Ormond Mar 2015
Little wings flutter
Morning starts with eyes smiling
Birdbath needs filling
armon Dec 2013
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds

Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws

There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade

I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height

So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view

Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling

Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog

I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place

Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing

I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna fuck their souls I wanna fuck them good
phocks Nov 2014
a warm dawning sun
rises slow on hazy horizons
with winds wildly
down endless
interconnected currents
we wake up
to birds singing
timeless songs of morning
and our forgotten past
leaves us hanging
like willows weeping
in the rain
from this year's nanowrimo novel
Weeping Willows was selected as the daily poem November 10, 2014
Melody W Nov 2012
Day and night, your mother labored
And expelled, (regrettably not
a swallow of a man)

your shivering feathers
tainted with tar and desire
already plotting my demise

without light, you grew
as the leech in my garden
fattened by my lifeblood

and robin unrelenting
hearts of their joy
cradles so innocent

yet, heron out
I’ll drown your toxicity
with torrents of forgiveness
©MW, lulz
"Birds are light
Birds fly
If I stop eating
I will be light
I will fly."

"No, baby. If you stop eating, you will disappear."

"I am already invisible."
While the globe crawls as
as my bill is thin,
I've got places to go,
sunsets to chase
and mighty, invisible wings
to feed, so

              bring on the sugar water!

Feathers flickering furiously;
sweet Jesus!
where are my feet?
I am BUZZING through today,
routes as long as my tongue
repeated in an
unbroken line
thousands of times,

              hey, PISS OFF, you goon!
              That's MY nectar!

Planning my daily rounds,
relying on the donations
of fans who eye my turf war
with childish glee

              and I hope
              beyond hope to see
              pitcher after sweet pitcher
              waiting for me

Because neglect is starvation,
an end to the thrum
of tiny hearts.
ic Mar 2014
on your shoulder blade,
i see birds flying
free onto your back,
free like you will never be.
Ron Tranmer Nov 2011
They say two birds in a bush
is better than one in hand.
Here’s the simple logic.
just so you understand…

Bird poop is, if you don’t know,
a yucky, gooey stink.
That’s why better in a bush…
don’t you really think?

Let them poop in bushes
that are very far away.
In a hand - is not that grand..
That’s all I have to say.
ThingsWillChange May 2014
Inspired by Divergent

The three birds,
Watch them fly away.
From the pages of the books,
Which almost lead them astray.

The Three Birds,
Soar through the sky.
Only to arrive,
In the blink of an eye.

The Three Birds,
Now circle around a girl..
They swoop down quickly,
Then unfurl.

The Three Birds,
Now rest upon her collar.
Resembling the girl's,
Brother, Mother and Father.
Atul Apr 2016
See this hollow trunk here,
It houses a parrot family now,
The elder tree let itself be pecked,
A woodpecker carved a home inside,
Then parrots came to the hollow,
It protects their children a lot,
Seldom do they thank God.

The woodpecker seeks the credit not.
Is it not just so beautiful?

I luckily live so close to mother nature that I see her in her almost virgin, undisturbed natural love.

My HP Poem #1066
©Atul Kaushal
chuckae Apr 2015

If birds had no wings
They wouldn't

If there was no darkness
Our stars wouldn't
a moment of thought
Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters -
I've a Tale to tell.

Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam,
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters -
That is what I am.

Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile,
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirkle -
Mouth a semicircle,
That's the proper style!

Little Birds are sleeping
All among the pins,
Where the loser wins:
Where, I say, he sneezes
When and how he pleases -
So the Tale begins.

Little Birds are writing
Interesting books,
To be read by cooks:
Read, I say, not roasted -
Letterpress, when toasted,
Loses its good looks.

Little Birds are playing
Bagpipes on the shore,
Where the tourists snore:
"Thanks!" they cry. "'Tis thrilling!
Take, oh take this shilling!
Let us have no more!"

Little Birds are bathing
Crocodiles in cream,
Like a happy dream:
Like, but not so lasting -
Crocodiles, when fasting,
Are not all they seem!

Little Birds are choking
Baronets with bun,
Taught to fire a gun:
Taught, I say, to splinter
Salmon in the winter -
Merely for the fun.

Little Birds are hiding
Crimes in carpet-bags,
Blessed by happy stags:
Blessed, I say, though beaten -
Since our friends are eaten
When the memory flags.

Little Birds are tasting
Gratitude and gold,
Pale with sudden cold:
Pale, I say, and wrinkled -
When the bells have tinkled,
And the Tale is told.
Softly spoken Oct 2011
Im successful head on my shoulders straight
I have my full portion love family job and money on my plate
Im the type to smile every time you see me
But i keep running into angry birds on the street
Im happy can have any girl i want
Im flawless what you see is what you get no need to stunt
I can be whateva a bitch need and i guess they see
And thats y you angry birds keep pecking at me
Gossiping throwing dirt on my name
Saying im not shit added by wanna be truths yall claim
Snatching my nerves one by one
Boiling my blood some one give me a gun
Im bout to go on a hunt for these angry ass birds
Naw not the game im not throwing you bitches at pigs
I dont need you hoes to get to the next level bitch please
But im about to toss you hoes straight rag you in the streets
Im feeling bad for you birds so every now and then i throw yall bread
And in return you hoes shitting on my head
Damn these angry birds
Tryna hatch hate on my life
Jealous cuz im a dove and they pigeons thats not right
For all my successful ladies who is a go getta for hers
When these bitches try to dog you, and pull you down just say i feel bad for these angry birds

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