The Bird Poems (by: D.L. Siluk)

The Bird Poems
(These poems will be in the book: “The Sailor’s Graveyard”)

Little Bird Voices

The little voices of little birds,
that pass the day away
With light steps within my garden,
From branch to branch they leap and sway,
Appear to be cheerful, happy and unraveled
(most of the time) filled with spunk,
And with living life, to its fullest;
I hear them in the light warm sun
(laying about as if on vacation)
Murmuring, chips, and chirps, and buzzes
Croaking’s and songs
I think they’re talking, singing
Begging and a little frightful now and then
as each day goes on—
(kind of like: children)…

A new sparrow, with no back wing
was frozen in fear between
The steps and the
Garden, today; when I was tending
to it, and I just kind of drifted away—
From here to there, allowing it time
To think and escape to a branch near
The nearby Peach Tree! And quick it did.

As the other birds gave peeps, and Israel
The dove, bill snaps, and his mother
And father, bird mating and naps, as
Others did some drumming with their wings
I call it, wing beating, or clapping…

Birds are busy and messy, little creatures
all day long
And they like everything clean,
As I work, and they sing their songs.
But I love to hear their rustles in
the leaves,
Their chips, and chirpings,
and that deep croaking sound,
all those beautiful little bird
Voices, all day long…

No: 2796 (1-19-2010

The Birds in the Garden


The Turtledoves in my garden are one—
The white breasted, black headed,
Yellow bellied, brown bodied,
Sparrows, fight a-lot, but all are one
(Under God’s sun, in my garden)
The long legged, Red-headed Mohawks
(as my wife refers to them)
Are one among the many too
They all remind me of Islam,
Christendom, and Judaism,
If only they could be tolerant of each other:
In Mind, body and soul, what a goal:
But that will never happen, in Satan’s
World!

No: 2786 (9-11-2010)


Carefree Sparrows

Big breasted, toe touching,
round bellied, no neck sparrows,
live in my garden
They eat from sunup to sundown
They fly and play-fight, like
little helicopters in mid-flight
(with one another)
I wish I was one of them, sometimes:
without a care in the world.


No: 2787 (9-11-2010)
Dedicated to Rosa, for the love of her Pajarritos

The Rustic-brown
Sparrow’s Smile

Believe it or not,
There’s a rustic-brown finch
More like a sparrow
In my garden (not sure what to officially call him, or her
Other than a Rustic-brown little bird),
That smiles at me, when I take its picture.
It looks a little like a smirk—;
But after close examination,
Of the: curvature of his cheeks, and beak,
And squinting eyes—it surely could be,
A smile: I think it’s really the best he can do:
Being so small of a bird,
And perhaps a sparrow…!

No: 2789 (9-14-2010)



The Morning Sierra Finch’s Stare
(Or the Black Sparrow)




I don’t know which one it is:
The finch or the sparrow, but a sparrow is a finch
So it doesn’t really matter:
Whatever the case, oh it’s very true,
He can out stare me or you—given a chance;
He lives in my garden, like a prince.
He’s got deep pitted, dark entrenched eyes
Likened to empty barrows of rum
Staring at me like a chum …!

No: 2790 (9-14-2010)





Israel, the Croaking Ground Dove





I know this bird by name, he’s called
Israel, he was born while my wife and I were
In Jerusalem: a Croaking ground dove
By pedigree, and quite handsome, if you ask me;
On the other hand, I’m glad he’s not human,
My wife might divorce me.
Anyhow, he mopes about all day,
Kissing his mat, in play
As long as the day is long!
And he even has this croaking sound
I guess he’s singing his songs, while:
Draying his wings in the sun;
The only thing that gets to me
Is that he looks like a spy
With those dreamy slick eyes!

No: 2791 (9-14-2010)




The Birds of the Garden:

Special Note: For those interested, concerning the names of the birds in our garden, they are as follows: Croaking ground dove (Turtledove) Saffron-crested Tyrant-Manakin, Plumbeous Pigeon, House Wren, The Ash-breasted Sierra-Finch, Hummingbird, Morning Sierra-Finch, Rufous-collared Sparrow (the Mohawk), and the White-throated Sierra Finch.

The Bird Section and its poems are dedicated to my wife Rosa Peñaloza de Siluk