Seeing the World
to the very top.
We sit with our backs to the chimney
and see the world.
The birds flying
below us.
The trees swaying in the wind
below us.
Our cubbyhouse, meters
below us.
The distant city
below us.
And then Dad, my brother, and I lie back
look up and watch
the clouds and sky
and dream
we’re flying
we’re flying.
In summer
with the sun and a gentle breeze
and not a sound anywhere
I’m sure I never want to land.
Steven Herrick
A Flying Bird
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
BY EMILY DICKINSON
“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.
Every month or so,
when my brother and I
are bored with backyard games
and television, Dad says
“It’s time to see the world.”
So we climb the ladder to our attic,
push the window open,
and carefully, carefully,
scramble onto the roof.
We hang on tight as we scale the heights
She's been flying day and night
must be she really tired
does she need to have a rest?
No, she is dragging by the glomming light
Xuefeng Pan
Look, a bird, a little bird!
She flaps her wings, clapping the wind,
Is she fleeing away from the earth?
by flying a cross word.
Oh, the little bird!
How does she so hesitate and wander?
Is she struggling with eager?
Or because she has to suffer?
Dreaming With Butterflies
FLUTTER BY
BUTTERFLY
DANCE YOUR WAY
WITH YOUR TISSUE PAPER WINGS
ACROSS THE SKY
THOSE
DELICATE AND DAINTY THINGS
FLASH WITH COLOURS OH SO BRIGHT STILL SHINING IN THE MORNING LIGHT
NATURE’S GREATEST WORK OF ART
IT
CANNOT HELP BUT STIR THE HEART
TO SEE THIS SPLENDID CREATURE
IS
THEIR NOT A BETTER FEATURE
OF THE BRITISH SUMMERTIME
THAN
SUCH AN INSECT SO DEVINE
EVER VIVID ALWAYS TRUE
WRAPPED INSIDE MY MEMORY
WHEN I’M IN NEED OF A SMILE
THE BUTTERFLY’S HAPPY DANCE
I FIND A SENSE OF CONTENT
DREAMING
OH I
FOR
I’LL
AND
AT
WITH
KEEP THE BRIGHTEST HUE
HARDER TIMES AHEAD OF ME
STOP AND RECOLLECT A WHILE
WITHIN MY PEACEFUL TRANCE
THE SUMMER THAT I SPENT
BUTTERFLIES
The Bird
by Ernesto Santiago
Soaring high,
Up into the
Limitless sky,
A traveler,
With its red feathers
Exploded, into force, like
An airborne ranger, enjoying
Its freedom and it never
Worries what to eat
And, what to wear like a poet
With his silvery quill, glowing
Inside, his soul, yesterday………today,
Tomorrow and forever!
A master, of his words
His life, free to write
And, never worries
When to stop, nor
To die, for his
Poetry, will be
Remembered
By
Someone