"fledglings" poems
On days like this
cool, with little winds
desert birds forage for sticks
they build nests perched in cactus
some build green in palo verde trees
always I think of baby birds in spring
hatchlings, the fledglings that fly
I travel far beyond the noise of towns
watch the movement of cooling clouds
the roundness of rain upon the ground
the grey banked scurrilous skies
of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm
daisies that close, cold amid the stones
beneath where snakes and lizards go
slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros
and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
words fall
like hapless fledglings
tossed from a cliff edged nest
with much screeching, squawking,
countless feathers lost
and then an awful thump
or hopeful, glorious flight
first love is tachycardiac love
all adrenaline, sweating palms
and stutter-stumbling sqeakings,
ungainly gropings,
when not with you, mopings
unrealistic hopings
for happy ever after endings,
breakings, bendings,
awkward mendings,
repeated leavings,
repented lovings.
heartfelt givings,
of broken hearted rendings.
lendings,
of time stolen from life
tearing, teasing,
tantalising teamings
crying, begging,
pleading strife
and then,
the metaphorical knife
cutting, slashing,
wordblow bashing,
screaming, reaming,
end to loves life.
til eventually, words fall,
like old birds leavings
to settle, unremarked upon
at the base of the tree of life.
first love's loss, is slow dying.
arrhythmia to flatline
in a multitude of laboured breaths
and long lingering sighs.
a loss of warmth,
from breast and thighs
and water copious,
falling from red rimed eyes.
sobbing, murmuring,
don't know whys?
from lips turned
toward,
bleakset skies.
as one settles firmly,
into black dog muck
no longer able to give a f▼ck.
tucked in tight to sadness,
lost all sight of former gladness,
caught up and shackled tight,
to the badness
around and around,
the carousel goes.
then,
at last,
the blessed silence,
as you die
one of many of....
life's little deaths
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
I'm made of cobwebs, shaded grays,
echos faded by the murky streetlight;
Festive blobs signal the holidays -
and ricochet off me into the night.
.
A thick, dull fog 'tween me and them,
a brick wall no one can see;
seamless weights in my hem,
and dust inside what used to be me.
.
And then there's you, a year away,
wasted tears, and prayers null;
an end thought for each void day,
a whisper-scratch in my old hull.
.
The words avoid me, skittish things,
like birds that flutter fragile wings;
the right ones are only fledglings,
too young for new beginnings.
.
And I wish that I could care for cold,
worn out flat 'tween mortar and pestle,
a forlorn growth ring in a tree of old,
trapped inside a rotting vessel.
.
.
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 12:54 PM UTC
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu.
Make way for purple hollyhocks,
while crocus are just peeking through
last summer’s row of garden rocks.
Bulbs warm, thankful for frozen days.
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu.
Rime frost replaced with morning haze,
writing it’s own Spring song haiku.
Buds, blooms and fledglings hatching through
with colors for our hearts to swell.
‘Tis time to bid Winter adieu
at the sway of the first bluebell
No more snow's argent glitter gleam,
the Season’s bold promise rings true.
With the last broken ice downstream,
‘tis time to bid Winter adieu.
*Empat Empat
Early form of rhyming verse from Malaysia.
8 or 10 syllables per line.
A. b. a. b.
c. A. c. a.
a. d. A. d.
e. a. e. A.*
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Close to the woody glade
Hidden in the leafy shade
A smart robin built a nest
Like a cozy little chest
With twigs and leaves, it was made
Within it, four eggs she laid
She sat long brooding in her nest
Indeed it was a tedious test
One by one, the eggs were hatched
And four tiny birds that closely matched
Came out breaking the freckled shell
Making the Mother bird’s happiness swell
The mama enjoyed their sweet company
To her, boredom no more came to annoy
The nest rang with a chorus of song
It was made vibrant with a happy throng
The parent birds fed them taking turns
As they grew, for the sky they began to yearn
At times the fledglings stuck out their heads
Longing to leave their craggy beds
They found the sky blue and clear
Still they were under the clutches of fear
But they knew, outside lay true liberty
Before them stretched infinity
No more did they hesitate
Their mama’s movements they did imitate
They splayed and spread their wings
And into the sky, took off with steady beatings!
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
The minutia of cotton fledglings, I play them over and over
In my head, the most enjoyable, a layer of dynasty added to
The mallard kingdom. And a rocking horse swims across
Each pond too, its head heaves and nags creating massive, huge,
Undulating circles around circles. One more coat of gesso and then
Even I, in my speckled red paint Commune jeans, and holy holy Protestant tee shirt, I can travel the world; maybe even brush up on my
Cuyp.
Whipping through the sedge-brook grass, busting out, shooting Through the other mucilaginous nimbuses rolling
Outward first, then fled upward into the beacons of the heavens-
Shouting, whistling, oozing albicant heraldic pillars and shields.
Twenty more colours to mix.
Together, the mallards and ewes and rocking horse, and I;
prancing, little dots, filing into order. Where nursing
Against the sunken pillows of grain, I enter each round of
This papyrus jungle. Neatly folding my hands around each
Milky white shade, rushing out into the aurulent sunglow. .
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
a mother bird taking care
of her newly hatched fledgling,
raising her with love and regurgitation,
and a gentle, inevitable push out
of familiarity
everything the baby bird knew
shot up-away, as
she was thrown,
she threw herself,
and the earth pulled her
into a world of novelty and insanity
and energetic love of change.
the baby bird flies to
her young fledglings,
ready to love and regurgitate,
and gently push
with love in mind
and flight in sight.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
On days like this
cool, with little winds
desert birds forage for sticks
they build nests perched in cactus
some build green in palo verde trees
always I think of baby birds in spring
hatchlings, the fledglings that fly
I travel far beyond the noise of towns
watch the movement of cooling clouds
the roundness of rain upon the ground
the grey banked scurrilous skies
of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm
daisies that close, cold amid the stones
beneath where snakes and lizards go
slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros
and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Far away, over the monstrous gray summits
As dusking shadows crept stealthily on,
When night had turned stygian
And glow worms had begun throwing flickers of light
Like sequins stitched onto a flowing velvet gown,
When night sky had thus turned
Into a rare configuration of light and shade
When in the west was burning a solitary star
And like a one man army, it valiantly blocked
The advance of infiltrating clouds,
When fledglings cuddled for warmth
Under their mother’s flayed wings
When cicadas were chanting their litany in shrill monotone,
When the breeze whispered sweet nothings in my ear
And autumn leaves in strong gale
Flew about and nosedived into their ebony bed,
When my conscious thoughts evaporated
And I was left to linger in a semi stupor,
I knew a familiar spirit visiting me unsought
With the passion of a lover eager to subdue;
Morpheus with the scent of poppy leaves all about him
To lure my soul to bliss and chill the heat of weary toil
By the indulgent grip of his masculine hands
He took me on his wings to uncharted oceans and fairy isles
And finally to his secret chamber for a date
Making me swoon in secreted ecstasy!
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 8:05 AM UTC
In sandaled feet we stroll beside the hedgerow
And Satan’s nettle bites with wicked teeth;
But doctor leaf is growing in abundance:
Open all hours to provide relief.
For God created all things bright and wondrous
And took his rest upon the seventh day;
Then evil set to work with Mother Nature
And led the birds and beasts and bugs astray.
The owl and hawk prey upon helpless creatures:
Vole, shrew and rabbit are their daily bread;
While fox sneaks up and steals the farmer’s poultry
And banquets when the farmer’s in his bed.
Way up above our heads in lofty tree tops
A greater crime’s committed than the rest:
The infant cuckoo murders all his siblings,
By pushing eggs and fledglings from the nest.
Survival of the fittest is important
In order for a species to survive;
If only dodos had been more aggressive-
Then those peculiar birds might be alive.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
From the framed picture hung on the wall
Two faces look nobly down
The faces of my grandma and grandpa
Taking me to the times gone by
Smiling at their wavering progeny,
They retell the saga of their blissful life
A life of selfless share and care
Inspiring generations in their travail
Curling back to times and climes primeval
I hear the sound of their footfalls aloud
In a humble dwelling, joyfully they lived
As children of the soil with hands full of toil
They worked together from dawn to dusk
Greeting every new dawn with fresher zeal
Their hearts were securely fastened in love
And had needs minimum and complaints nil
Two fountains that sprang from sources different
Had merged together before their early teens
Through wedlock they had been customarily bound
At a time when they hardly knew what it meant
Had played together as buddies for long
Until instinct made them man and wife
When fledglings were hatched in their little nest
They worked together never knowing rest
Hit by adversities hard, at times they sank very low
But with resilience, bounced back
And frugally saved every nickel and dime
To meet the needs of their growing household
They tottered together in the evening of their life
Serving as prop to each other when about to fall
In their twilight years, ambling the corridors of memory
They reminisced sweetly the joyful events of life
Now they lie together in the same churchyard
Two streams that evenly and tranquilly ran side by side
Never once been shattered on the rocks and shoals of life
Making one wonder if their life is History or Fable
In the swelling magnitude of our life
Though trivial was their share
Yet they stay as beacons of light
Leaving a trail of light to blaze our paths
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
grasping
clutching
ribs expand
over
frenzied
beating hearts
forcing amber sparks
through burning veins
you've turned my will
to fire
with your touch
i see triumph
in your eyes
as beleaguered souls take flight
their flame-lapped talons bear
our husks of memories
away from this destruction.
feather kisses on fevered wrists
courage on coal-smudged cheeks
I turn to you and learn to fly—
escape these smoldering ruins
like fledglings born again
trust in newfound wings,
our scars and burns forgotten
smoke and flames still in your hands
so let me hold them, let me soar
live in the sky again
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Close to our ancestral home
Is an ancient champak tree
It now stands almost leafless n’ bare
With its face turned to the sun and sky
Once from far, everyone could see
This lush green Champak tree
It stood in all beauty and grace
And carpeted the ground in fallen blooms
Its lovely blossoms were so redolent
Like tube roses, heady and fragrant
In its dark and leafy glade
How as children, we sat and played
Men weary of work in its sprawling shade
Were sheltered from the heat of midday sun
Once it was a bower of sylvan ease
And on its boughs, birds merrily sang
Rustled in wind and shaken in storm
It braved the inclement weather all these years
With its roots boring deep into the ground
Nothing could uproot the tree from its base
How many stories it has to tell
How many robins roosted in its verdure
How many fledglings took wings into the sky,
From the tiny nests built on its twigs
Now its ancient trunk and gnarled branches
Proclaim sadly that it is about to wither
The tree has just turned itself into
A ghostly shadow of its former self
But the fragrance of these champak flowers
Which still bless the tree in one and two
As if determined to proclaim themselves
Continue to perfume the surrounding air
This tree is much like my ancestral home
Once it was the seat of life and bounty
Now it stays desolate and empty
Spreading memories sweet and fragrant
What solid shelter the house once gave
And how my parents fulfilled their task
Putting all they had into making it a sweet home
That nurtured three generations of our family!
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
Lovers watch Eagles . . .
Mountain dreams of fledglings nest,
. . . Childless in valley.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
The water’s new
Purpose is to carry the old salmon into the Earth.
To harbor the young, watch them grow,
Show them the ways and streams of life.
It brings them with current’s flows
Down the river where the flow recycles.
After the offspring are born, their body recycles
Into the river where the new glimmering fish swim up stream in a new
Trail. A river that curves like a beaten path pushes down on the fish when it flows
Underneath the soil and Earth.
This is where the lowest forms of life
Live in the dark and cold but always grow.
As I age, I grow
When I die, my body recycles.
I realize that I know how to love life.
I will come back replenished and new.
My body is one with the Earth,
My spirit roams and flows.
I am the river in the morning rays of sun that flows,
I am the blooming golden sunflower will grow,
I am the animal of all different shapes and sizes that belong to the Earth.
I live because of the recycles,
Like the grass that is long and not new.
I am all of nature’s life.
Soft, mossy grass that I step on is pulsing with life.
It moves and flows
In and out of the old and new.
With its knowledge it learns to grow.
It creates, destroys, and recycles
Land, rivers, oceans, and the Earth.
My sun streaked curls lay gently on the Earth
As I hear the ground race and scurry with life.
The past turns, contracts, and recycles.
A faint thunder of the brook is heard as it bends and flows.
Here in the trees, I have watched the young fledglings grow,
I let myself go, as I turn my body in and turn old to new.
The sun comes up new and warm. It heats the Earth
As it grows in the sky and brings the plants to life.
When the sun goes down, the moonlight flows and the sky recycles.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 1:42 PM UTC
Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch
for the mothers of Gaza
There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.
What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?
Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough ...
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—
what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?
Keywords/Tags: Gaza, mothers, touch, tenderness, dove, shelter, wing, coos, sings, babies, fledglings, love, god
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 2:45 AM UTC
beautiful blackbirds
ebony adorned from head to foot
camouflaged for stealth
in shadows and night time sky
sleek sateenic sheen
iridescence of well oiled machine
efficient avian predators
ruthless in their call
attacking nested eggs and fledglings
with never ending caw
boldly bantering by day
foraging in parks, parking lots, streets and alleys
searching for food with eerie, ethereal, slow motion hops
seemingly phasing, at will, out of sync with time
ancient spirit travelers to another plane
they watch the world with weary eyes
spying and recording the day’s events
atop skies, trees and telephone lines
then whispering into the ears
of gods and poets and cornfields
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 1:23 PM UTC
The bodies of paradise
are the fledglings of humanity--
little chicks
that peeped for love
and instead found
what we attempt to purge.
Which is reality
instead warping
and mourning
the placate scene
into what our creation
has never meant to be.
I've become fond of
literature and statutes
that line a facetious library.
One which mangles
others from stepping inside
yet holds the truest heart.
My finest lines
are not those spoken
but those read
from paper or stone,
because
it is only
to those un-living
the crēvit are not divined
and which Veritas,
can come find
Amor est vitae.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:57 AM UTC
On the street edgings
spring
pharmacists,
fledglings,
peddling their wares and
nobody cares.
More people are done by drugs people have done
and it's not any fun
anymore.
I leave them alone now and get
by without them,
somehow
life seems a
lot better.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:07 AM UTC
How will you know
When you pass through a forest
If your eyes are
Glued to the road
How will you see all the life
That abounds
If your eyes are
Always closed
How will you hear
All the sounds in the air
How will you witness
The beauty that’s there
If you can’t spare a minute
For the red breasted Linnet
Or the little green Finch
And her operatic pitch
Or just for a moment
Stop to admire
The dappled twig arbors
And the great blue sky
Heaven has spilled out
All of her flavors
And all of this beauty
Is just yours to savor
If you stop for a second
The Larks song is pliant
Her cantor an echo
That her fledglings can follow.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Song bird,on the branch on the top,
of my tree of life, you wake me up
with sweet twitter, each day a new one,
to my bitter sighs you give your ears,
day and night and remain my true comfort,
in every change of weather, may it be
monsoon torrent, winter freeze or spreading gloom
Little bird you know this well
never ever would I take you for granted,
you are the spirit that bring me cheer,
keep my nest such a quiet space for peace.
take the fledglings,under your sturdy wings
keep your glad eye on my desires that
seldom sleeps day or night, till it's told.
In this nest, it's your hallow that fills, spills out, too
in every twig of this nest we built, is the mark
of your efficient beak, that worked to move it there!
Petite you are,but it's so deceptive
my talisman and shield, none but you are that,
if my songbird's eyes by chance fill,my heart bleeds!
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
*Precious , precocious Bluebird fledglings ,
seeking their bravado in the Red Tip hedges
Ruby Hummers running circles 'round Swallowtail dancers ,
Anoles playing tag in the Red Rose bramble
Chipmunks hard at work 'neath the Weeping Willow canopies ,
Bumblebees and Yellowjackets claim the stone- fruit
trees while aromatic Gardenia , Magnolia and Pine Sage belong
to Paper Wasp , Honey and Cuckoo Bees
The Sunshine a long lost lover , the broom sage a friend
yet discovered
Cherokee brothers visit the Chattahoochee lowlands , Thor
rumbles on the Alabama border , the sky a mosaic of brilliant
hues , purple flowered grasslands and Morning Glory blues*
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
*The way we love
is deep ocean rolling
into the depths
parts unknown
quickened
reanimating
as her hips sway in my mind
to a melodious Adagio
and every day,
when we talk
she unravels
like the threads of a scanty dress
more exposed
our souls held
in a steady grip
caressed at first
like nested fledglings
open mouths begging
blood bells weeping
liquefied
swallowing each others souls
like bears
eat up-leaping salmon
pink tongues
frothy saliva
blood
and runny roe sacks
loves hungry mouth
merciless
a ***** head
a brute
storming her *****
sweet fluttering nightingale
singing the high notes
she opened
like queen snake
pierced to the core
royal lady weeping
lost in heaven
and then cut off
we hang up the phone
left longing
for more words
and
butter kisses,
eating
butter kisses
mixed with
whisper cocktails
a sea of fire
that singe and burn
our love
a flaming pink cloud
puff
brains like cheese melts
mouths like powder fizz
our feet and thighs
flexed and scorched
by lurid desire
and if it gets murky
if the fog blinds us
we hold a tender stretch
of vastness
and endless lighted torches
as the lifeline pulls through
a pulsing chord
Umbilicus
binding hearts
by threads of light and crimson plush
fused by cosmic fires white
hollowing parched sockets
pumping out epiphanies
in beaten silken swords
bursting
full of faith
spines like temple columns
i am free to love her
as trees cradle monarchs
both of us
children of the heavens
she
dark lover yielding
in lustful throngs
as we thrill
in the realm of the senses
like dancing flowers
in sprinkles of dew and light
as love blushes
and shimmers up around us
like rhythms of a thousand kissing eyes
undulating
penetrates sinews and the body electric
like winged Venus
when two souls
love each other
unbreakable
yet obstructed
by oceans and continents
a colossal brood of lands
while beneath
shrug tectonic groans
our love
air and fire
while flesh remains
un-thawed by proximities neglect
panes of ice
waiting
waiting
waiting
*
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC