Quotes about swoop, page 9
Are we misfits- feel intrigued! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Grey pigeon flutters on ledge of concrete.
Wonder, how it survives on urban streets.
Seen them flock in city squares as folks throw seeds.
Unlike hawks don’t swoop down and snatch with greed.
Dusk falls gets draped in a pall of thick smog.
A few sparks rise as I add some new logs.
Glance at fireplace, feeling somewhat woeful.
Reminisce about my city beautiful.
Childhood, open spaces, song of Bulbul.
Cycling to school in fog, feel bit wistful.
Now cooped up on seventh floor in a high rise.
Eavesdropp at my avian mate and realise
With surprise, we are misfits and loners.
Why it shuns trees and prefers asphalt floors?
Its eyes look sort of haunted, rarely speaks.
Don’t recall lately with anything in its beak.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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By Blackfriars Bridge
It is such a lovely day and the sun is shining.
Outside the nearby pub, there are people dining.
A street performer dances with a crystal ball.
Directly opposite me, is the dome of St Paul's.
Along the pebbled shore, a few stragglers stroll.
Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolls.
At the river, people contentedly stand and stare.
The soft, summer breeze gently ruffles my hair.
The Millennium Bridge shines silver in the sun.
I pass by some joggers, who are out for their run.
People take pictures with their mobile phones.
Along the river, a pair of ducks happily roam.
Of people walking along, there is a constant flow.
Planes high up in the sky head towards Heathrow.
A flock of seagulls swoop around above my head,
As they search for food along the Thames riverbed.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Grey Thrush at the Door
'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!' Low at first and flattering,
Full of soft seductiveness on a wheedling note.
Who comes in mercy now, crumbs of comfort scattering
For a grey bird pleading from a cold, cold throat?
Just a thread of tallow-fat, just a scrap of meat!
Grey thrush is at the door. 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!'
Grey bird, friendly bird, merry bird in summer time,
For summer is a merry time, full of tuneful mirth.
Sunny days are singing days. But winter is a glummer time
With lean days of scant fare; frost has locked the earth.
Song goes as sun goes, and harshly drives the sleet.
Where comes the almoner? 'Swe-e-et! Swe-e-et!'
'Sweet! Sweet!' Now it grows imperious:
A short call, a loud call, impatience in its tone.
Why am I left lingering? See, my plight is serious.
A poor bird all forlorn, starving and alone.
Grey Thrush is a-hungering, begging scraps to eat.
It's far beyond my breakfast time! 'Sweet! Sweet!'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Ship of Fools
38 poets are sailing across Loch Katrine
Over the city of Glasgow's public water supply
30,000 sheep were cleared from the hills around
To keep Glaswegian plumbing ewe-pee free
Their elders were not consulted in this matter
Driven lamenting off their ancestral pastures
The mutton clearances, a stain on Glasgow's character.
This loch is 500 feet deep
A water bull as large as a Clydeside bus
Stays in its icy depths, waiting
To hole the hulls of oily polluters
In the city of Glasgow's public water supply
Green Tagged Kate McLaren, the Gartmore Palmer.
Black Mini Muddler. Professor Watson's Fancy,
Black Zulu, the Middle dropper
All, have got their hooks in
The city of Glasgow's public water supply.
[...] Read more
poem by Sheena Blackhall
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With No Moolah?
I think it's time to shop,
For new scents to breathe.
And sniff the freshness,
Of an openness to leave.
It's time to scoop,
Up some hoop and holler.
And let that joy swoop over us...
Like moolah!
Gonna spend a mint...
Casting sentiments to the wind.
From treetops bent...
Rejoicing from a high we bring to them.
And-don't-need-no-money-when-you-hav e-a-honey-you-can-love.
And-don't-need-no-mone y-when-you-have-a-honey-you-believe in!
I think it's time to shop,
For new scents to breathe.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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(Religious&Life Poem) Bliss of A Infinite Utopia
He unites the people with a common cause.
He claims to be the savior predisposed to what you want.
But again he's not.
World peace under one rule.
I believe their is no such thing.
So I say no.
I will not follow your rules and eat gruel.
Put down like a bad child.
Here's you spanking if you please.
Nobody get's me.
I'm so stripped, I stand in nakedness and I don't care.
Let them strike me dead.
Or let no one listen.
Either way being the same.
I'm just a number and a name.
A label intertwined into the chaos of the world.
A digit that must be dug deep to find.
Become of pigs or swine.
A thirst inside drives me.
To say hello.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Autumn In July
It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
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poem by Waldon Pond Productions
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Autumn In July
It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
[...] Read more
poem by Joe Fazio
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A Day Like No Other...
It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
[...] Read more
poem by Joe Fazio
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Autumn In July (rated in group)
It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.
And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.
I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?
An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.
What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
[...] Read more
poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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