Faith is the bird that feels the light
when the dawn is still dark.
Rabindranath Tagore
Oh, bird of my soul, fly away now,
For I possess a hundred fortified towers.
Rumi
A Short Analysis of Emily Dickinson’s ‘Hope is the thing with feathers’
‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
https://interestingliterature....thing-with-feathers/
bee pollinates blooms
hummingbird nips at nectar
flurry of wee wings
| Poem Details | by Carolyn Devonshire |
| a strange flower | |
| for birds and butterflies | |
the autumn sky Basho
|
| Where cuckoo | |
| Vanishes - | |
| An island. | |
| higher than a skylark | |
| resting in the sky | |
on a mountain pass Basho |
| Even these long days | |
| are not nearly long enough | |
| for the skylarks to sing |
This is a lovely thread. many birds are flying south, but also many are staying here.
jays squawk
from redwood tops—
the hush of distant traffic
distant birdsong—
a small leaf falls
down the back of my neck
‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
Emily Dickinson
Thank you girls for bringing back this post, and thank you yoko for the original post.
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.
William Blake
Thank you for bringing back my post.
Alone he cries
The motherless bird...
autumn dusk.
Issa
“The bird dares to break the shell, then the shell breaks open and the bird can fly openly. This is the simplest principle of success. You dream, you dare and and you fly.”
―
Thank you Vicky for bringing back Inda's beautiful post.
yellow bird haiku
a charm of finches
share flying stories in chirp
young boast new feathers
share flying stories in chirp
young boast new feathers
Miracles come
from offerings to the Goddess
shining on blossoms
Bird of good fortune builds
her nest with the hemp.
Basho
As the years passed by to half a century,
asleep I hovered among morning clouds and evening dusk,
awake I was astonished at the voices
of mountain streams and wild birds.
Basho
Thank you Sue for bringing back this post.
Miracles come
from offerings to the Goddess
shining on blossoms
Bird of good fortune builds
her nest with the hemp.
Basho
