"songbird" poems
My beloved, tonight it is more than perfect, the zephyr winds sing so
sweetly your name and the crystal stars shine like your earrings.
As the White Mountains glint gracefully, and the wind speaks
over our fingers, upon our balcony, let’s dance, my beloved.
Now over the thousand streams and star crystals in the air,
You can see our prayers fill up the milky rivers in the sky.
Below the lights of Christmas, before the blue rivers of stars,
let’s dance like the shadows and the circles of the moonlight.
Now dreams rise over like the wind and shine so easily
But time falls quickly, and worries fall away so slowly.
So let the rage of your fears dance around and under your legs.
For the world is falling asleep, calling for the colors of their dreams.
So let the tresses of your hair fall freely,
And the wind of your perfume
Soak up the flames of your heart.
Spinning like the starlight, tasting every feeling,
Let the steel blue sky and its stars fall all around you.
Dance wildly, my beloved, let's dance like the songbird who sings,
let’s dance forever, until we wash into the skyline of our dreams.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago
You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen
There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif
But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey
There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death
But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:
he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
.
He liked to gather up the silence in the springtime
Pack it up and carry it in an old timeworn leather rucksack
From a distance it looked like he was a senseless fool
Picking up handfuls of nothing; then putting it in an empty jar
No mind is paid to the fleeting glance in the corner of a stranger's eyes
They were out of reach from the box he was living in
He kept gathering up the endless silence like missing pieces of a lost soul
It seemed to be everywhere ― and in it heard, the only voice he knew
Supposing all his thoughts pondered come forth of silence
Often resting sheltered beneath branches where it grew on the trees ―
It wasn't just the songbird that broke the stillness in dappled sunlight
It was the dearth of love that rivers through a strong heartbeat’s
silenced words ...
Jesse Stillwater
04 May 2018
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
Upon the dark night, striking three;
A tick representing each step in time,
but time overwhelmed by a trinity
of peace, and a plan greater than one's wildest dreams.
As the trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
a bird sings unto the dark night her song, unique, sweet, and free-spirited
Another beauty upon the night, a tulip,
blossoming, not fully grown, in admiration of this free spirit, the bird.
The tulip observes from a distance the song the bird sings
A praise, a never ending thankfulness
"Thank You for the trees,
Thank You for the waves,
And thank You for me," the bird sings.
In awe of the song bird, the tulip longs to grow, to blossom, to fly, to sing;
Oh, the joy, the praise, the song she'll bring
when fully grown to exemplify her thanks to the three
But, Hold! The clock ticking three, a breath He takes.
The songs of beauty the bird once sang
are silenced more than a whisper
Oh, dear, wilting Tulip; she wonders,
"Why?" she misunderstands, "Why has the bird's song been hushed?"
Oh, so joyful with praise, the songs she sang,
but now unto another Audience, unheard by the flower;
However, the sun rises, the flower realizes,
A new day is upon her. The trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
Waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
Just like any other day.
Partaking in full bloom overnight, grown, she hears the call of three:
You're unique, sweet, and your free-spirit will sing,
for the steps of time past quicker than the steady rhythm of that clock ticking
Fly free, song bird,
Your legacy will only grow sweeter with time
As the bloom of a tulip smiles and praises the One unto which your song once thrived.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
pretty girl with her head in a book,
trapped inside a silver tower,
dreaming of places that don’t exist.
handsome man with his heart on his sleeve,
trapped inside his mind,
dreaming of his daughter that doesn't exist.
gorgeous city filled with gorgeous people,
happy smiles and happy laughs.
it’s a lie and they know it.
handsome man tries to save pretty girl
but she’s already saved herself,
with the help of her dreams of places that don’t exist.
songbird comes along and they don’t know what to do.
handsome man wants to **** him. destroy him. end him.
pretty girl feels songbird’s sadness and cries for him.
handsome man can’t bear to see pretty girl cry,
so he lets songbird go.
pretty girl smiles and handsome man can’t breathe.
pretty girl and handsome man discover the city together.
from the seedy underground fight clubs
to the high society tea parties.
handsome man doesn't fit in at tea parties.
pretty girl seems to blend right in.
handsome man’s eyes never leave her.
pretty girl feels his eyes on her and
she turns away to hide her cheeks turning a dusty pink.
pretty girl doesn't look him in the eye anymore.
songbird comes back and tries to take pretty girl.
handsome man sees red and kills him.
pretty girl’s heart mourns for songbird.
pretty girl spits words at him like knives,
he flinches as they cut him.
handsome man doesn't look her in the eye anymore.
pretty girl wants him to leave.
handsome man walks away and doesn't look back.
pretty girl lied.
handsome man finds himself
back in the seedy undercity.
bloodied knuckles, broken nose and a black eye.
pretty girl finds herself
wandering the city’s streets,
wishing handsome man was there.
pretty girl finds him in the gutter
with blood running down his face.
he still looks handsome.
handsome man struggles to speak.
blood seeping from between his lips
and his broken teeth.
handsome man tells pretty girl he can’t bear to see her cry.
pretty girl cries even more.
handsome man isn’t handsome anymore.
handsome man dies in pretty girl’s arms.
this isn’t how the stories go.
she was supposed to save him.
pretty girl is on a warpath.
handsome man would hate to see her now.
dark red lips and an unforgiving gaze.
pretty girl is tired.
she hates what she’s become.
she wants to see handsome man.
pretty girl dies in a back alley
with a gun in her hand, pressed to her head.
pretty girl isn’t pretty anymore.
pretty girl, pretty girl, with your head in the clouds,
haven’t you read the stories? don’t you know?
the handsome man always dies.
handsome man, handsome man, with your love in your eyes.
haven’t you read the stories? don’t you know?
the pretty girl never survives.
pretty girl, handsome man,
don’t you know?
the heroes fall and the city falls with them.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
There's singing
out my window
on
rue molière
and I swear it
is a bird
(perhaps)
the sound
of dripping
honey
or the agony
I feel when
I feel your
eyes on mine and
I can only look
away
And air through a pipe is
a bird is
a flower is
(you are)
lavender honey,
and a songbird, all the same.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
I'd like to catch a songbird when I visit.
One that only lives near your house,
One I've never heard.
I'd like to catch a songbird,
And have it sing for me
The songs you hear each morning.
I'd like to watch the moon when it rises.
Lifting itself over the earth, reflecting
As it passes my window.
I'd like to watch the moon,
The same white moon
That you might be watching tonight.
I'd like to hold the wind in a mason jar.
The warm little south wind
That chuckles and breezes northward.
I'd like to hold it down,
Whisper my hellos into its gales,
And let it go darting off northwards -
Whistling and running like a fugitive
To you.
Jun 16, 2011
Jun 16, 2011 at 3:11 AM UTC
A lake as still as still — a cloudless sky —
A bird-less forest — silent as the page,
That monk-like sits reflecting for an age
On pious deeds exalted upon high,
The page gilded in wisdom, lauded by
Its maker’s peers, wherein is set the stage
For Nature’s bountied beauty — I give homage
Unto its gifted craftsman, one that I
Have oft’ with envious eyes admired afar,
And matchless to his art, have grasped for skill
Far far above my grade — From him to me
Has come a gift as bright as Keats' Bright Star —
Unto thy lake, may this stone rend the still,
And loose thy songbird skywards, Timothy.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 3:14 AM UTC
*It's not the haze of the early morning
taking up your side of the bed
that tells me it's time to pretend
you weren't here again last night.
It's not the gaze of a silent songbird
peering at me through the window
that tells me it's time to act
like I don't know who you were.
It's not anything I can pinpoint
or explain, convey, or describe
that would let you know how much
I wish this wasn't so.*
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 10:30 PM UTC
there is wonder and grace
tangled in your curls,
and the night stars have
made your eyes their dwelling place.
and your heart is a garden
with blooming flowers of
joy and beauty, bringing
life and light to the darkness.
hope and heaven live
in your bones,
and in your soul a
songbird sings a melody
of love.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
all day long, their banging disturbed me at my work
startling me from my reverie, lost deep in the world
of I Wish I Had A Heart Like Yours, Walt Whitman
the birds, returned early from wherever it is they hide
during the long winter, have come to fling themselves
against the over-sized picture window in my living room,
songbird pitch themselves into my poet's dull daytime
so that i am moved to rise from my desk, to look out,
to seek a bird flying away, or peer down to search for the
tiny body maybe roosting among the stalks of the overgrown
hydrangea, which captured autumn’s maple leaves, worn
like a Chicago matron's mink to keep the winter chill at bay
and, as the spring surrenders to the warmer days, i mow the
brightly greened grass, innocently cutting row after row,
to turn finally to the narrow strip nearest the picture window,
a mixture of grass, dried leaves and tiny twigs, all mulched
by the power mower, where i discover these dessicated bodies
exhumed from shallow graves at the base of the newly leafed
hydrangea, their stiff, dry feathers bristly, colored a washed
out grey, tiny feet tightly balled, with all the soft parts missing
and the beaks a startling white, as though bleached, bright against
the dullness of the little corpses which seem to have sunk into
the mosses of the yard, so that they lay preserved below the blade
for the first late-spring chore -- mowing the bird bone garden
i sleep with the bedroom window ajar despite the overnight chill
and dream of the memory of birds, their shapes, their white beaks
and, still, the bird songs wake me in the cool green spring morning
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
as fragile
as a songbird -
her hands
knotted and spotted
from many winters
november came one last time -
i held her hands in mine - gently
- gently, she flew away
to where songbirds go
when it's cold in the mountains.
r ~ 11/18/14
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
Robin hums as she tends her garden
while birds perch all around
waiting for rustling seeds
to fill the slender columns.
Humming birds hover
to sip sweet nectar mixed for them alone.
On concert nights her voice takes flight.
and fills the hall with her radiant soul.
On quiet mornings
graphite joins with paper
and a flower's form and meaning
are captured by her vision.
A friend fallen ill or reeling from loss
receives her gift of comfort words
and a card or meal soon follows.
Grandchildren rush to greet her
and happily fill her arms.
at night they cloak themselves
In love quilts sewn by Grandma’s hands.
If you want to learn how love abides
or long to know its fullness
follow my Robin for a day
Her gift is in the gifting.
July, 2006
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
Non compartmentalized, thus trenchant...
an unbeknownst poetic
songbird picked its patch of blue to fly home
to.
A wet one, soppy...one-offed and kissable sun,
monk-ocher... presents its only case...clearly through
him...to you.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
Something different
Something full of potential
Something unlike anything other
Something determined
Something strong
Flying through the sky,
Singing a soulless song.
Above the doubt of the world
Above the worries and pain
No more sadness and sorrow
That will wait for another day
Voice ringing,
Painting a tune,
Upon a azure sky.
Alone
Considering life
Had I followed the flock
Yet I regret nothing
I stand alone
Shining
I shine among the stars
Among the planets
Among the sun, the moon
I shine
Rising
Above the others
To a better future
To a better life
Rising above all the stars in the sky
I rise
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Let the songbird sing
Beautiful melodies rise
Sing songbird, please sing
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though glass, it is rimmed with gold
around the cup, handle and even the
saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums
of various shades; the vermilion horizon,
Spring's honey, songbird's magenta,
sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast
and the Aegean sea.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then, there are three sightly tea
caddies with lacquered wooden bodies;
one rosewood with red dancing fans,
one burr-oak with golden mountainous
landscape and one maple wood with
green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes
each of their lids by using the cloth, and
presents the pearls that were wrapped
in sun-kissed foil.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards
me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent.
Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes
me to the far distant Province of Yunnan,
past the snow-kissed mountains and rice
terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that
it began to bubble before a large splash
rose.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian,
the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend.
With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking
the sunlight. It's great body now entwined
in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with
eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned
with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips
around in the air, leaving an iridescent
trail of colours.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a great leap, he soars through
the air, trumpeting his great roar
that rattles the skies. Just as quickly
as he rose, he descends down with
a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By
the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker,
the small Moon cracks, presenting me
it's contents, a long kept secret.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The pearls are the colour of seaweed
with streaks of yellow and burnt umber.
With earthy notes whirls around my
nose, along with some floral sweetness,
burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and
a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great
guarded secret that he reveals to me!
His best pearls ferment in the womb
of the Moons! Purified by the Star
Virtues of Elysia's Harmony!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,'
I say, my eyes now open.
'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!'
'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's
very unique in smell and taste. I will
save such fine broth for another day.'
Ainhana nods, places on the tray and
lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my
eyes once again and my mind
wanders yet again.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
When, in disgrace that I myself despise
And all alone do I lament my fate
I think upon my sweet love’s steel blue eyes
And doing so my troubles dissipate
In my philosophy I do declare
That in all heaven and all earth
There is no one so wond’rous fair
I have not a whit of her worth
In wallowing in thoughts of pity springs
My perfect songbird from solemnity
As the dove from the ocean brings
Green sprigs of hope from land to sea
To the ideal you lift me from my spleen
I am, forever, your earnest faerie queene
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
Happy Unicorn Poem
Prancing in the meadow,
Warm sunshine on her face
The happy unicorn did not see
The hunter’s hiding place.
Eating rainbow candy,
Smiling ear to ear
The happy unicorn did not know
The grim reaper lurked so near.
Singing gentle lullabies
To the butterflies,
The happy unicorn did not know
She’d cause them all to die.
Lapping at the trickle
Of the crystal, sparkling stream
The happy unicorn did not hear
The hunter’s arrow ZING.
A chipmunk tried to warn her
Squeaking out in fright
But it was simply much too late
With the arrow fast in flight
A pretty yellow songbird
Tried to knock the arrow off its path
But the arrow’s razor edges
Cut the songbird right in half.
Then a fuzzy little bunny
Jumped as high as he could jump
When the arrow passed right through his throat
He fell down in a clump.
A brightly colored butterfly
flew into the arrow’s way,
the arrow was not diverted,
It was not her lucky day.
Only three feet later
The arrow found its mark
Extinguishing forever
The creature’s living spark
The hunter popped up in delight
feeling quite a thrill.
That he would soon be famous
for his magical creature ****
He bounded through the meadow,
running toward the woods
yelling out in victory
“I always knew I could.”
He kicked aside the chipmunk,
He stepped upon the bird
He booted the bunny’s body
into a pile of mud.
He was almost to the butterfly,
When he stopped.
Dead in his tracks.
What he saw before him,
Caused his body to go slack.
He did not see a unicorn,
Lying lifeless there,
But it was his precious daughter
his own arrow in her hair.
The Old Enchanted Meadow
With deep magic all around,
Teaches lessons to all of those,
Who trod her sacred ground.
Today the hunter learned the most painful one of all,
A man who would **** a unicorn does not deserve beauty at all.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
Love has come to find me in the dark,
so tender on this summer's day.
Singing like the songbird and meadowlark,
their song of love so sweet and oh so gay.
Glowing like fireflies at twilight,
a beacon that's come to guide my way.
It came like a thief in the night,
stealing this waiting heart away.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long,
And the forests will echo with laughter.
If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind?
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
Avian slave beneath arrays of decay
Beneath the will to move on
She is so rusted and gone
Afar from quintessence crossed
Into the realm of the lost
Slipped into the clutch of the maw
Of madness it’s savage
Where the judge is the jury
Executioners laugh at the magnanimous
Everything stripped from the flesh
Nothing left to see but a dejected show in the throes of wreckage
Because these lost prophets sit upon a stolen perch looking down on a fallen goddess
A desecrated figure devoid of any promise
The primary custodian of a land forever conquered
A society gripped in the chokehold of despair
Perpetual attunement to ruin consumes a flock of sheep in the leviathan’s lair
And the pretty little songbird
Torn asunder by each verse
Learns that from her inception
She never was a free bird
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
my mist expires in your atmosphere
linen sheets adhere
around my throat, no fear
smell pheromones in the air
it's crystal clear, my dear
i am amiss without you near
self-controlled
white-knuckle hold
now conquered
cold and longing to spy a songbird
if only for a single moment
and nothing longer
i am somber but mighty fond of her
strong enough to say it still
and stronger now to do
smart enough to ponder it here
but dumb enough to squander it too
red hearts are lies
beating blood flows blue
it is true, did you hear?
i'm amiss without you near
i thought we were musketeers
turns out you're the puppeteer
pulling my strings, was as I feared
another way to ingratiate and endear
while I'm tied here waiting to hear a footstep
to take the next step
another level for this intimate project
but from this aspect with all due disrespect
you subject me to intense neglect
you're a ****** architect speaking scintillating dialects
only I can connect but I am a bad girl... so I guess I deserve it
my favorite show now that you mention
is when you are standing at attention
you brighten your eyes and your voice changes inflection
my indiscretion becomes your intention
but I digress, and bite through, throughout this blissful rendezvous
as we float like a feather into the bedroom together
past dawn until noon
it must be true
i am amiss without you
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 11:16 AM UTC
Midnight walls
And wading pools
I run through the halls
That echo you
But the songbird
Does not sing the sweet tune
In the dark.
When did time choose to move like wax
When the lifeline breaks into shattered glass
Find a soft place for your bed
Prepare for the war that lies ahead
Of you and I, we cannot win this time.
We are fighting shadows and breezes
It's time to pull our hearts out of the clouds
But the heart does what it pleases
And this silent room is the battleground.
For the night is young with our laughter
But are eyes grow old a grey
And the sunlight i danced with upon your heart was the heat of our final day.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC
Softly you sing, so sweetly my dear,
like a songbird repeating what I so long to hear.
The lyrical songs to which I respond,
make me feel like the one to which you belong.
Like a wave on the ocean your crests lift me high,
with your words and your kindness they help me to fly.
Like the swarms of small birds that fly out to sea
our love has now grown into what it should be.
We have been to the heights of the heavens beyond
and you've been in my heart and my soul all along.
Can you remember the time that we weren't so blessed,
when our life was not one but just two with a wish?
For a wonderful, blissful and compassionate love
a union ordained from blessed heaven above.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC