Birds Poems

One heavy day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamor of the city and directed my weary step to the spacious alley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from the touching the earth.

I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul - my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.
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All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
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Birds singing
in the dark
—Rainy dawn.
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Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
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Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
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I need to find time-
a scrap of time
unnoticed
by the demands of everyday life
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IT was a lover and his lass,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did pass,
   In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
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You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
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Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
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When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise
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He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
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No sun - no moon!
No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
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The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
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There you were a sight to behold,
quietly sleeping, in shimmering folds.
No heart to disturb your precious rest,
I left you lying there in a faded red dress.
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The birds sang in the wet trees
And I listened to them it was a hundred years from now
And I was dead and someone else was listening to them.
But I was glad I had recorded for him
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The morning dawns,
with the pellucid rosy tint on the buds,
The rustle of the perfunctory cool breeze, .
awakens the birds and the bees.
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For Morn, my dome of blue,
For Meadows, green and gay,
And Birds who love the twilight of the leaves,
Let Jesus keep me joyful when I pray.
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Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,
Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,
Sleeping at last.
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Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
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Our minds have become intimate with words.
We fly together like two paper birds.
Small creeks, big rivers and the mighty sea,
Sustains the lyrics of calligraphy.
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Musically singing birds fly joyfully in the morning to enjoy another day in full;
It inspires me to observe what they sing so happily making me share their joy;
What do they sing so? Is it about beauty of Nature or love or Poetry sure?
These things remind me that they are lovers of liberty, freedom and love as Poets!
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Isn't there a saying - ‘eat like a bird'!
If so, have you noticed- the birds
Constantly searching for food?
Continuously eating!
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Birds of great size
To be the extinct elephant bird
A Madagascar bird
Whose closest living relative in the kiwi
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Black and blue, red and green.
Pretty birds.
Lovely birds.
Soar and dive and preen on the scene.
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We get to know birds by their appearance or song
And some of them once seen and once heard we never again do get wrong
Yet the more we learn about birds the more we come to realize
That of them we know little this not a surprise
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Oh, how cute,
Birds with beautiful feathers,
Different kinds of birds,
With different kinds of feathers.
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Some birds by sight i can recognize
But having said this i also realize
That of birds and their ways so little i can claim of to know
Though my wonderment of them only does grow and grow
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Once you does hear and see them you never again can get them wrong
Mottled grey brown birds they have a lovely song
Whatever reason to saltwater they like for to live near
One sees them and hear them singing at most times of the year
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