sycamore leaf
Mote Apr 2018
all novel and light.
daytryp w/ vaporwave and splits.
i mean,
nobody lives like the scizoid
and you were cool.
so cool. like spacecraft,
ft. chrome dawn cool. &
you felt like sickness.
a yawn over the word sickness.
but what do i know [as a],
birdbath with feminine aesthetic?
like,
rain is my favorite thing..!
i know nothing.
i know the depths
of your glitter-bomb fantasy,
but i said nothing;
confidence pearled by loneliness.
after all you saw
me like air sees me.
through me to the pit of need
pulsing with prayers
for immesurable things.
saw the demure rot
of unblemished fruit. and god
if it wasn't perfect then -
idk.
two moons rose behind you:
all lime and bright.
it was no wonder
i needed a ride back to earth.
Ben Heart Mar 2021
An ill attempt to hide
The stars are worthless
When they're kept from sight
Like a phoenix
In a birdbath

The seductive skylines
Another ripple in the pond
Lost in their own lives
Am I insane to believe
The gigabyte afterlife

The conversational kindle
Nurtured or Nuisance
Shall we stay estranged
Not entangled
In some universal umbilical

The neon fever dream
Cacophony of screaming screens
Drawn to the dystopian
Premonitions from the past
The Future is so Victorian
Jessthemesss May 2018
Against the blackness of early morning
my reflection in the glass door
is multiplied, an optical delusion.  Two
of me returns my gaze.  Which is me?
I overlap myself.

My hope for this new day is an awareness
of a sacred singularity that celebrates
difference, yet joins all things, all beings,
in the reality of The One.

I hope for faith grounded in wisdom,
trust and kindness...harmony of thought
and will as the result of the peaceful union
of divergent voices...and peace replacing
the taste of greed and violence in our
mouths.

Faint light peeks shyly around the partially
drawn curtain.  Morning is not far behind.
Slowly she moves across the garden,
climbs deep green vines clinging to the
stone wall, then casts her smile on two
sparrows as they toss fresh water into
the air from the shallow birdbath.

Early morning's somber light suddenly
bursts golden as the sun makes clear
the arrival of day, erasing all reflected
delusions.

I am one with One.
alaric7 Jan 2018
Pulpit birdbath

spermaceti

dog-******

meadowy

kinesis

dendrites

spreading

colophons

cacophonies

Keep

on singing

I said

he said

I have to.
The Fire Burns Aug 2017
Red apples hang next to green leaves,
black ants; slowly crawl in a continuous line,
yellow and brown bumbles hum around,
goats, Meh-eh-eh! Meh-eh-eh! in the pen.

Dewdrop jewels hang from leaf tips,
falling occasionally in the light breeze,
stainless steel glimmers in the sun,
as the blade bites into the apple's flesh.

Juice runs down lips and chin,
a sweet liquid flow perfuming her neck,
and continuing down between pert *******,
resulting in a quivering motion as it tickles.

Sticky sweet kisses, like apple cider,
walking, as hands and fingers knot together,
golden tansies stand alongside the orchard,
I pluck one and put it behind her ear.

Grass, mown short under bare feet,
a path toward the house, birdbath in front,
bluebirds preen, blue and rose beige feathers,
calling out a trilling chirp, background music.

A pair of front porch rocking chairs,
white wood, with brown wicker seats,
anticipate us, as the sun begins to set,
and crickets begin to sing the evening's song.
sandra wyllie May 2022
back and forth on the red and
black hammock in my backyard. Tied around
the tree, tied just like me to things that
don’t make a sound. Fast or slow/high or low
I’m lifted off the ground.

I swing
to the song of the robin bobbing up
and down in my teal birdbath. He drinks
and makes a splash, wetting his wings. Then takes off
for better things.

I swing
my head to the neighbor’s screaming
kids. As they’re breaking up this reverie
two squirrels hanging from my tree are batting at
the birdfeeder. Spilling the seeds on the ground
as it swings to the sound of the breeze.
- JP DeVille Dec 2022
The leaves are falling from the sycamore
Outside my window,
Collecting vastly beneath my pickup parked just across the street.
There once was a nest of robins that perched upon those mighty branches,
Then came a powerful gust of wind that knocked it down next to a pack of hounds.
They of course decimated the entire clutch,
And when the mother returned and landed on the now empty branch,
She dived beak down towards her nest.
Never once did her wings open before hitting the ground.
My neighbor came by next morning with an old cardboard shoe box,
It held a carcass and some cracked eggs.
I dug a hole about two feet deep near the birdbath I'd no longer need,
And placed a few pumpkin seeds above the shoe box and covered them up.
I water the patch every so often,
And the hounds howl when near the tree.
This morning I awoke to the sound of chirping,
Outside my window there stood a robin
Holding a pumpkin seed between its bill.
Spring is near, but first comes winter.
I hope, but that's really all I can do,
All there is to do,
Hope.
sandra wyllie Sep 2021
the light child. Darkness will
fall soon. And you’ll be old
as the pale moon.

Enjoy
the warm breeze and golden
sunflowers. Soon the leaves will
fall from the trees and they’ll be
snow showers.

Enjoy
running and flying your kite with
your friend.  Soon the air will not
move. And your friend will move
on. You’ll be holding the string
dragging your kite on the lawn.

Enjoy
picking the bright red apples,
filling your basket to the top. The apples
will drop and rot on the ground. The tree
will be barren as the land. And your basket
empty as your hands.

Enjoy
the robin splashing and
sipping water from your birdbath. Soon
the water will turn to ice, just as the men
in your life.
The birdbath
in the
parking lot
is a
watering hole
for the fowl
and the
homeless
foul smelling
to bathe.

I pray
for rain
soon.
Satsih Verma Nov 2018
It was unique in many ways
once you had asked,
how would I like to go.

Like sitting on the edge
of a birdbath, after celebrating
summer flight, the sparrow
wants to drop dead in water.

Sometimes you want
to watch your own wake
between hundreds of earthen lamps.

The ending cannot
be translated. You don't own your life,
your freedom. If you
see me as your liberator.
I will bring my own shackles.

Dignity never
comes in black and white
I will wait for you under the shade
of a holy tree.
Jill Tait Aug 2020
She washes her wings with splishes and splashes as she flutters her beautiful feathery eyelashes and all the while she captivates the Elves who are totally besotted sitting on shelves

But out of them all there is one that she loves as he picks off pink petals from a patch of foxgloves.. his hair is as light as a rich, ripened corn that shines amidst a harvest on the dew, dusted dawn.. So she wriggles and giggles as her tiny cheeks blush as she shares a birdbath with a  speckled song thrush..

Oh how she woos the rest of the elves..they are drooling and dribbling all over themselves.. she is by far the prettiest of them all.. Fairy Fantasia the belle of the ball.. yet she yearns for only the heart of he.. who dotes on another more darker than she.. Perhaps one day soon betwixt happenstance their two hearts will unite with a folklore romance...
Stu Harley Apr 2020
only last summer
when
i witnessed
the
brown button-eyed sunflowers
desire
to
indulge themselves
in a
pleasant birdbath
only last summer
when

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