"birdland" poems
^¡^
everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar
some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets
ALL
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
If Charlie Parker
Could hang his hopes
That someone
In some lost corner of history
Could blow a soaring reunion
With birdland fingers
Tremble dancing in flock
Then in this sapphire of an evening
His old ghost
Is pushing thermals for
These wings of notes to wander in
As they search for some secret progression
That unlocks the amber stairway
To the burgundy heaven of jazz
Drink long enough and swint your eyes
And you might almost mistake the
Stage lights for halos
This was a resurrection in B flat
That curved its broken body into the great throat of god
And begged us to come drink deep
From the red wine redemption of his voice
What else could we do but fill our glasses
And sip our way into sainthood
Off the liquid sound of heavens saxophone
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Music fills her soul
as different
melodies capture her moods
who hasn't yearned
for that country
somebody did somebody wrong song
or just feeling
crazy
or want to jazz it up with
a little of the Latino explosion
visiting Birdland when all else fails
dancing the night away to Donna
saving that last dance for someone special
chilling to the smooth blues' riff
as Michael Grimm crones
how you don't know him
every now and then
when the mood is
right
moonlight sonata calls
and romance and roses win the night
who can resist
when a gal's
in the mood
or sitting before a campfire
signing of the harvest moon
sometimes a body just feels lost
looking for a way to get "closer to god
and f#@*%ing like an animal
to feel alive
or banging it out
to AC/DC
beebooping to Madonna or Lady Gaga,
or justifying that
bad love
trying to convince
yourself
that you like the way he lies
maybe relaxing and
using your imagination
while you talk about stupid girls
and all that garbage
listening to the B52s
and
doing the rock lobster
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
One bird sings a swan song
Lonesome on the telephone wire
Staring down at his fallen flock
A ****** of decay
Rotting in the hot desert sun of Birdland
Slim pickings for the vultures in this angry bird massacre
Apr 25, 2011
Apr 25, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
Broken flight
They went down somewhere
in the trees
The sky is sad
and full of remorse
But never Calliope
Broadway and 52
God knows
they got to you
She sings songs
of their misfortune
Decidely the muse and
mother of importune
Aug 31, 2020
Aug 31, 2020 at 7:22 AM UTC
~
•she sounds her clarion call... •
•to birds of every feather•
•be they large or small•
•heavenly… everyone•
•for they are angels all!•
•‘calling all angels,’•
•with quill in-scribe•
•with prose enthrall•
••winged lovelies••
•leave your fight•
•find respite from•
•••migration's•••
•••• flight••••
•each to take•
•your sacred•
•••place•••
••within••
••these••
hallowed
•halls.•
•••
••
•
~
*post script.
"birdland" by SoulSurvivor
the inspiration for this one.
she who loves unconditionally
is also one who others coalesce round.
and whether she chose it or no,
she is nonetheless a leader among us,
a bird to which we flock.
you who know her well will agree,
as one who shares so unabashedly
and who in such intimate detail
shares her daily struggle
and her daily triumphs,
and who encourages soooo freely,
she is herself a joy to read;
and is one i can say without reservation,
she defines "friend"!!
much love to you, SoulSurvivor!*
if you've not "met" her,
or ever read her poems,
begin with this one:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1546434/birdland/
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
Don’t stop me now!
Baby, it’s cold outside,
tears in heaven
in a foggy day,
and mine are
the emptiest arms in the world…!
I dreamed a dream
beside an open fireplace,
entered the tunnel of love.
Don’t stop me now,
lover man!
Come softly to me,
see the shape of my heart
in my words of love.
Don’t stop me now,
let it be,
this tangled up blue,
my heart on the mend.
One step closer,
lover man,
ain’t no sunshine
if we keep
love on the rocks.
Don’t stop me now…
I’ll bring you a rainbow
with all the colors of the wind!
Follow the yellow brick road,
I’ll meet you halfway!
I’ll tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree,
by the moon river,
and we’ll
imagine
a stairway to heaven!
Baby, come to me
dance with me,
cheek to cheek,
whisper in my ear
a lullaby of birdland.
Don’t stop me now…
If you go away
when will my life begin…?
Castles are made of sand…
I can see clearly now.
Raindrops keep falling in my head
and autumn leaves are
blowing in the wind…
I say a little prayer for you
and then
something stupid,
like
I love you
and
- don’t stop me now -
I fall
asleep.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
If you drive out through the farmland far enough,
eventually you'll come to the villages of four-bedroom houses,
and this is where I'm from.
At night, sometimes, while I'm back visiting you can hear me say,
"O Birdland, my how you've grown. But all the while
all the places that line my memories remain."
Now us children are spread from shore to shore,
on different land carrying different flags.
Now Birdland, waiting, grows on;
stretching to reach for the lost and the wandering,
shifting, unsure of what is missing.
"O Birdland all the while, all the houses
that inhabit our past remain."
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
everyone has a voice here
every note will flow
some of us are nightingales
some of us are crows
some of us are magpies
collecting shiny things
some of us canaries
which in the coalmine sing
some of us are larks
singing in the copse
some of us are ravens
gathered 'round a corpse
some are Laughing *******
who scream to beat the band
some of us are ostrich
with our heads in sand
some of us can "Twitter"
how we love our "tweets"!
some of us are silly coots
with funny orange feet!
some of us are toucan
with beaks that are outgrown
some of us are parrots
with a beak that's not our own
some of us are robins
hopping on the lawn
some of us are lovely
angelic, graceful swans
some of us are mockingbirds
yes, you could fit that bill
some are birds with feathers
which make a lovely quill
some of us are peacocks
great beauties, but a bore
some of us are hawks
which o'r deep canyons soar
some of us are eagles
symbols of our call
I welcome you to
birdland
where we are poets
ALL
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/4/2016
All except for the parrots.
They need to be plucked!
What kind of bird are YOU?
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 1:39 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It wasn’t fit for livin’ in
But 106 Rivington
Was where musicians got it in
And some of ‘em even began
Where drummers let loose on their drums
A rat tat tat ba-rum *** ***
From all over we would come
To play and hear 'em play their drums
106 Rivington
May not have been worth living in
But was ideal for playin when
We needed space to practice in
Like Birdland sadly it is gone
And sumthin’ ‘bout that feels so wrong
Though memories no doubt live on
And we’ll just have to move along
We can’t complain because it’s done
We all had one hell-of-a-run
Not to mention lots of fun
Here’s to the setting of the sun
Some will lament others will morn
A part of history now is gone
But there will be another dawn
And we will play another song
106 Rivington
May not have been worth living in
But was ideal for playin when
We needed space to practice in
Given the low rent we paid
It was like one big parade
At 106 friendships were made
From the foundations that we laid
But times moves on and so must we
What the future holds we’ll havta see
Guess we’ll just have to let it be
Cos I don’t know so don’t ask me
Some will lament others will morn
A part of history is now gone
But we will play another song
And there will be another dawn
106 Rivington
May not have been worth living in
But was ideal for playin when
We needed space to practice in
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
You have to find your centre
Embraced we have to find the core
Delusional are paths of poetry
Some blond chrisp chiks
Started a raging fire
Recognizing
A turmoil
But she
Is
Not
A silly
Birdland
She's your cat
She loves your car
Driven words of despair
Now stop it stop it stop it
Embraced taping on my back
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
in the swollen eve of night,
we are light trilling on boughs
and the same bird that arrives
in the morning
is the same bird that abandons us
in the evening,
half-illuminated in flight,
surrounded by the quake of the world,
i take this edge of silence
and its shine-meshed motions
propping up the shadow and defeating
it after with no hesitation, no sallow contrition, no ravening contention;
the night's tenement is the
same clout of daylight's lulled out prisoner: take honestly by saying laughter
and its meager dance frothing in the mouth, shying away into atrial flutters.
feasting in the wind, unfettered, loosely
ambling like waters set free in the vein
of the autumnal world
we've gone where nobody else went,
scared of our freedom, our reluctance to glance back at our petrified images,
willed with a different fire we didn't know our hearths possessed,
on and on, past cathedrals,
past synagogue bells which word not
our names, only the mornings we have
scattered and recollected, bannering
through our lives, separate, joining all
that has defied their deaths,
the unscathed flowers of the garden
and the sheen of whose eyes lost
their youthful glint,
on and on,
never returning, mapping
a labyrinth of its own.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
It wasn’t fit for livin’ in
But 106 Rivington
Was where musicians got it in
And some of ‘em even began
Where drummers let loose on their drums
A rat tat tat ba-rum *** ***
From all over we would come
To play and hear 'em play their drums
106 Rivington
May not have been worth living in
But was ideal for playin when
We needed space to practice in
Like Birdland sadly it too is gone
And sumthin’ ‘bout that feels so wrong
Though memories no doubt will live on
And we’ll just have to move along
We can’t complain because it’s done
We all had one hell-of-a-run
Not to mention lots of fun
Here’s to the setting of the sun
Some will lament others will morn
A part of history is now gone
But there will be another dawn
And we will play another song
106 Rivington
May not have been worth living in
But was ideal for playin when
We needed space to practice in
Given the low rent that we paid
It was like being in one big parade
At 106 friendships were made
From the foundations that we laid
But times moves on and so must we
What the future holds we’ll havta see
Guess we’ll just have to let it be
Cos I don’t know so don’t ask me
Some will lament others will morn
A part of history is now gone
But we will play another song
And there will be another dawn
106 Rivington
May not have been worth living in
But was ideal for playin when
We needed space to practice in
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2017. All rights reserved.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
Idk
I don't know witch side I'm on
I can't tell my left from right or
my right from wrong
Us 3 say I'm a fool, say I'm nothing
but like a Canta loop
in our Birdland
You are there
Ik
5 minutes ago
Jul 6, 2024
Jul 6, 2024 at 1:46 PM UTC
A green light shone and like ectoplasm lay over Yesterday’s
intuition of the future. Tomorrow suspended in the wriggling
fate of jelly before colloidal dawn. it transformed
when Tomorrow leaked out and became an animal
of almost ravenous occasion. hungry for blood
certainty. A tooth fanged for the squalor of success
without colon for the enemy of despair. I was there
when Jesus Christ transmuted miracle
into a happening. when Freud proclaimed:
Dreams are the crumpled chickenscratchnotes
in the fist of all beginnings. when Charlie Parker
played Stravinsky to Stravinsky
at Birdland. when Borges transcribed
those notes. and heard Cervantes laugh.
When Woolf confounded Odysseus, and
found Homer, oldcouragebearded, grinning
on the other side of three millennia. Was I there
before the green light. yes,
we were all there.
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 4:39 AM UTC