"birdies" poems
Mary plants stems of roses
Happy is her sensuous senses.
Rosy roses reddish ,yellow
Dribbling dews on petals glow.
Sandy was her piece of land ,still
Mixing humus made she fertile.
Grow up mango, cashew trees now
Hellish heat around falls low.
All the birdies, human beings with
Rolling breeze’s blessing grew forth.
Nurture Nature for our future
Save our culture agriculture.
Greenery is her granary giving
Honey, money, feeling pleasing.
Waves on beaches softly recede
Crawling ripples crippling proceed.
Do you know? lives here sustain
Only through eternal restrain.
Gain for all lies where interactions
Divine hold our honest actions
=============================
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens,
And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing,
Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens
In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing.
This year, he vows, his head will steady be,
His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal;
And so they are, until upon the tee
Befall the old contortions of the real.
So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from
Hibernal months of television sports,
Perfects his serve and feels his knees become
Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts.
Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss,
Which shall be high, so that the racket face
Shall at a certain angle sweep across
The floated sphere with gutty strings--an ace!
The mind's eye sees it all until upon
The courts of life the faulty way we played
In other summers rolls back with the sun.
Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.
5.7k
Its dickie dark the days at end
the sun has run away
it's dickie dark just look my friend
the moon has come to play
The flowers tucked up in their beds
the birdies fast asleep
and over roofs of garden sheds
the ***** cats now creep
It's dickie dark it's time to change
and get into my bed
my teddy bears ill rearrange
around my feet and head
Ill sleep till dirkie dark has gone
and Dawn lights up my face
So daddy turn my night light on
it's in it's usual place
It's dickie dark the day is done
I'm tucked up warm and tight
it's dickie dark and that's no fun
so one and all goodnight
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 5:22 PM UTC
Coffee and Tea, I'll take them both,
Light me up another smoke,
Have a piece of Shoo-Fly pie,
Hear the birdies in the sky,
Take my pen in trembling hand,
Compose some poetry, if I can.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
I didn't sleep again last night
my yesterday is still taking place
as my fingers gently press these keys
so as to not wake my brother
restless,
I realized,
I've seen a sunset
but never a sunrise
the streets were still asleep
the only ones about
only the down and out
the poor black folk
the aimless hipsters
the homeless
the single mothers with three jobs
who wait alone
under a flickering street light
for the bus which will take them
to their deadpan jobs
the puddles from last night's storm
rest with not a ripple
and the pretty little birdies
start finding their voice
restless,
I realized,
after the sunsets
the world opens up her eyes
periwinkle horizons
blend easily with the grey skyline
and the line between man and God blurs
the sky is tropical mango cocktails
and pillows of white Caribbean sand
the smell is left -
like a residue -
chasing after the tail of a storm
but the air is wet to the touch
hinting at repeat of the downpour
and I would've sat on the arm of that denim sofa
hour after hour
until the world was ready to wake up
giving me a chance to sleep off their insecurities,
only,
I felt like writing this poem
only,
I felt like a sunrise
or maybe a sunset?
or just maybe
a god **** supernova
I felt good
brimming with peace in my gut
like a warm fire
restless,
I realized,
that after all is set
I will still love the sunrise
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Peacocks dance and trees sway,
to the sweet songs of the birds that briskly fly away,
Wood's speckled with the golden , summer blooms.
fresh green carpets take away the glooms.
Reminiscing in the beauty of the pure water streams,
Nature is at play creating picturesque dreams.
Sweet Nector on the dew dropped poppies,
buzz of the bee's,
the charm of the humming birds nesting in style .
Oh! Nature is at play all the while.
Sunray's penetrating through dark clouds,
Colourful little birdies, chirpy, synchronised , repetative and aloud .
Crispy mornings under clear blue skies, nature is at play as the time flies.
Basking in the beauty of God's creations,
a life full of positive aspirations,
Lo ! behold ! Do we notice the nature's beauty , as we go in life performing our duty ?
Take a pause!
remember your purpose and cause.
Breathe in the fresh air,
Admire the surroundings,
Sit back ,relax and smile,
as nature is at play all the while.
© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 4:12 AM UTC
Awakened by the melody
of the chirping by the birdies
who beseech nothing more
but the fragrance the daffodils wore
around their silken petals yellow
and between their green sepals mellow.
Reminisce their time spent
under the magical snow bent
which ****** upon their existence vast
driving them to desert their casts.
Comes the harbinger of life, the spring
and they bloom with the soothing breeze
Each petal of the whorl curls
with stories of varying degrees.
Why though do they bend coyly
when asked about love?
Spring is Love , it's here today,
The Daffodils Shy away.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
ponder with me as I throw these diaries
filled with tales of ******* and burnt down cities
towards the direction of every ear
that had but a moment to listen to my plea
of how other lands hold the children of my sanity
of how in other lands I see decadent beauty
how I feel the gnawing tearing in me awfully
supernatural were the nights I imbedded in sultry
cringed smiles and listened to the forgein birdies
inhaled the fumes of gasoline and drowned in the glorifying sunny
wet my lips in salty water and enjoyed the stinging in my eyes
graced the cannabis valleys
and the meadows of sustenance and endless possibility
the waterfalls of magnificent hidden deep in the earth
behind the roses of my ancestors
speak to me my land
call on to me louder
hinder me away from this place
and manifest within in me your womanly power
seek me oh mother land
and cast me away from shattered lives
bring me back to you
and beg me todestroy this demise
I am toughly and sickly
at the same time
shower me with your graciousness
and devoutly banish my crime
I will wait for the thunder calling
and make excuses for this ****** place in the meantime
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 12:44 PM UTC
Three dead birds on highway squashed,
Roadway washed with corpses discarded as carrion,
To be chewed upon by companions in a world of brothers,
In a world of blood and guts,
A lone magpie was seen,
A sure purveyor of doom,
Gloom and sorrow,
For birdies splattered,
No tomorrow,
Perhaps they saw him too,
Didn't show him due respect,
They'll never know if they had regrets!
Livvi Kent 09/06/2013
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
royal rulers mighty roar,jungle dwellers all in awe,mountain,bush, pasture, plain,reigns supreme his domain.but...could this kingdom cat compare,on close cut grasses greens of fair?would he fill ten holes for fun?bag nine birdies, not just one.does he stroke a lengthy club?balls that swing thro greeny shrub,best perfecting all he masters,dimpled ***** inbag with castors.would he ryd-her cup of love? use two hands, just one glove?could he bunk-her in the rough?wedge it, chip it, putt the muff.could he ease the game with foreplay?drive it homeward up the fairway,does he eye the aim while kneeling?as caddy guides his pole to feeling,so who's the top dog ***** cat?won't take long to answer that,would lion do it if he could?i know for sure......tiger wood
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
*A stream pushed two sticks
up the river then twirled around
Finally settled down
on a hill looking over the valley
Up above a bird saw the sticks
decided that they would be
a great fit for her nest
Quickly she went down
Before any predator can
Grabbed them in her mouth
And away she flew
Back at her nest she had
two beautiful twins
The birdies opened their beacon
to receive the catch
The mom chirped and giggled
the sticks were
to fill a hole in the nest
The mom quickly filled the holes
and back into the sky she flew
The twin baby birds saw the sticks and mistakenly thought they were worms
They each grabbed one
with their beac and started to chew
till the juices came out
The sticks were
ripen twigs and tasty
They had been soaking
all night in a syrup
of a flower bed
When the mom came back there was
nothing left from the twigs
except the thorns
The mom laughed
and fed her twins
the tasty worms
she brought back!*
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Hey little cat, pretty kitty cat
I wonder what it's like for you to think the way you think
When you pounce upon a feather do you think that it's a bird?
Do you understand the weather?
Do you understand our words?
Hey little cat, pretty kitty cat
What do you think you're seeing when you look up at the stars?
Did your mother ever tell you not to stare into the Sun?
Do you wonder where they came from?
Do you wonder what they are?
Hey little cat, pretty kitty cat
I wish that I could understand your crazy point of view
Chasing pretty birdies with a bell around your neck
Did you find out how they know
To fly away from you?
Hey little cat, pretty kitty cat
I guess I'll never really understand your kitty brain
I wonder how you see our crazy daisy little world
I bet you think we're pretty
I bet you think we're insane
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:00 PM UTC
for Jeannie Kristufek Hawrysz who once quoted me Shakespeare -
*"Of all the words in the universe, when stated thrice, only one royal above all gleams best, an uncoded mathematical tripartite repetitive stating:
love love love this."*
----------------------------
third attempt and just not happening
then recall a Ben Folds hand-me-down
heard on Tuesday, passed onto me by Sara B.
about writer’s block
“Kick the editor out of the room”
the best don’t even flow,
they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that,
are ya keeping up,
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock
or the delivery guy, the one with the towel and the scissors, who brings ya a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?
another nougat nugget:
when you’re stuck, write about the block,
what’s sticking you; one would have thought
some one thousand five hundred poems later,
this one would have been midwifed a long, long time ago,
but at 4:32am, it’s all I got
rather than throw false news confetti on myself
from the rafters that don’t exist in a citified apartment,
I’ll reward myself with some
rock n’ pop,
a revisitation to the scene of the crime, and listen quiet like and maybe leak back to prone sleep,
in hopes that the rest of the gang,
hoping the words to a poem-in-transit,
“confetti is just tomorrow’s garbage”
gets off at my dreamy new subway stop
should the wordy birdies shotgun come sneaking in
thru the correct ear
i.e. not the sunken pillow one,
so I have half a fat chance of
recalling its dimensions in an hour,
when I wake up-officially,
fat chance
later, like 4:56am
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2471979/confetti-is-just-tomorrows-garbage/
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 5:03 AM UTC
I tiptoed into your garden delight,
with blue jays singing in my eyes.
Those little birdies,
in flight formation,
to and from
your nest.
We had met earlier at a bar,
happenstance,
lit the candlestick.
Now in the soft meadow,
our breaths gasping,
as the flame grew.
So wild and passionate.
Suspended passiveness,
a winner.
You clawed.
You bit.
You echoed.
Flesh ripped from my back,
black of the night screaming,
as your cat rose.
Our pent out clouds bursting into the rain.
Your tail a wagging,
wagging,
beckoning the blue jays
onto another flight.
Battle wounded
but feeling good.
Those little birdies,
found flight formation,
with a zip in their wings,
to and from
your nest.
The night stretched on,
planting a seed of friendship
beyond your garden delight.
Needed rain feed our drought.
And it was a hoot to perch
outside your window sill
the next night
and next
as you cupped your hands.
Logan Robertson
5/3/2018
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
something something little lamb
all these poems are so sad
Mary probably ate that lamb
'cause she probly had no dad
and Old Yeller up and died
at least that's what i've heard is said
but i've never seen the movie
its so old now, he's probably dead
the little mermaid got divorced
because she missed her family
Mulan's life was totally forced
had to be a man just to be free
Eric must have drowned
tryin to get his wifey back
and once a queen is crowned
her main job is in the sack
poems are like country songs
they only talk of what is sad
a long long list of all the wrongs
they're focusing on all the bad
and if you read them backwards
do you think it all is happy things
all positive and happy words
rainbows, butterflies and birdies sing
laughter was my honest goal
but now I'm done with rambling
negativity can take a toll
but I feel for all those suffering
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
It's a Thursday evening
and over par for the course I'm sitting
in a sandtrap.
The lie is bad,
I'm buried next to a watering hole
in the wall.
I can't get out.
The half truth is I'm a drunk
a sea of sorrows.
Even the dolphins, I shed no mercy.
The real truth is I'm ***
anchored to a barstool,
barnacles from the dead sea
hanging on the four legs.
If this bar stool ever came to life
the voice would bubble to the surface,
get me to dry dock.
How fortuitous the wind in my sails,
finding every sandtrap
and waving at the mothballs.
Blind to letting the barnacles take it's course.
Corrosion creeping up on me, like its
relative.
Who cares about the long lost voice
or the red ants at his picnic.
Or if Uncle lost his strokes he never had.
Did someone say shipwreck?
I order another double,
with fire in my eyes,
adding another burn to my stomach.
I look at the bartenderess
and my eyes don't lie.
She's my type.
My head tilts this way and that.
I see people starring back at me.
If only they knew how the ball bounces.
Logan Robertson
12/21/2018
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 9:22 AM UTC
The scene was chaos almost like black friday at El Wallmarto.
people being pushed around by gringo's who didnt
even own a pair of spandex tights.
Or even know the glory of winning a no holds barred naked lumberjack
with a ***** splintter match.
The people needed a hero.
they screamed for the legends return please poppi
save us from the ordinary.
My amigo's were persecuted and i sat helpless traped across the boader do to a bogus lack of green card.
I must have left it in my other tights.
but once again like a old man on crystal **** and ****** the champion has returned to claim his crown.
And to shake his groove thing all over Hello once again.
With the strength of a small well shaved bear.
And the eye's of a low flying seagull I shall drop some splatters
of wisdom apon my fellow amigos.
Chips and salsa for everyone .
no longer heartbroken from my hellcat seniorita Drew
yes her bite marks i wear proudly in places I need to tan.
Let the little gringos sing like pretty little birdies
and senoiritas run through the fields like in thoose not
so fresh comercials.
Go tell amigos everywhere pour the cervesa
For El ******** Rides again.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
The birdies bumping in my chest
are restlessly, fluttering
right to left
left to right
scurry birdies, take flight
I am impervious to your
songs tonight
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Eeyore the Dr. Ignorant,
Winnie the Pooh, ambulant,
On a walk in the woods,
Are they up to no good?
Winnie does say,
In his happiest way,
"Buzz, Buzz, buzz,
I wonder where the birdies was?
Whoops, in my eye, birdie's blip!
I guess that's what you call a gift! "
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
Life is full of little birdies
Whispering here and there
They sing and dance and flutter about
Overly eager to share
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 11:46 AM UTC
All birds of my heart were high in sudden curved of the azure sky where Enthusiasm and happiness flourishing directly in the magnificent immigration through
dance of wind and wine.
Swirling
and
Swirling
From north to south.
showing amazing absolutely, by exposing colorful long tails
from earth to clouds where human’s eyes rarely can magnify
How far? …
Don’t remember exactly
It was fire, water or turbidity dust of shapeless tornado in
unexpected curved of the grey road
that
All birds of my heart …all birds of one type
suddenly lost.
I...
Reluctant, morbid…feeling false
I…
in hours extend in duration of long time burn the expectations
as outcome,
waiting for
magnificent immigration may return them to their nest, on top of my heart.
maybe they die, maybe go far…
nurturing and nourishing them a lot,
how is it possible to stay without birds of height?
while
“Maybes” …has never grown any flower in any dust.
while
while...
the next immigration is not so far
… birdies…
Shall I see you again in the realm of my emotional yard?
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
Wind chimes softly sway in the warm breezes
Flowers grow in the fields with tall grass
Trees and roses bud
Water ripples and flows
Sunshine silently hits the ground
Clouds of fluffy white move across the sky
Birds sing in the tall green trees above
Springtime is here again for all
Little birdies build their nests
Daffodils and tulips waltz
Singing a song of Springtime
Watch the lilies bloom
Crocuses unfurl their petals
Crickets and katydids call
To one another on Spring Nights
Silently the Moon glides across the sky
All Night the beautiful Fairies sing
Waterfalls roar
Singing a glad anthem
Little creeks bubble and flow
'Tis a song of Spring
Sung by all
~Marian~
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
The chill of winter bites into the skin
And the valley sleeps in muffled din
In the freezing blustery winter night
The shivering trees stay huddled and tight
Stars have lined up in the sky
With cotton clouds swiftly sailing by
The moon light seeping through the veil
Makes the foliage glisten in the dale
Sharp noises sounding eerie
Leave the valley a place so scary
These sounds parley in a tongue unknown
Of gory tales, to none ever known
Did some cannibal tribe once congregate
In this nether territory to live segregate
What midnight revels had they held
No one knows and history remains cold
Now, here amid thickets and thorny shrubs
Where darkness, like a Fiend proudly struts
And in leaf fringed corners and crevices wide
Serpents coil with poisonous fangs in hide
Look, the sly fox walking stealthily away
After feeding greedily on his hapless prey,
Through the ravine and down the furrow
How he sneaks into his covert burrow
The glassy brook that mirrored the skies
Now in dark, under a thick blanket lies
But the water rushing through pebbles and rocks
With sonorous music, the nightly calm breaks
Among the branches of towering trees
Birds have perched and roost in peace
Little birdies with downy feathers
Cuddle under their mothers splayed wings
From far off woods comes a shrieking howl
As frightening as the hoots of a night owl
Wind, rushing through needle pines
Sounds like a child when he, in pain whines
Now the valley sleeps in muffled din
Until the Sun for his daily ritual parades in
In day light this valley would be up and awake
And life for sure will a renewed turn take
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
Sometimes I find myself lost
Hush, my love, hush
In the thoughts of others and
It isn't long now
I find I fall in love with 4 AM
For soon the birdies wake
Whose silent voice does speak
And the moon must partake
And sing the gentle songs of sleep
In his final, lonely bow
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC