Poems about sparrows




As I made my way to school,
I saw two sparrows,
Dancing through hedges,
Wheeling round gardens.

They chased each other,
Taking turns to flee,
And their calls frantic,
But to human ears soothing.

And when one grew tired,
Both would rest,
Still eyes on each other,
Still calling.

And when one gained courage,
A little closer they'd get,
Still thoughts on: What next?
Still hopeful.

For fleeting moments,
That lasted for the longest times,
They stopped and stood in silence,
Content with just the company,
Of one another.


Author: May
Date: 31/03/2020


On My Knees, Where The Sparrows Nova

On my knees
Where the sparrows
Nova... and the long, thin
Whiskers of Time
Thumb the fob
Of our dissident
The schoolgirl in your mind
Knitting halos with amethyst
A poor cloud on the veranda
Of our unhappy Manse,
And a quarter moon
To lie

knees,  nova,  sparrows.

Author: Third Eye Candy
Date: 26/03/2020


Crafting Sparrows

Desperate these words,
Chasing fleeting shadow,
Echoes flocking like birds
Amid myriad distortions,
The unquiet mind's sorrow.
In birth chosen for sweetness,
A bid for attentions of one
Soon fade mere whispers,
Weak and defeated tomorrow,
Exhaled anguish unheard.
Written lines would have best
Been spoken in ears years ago
'Ere time flowed its course,
When ever softer verse
Might shimmer
Then a symphony,
Maybe able
To drown life's other sounds
Like Mozart, loud as one can turn up.
Would there be any remedy
Which relieves burdens of memory...
The music of dulcet strings
Does dull stings, still only temporary;
And since abandoned,
Thoughts of more ultimate things.
So still, some poet's quill
Crafts dreams into sparrows,
Sets fluttering free
Their unnatural wings
To sing a song of regret,
Share madness with the winds.

crafting,  sparrows.

Author: Robert Zanfad
Date: 23/03/2020


Sparrows Falling

This poem comes from a dream. *

Sun—as February ordains it
Twisted inordinate—in gray blanket
Snow has sifted to the pockets, wrinkles
The cuff of his woolen cap

An old hand rubs stubbled cheek
Snow flickers and falls again
In a dazzle

As he groans and stirs—
Sparrows sing
As he struggles to sit—
Sparrows sing
As he exhales into the chill
He considers the lilies of the field
Their luminous curling petals rise
Steam or hope?
Or just white smoke
Wandering from the tiny fire
He sits a while to listen
To sparrows bickering in the bushes
Then bursting into song

They have their audience

Across in a court of broken glass
And toppled stones
A room— still partially intact
Kindling gathered
Marta melts snow for tea
Peeling potatoes in her lap
Stops to blow on hands
Marta's heart—decent, visceral
Like her hair—bun, kerchief
Like her words—few in the failing
Like the wounds of her smile

And Mikhail—harnessed
To the sounds of service
Orderly rhythm in ruin
Hush hush hush
Of a broom stroking cobbles
Mikhail—his hands wrapped in rags
Old warrior
Now, restorer of places to live
Stops, removes his cap
Squinting sunlight into the channels of his face
Then turns toward unsteady shuffling behind him

€You shouldn't. ”
Tears interrupt
Reaching for the broom
€You shouldn't do this for me. ”

€No, no, Holy Father. It is little thing—
A little thing I do. ”

falling,  sparrows.

Author: Liz Balise
Date: 28/02/2020



Chirp chirp
A sparrow hops and flitters
Jumps and flutters
From branch
To branch
To wire
Lining up with all her friends
Waiting for some skybus to take them away
Twitter and chortling about the world below
Silly humans in their lucid bubbles of
Squirrels chattering and cussing from the trees
Thieving birdseeds and peaches
Meanwhile the sparrow bounces on the wire
Jittery and full of energy
Twitching and flicking her feathers and tail
Boune bounce hop
Fidget and jump on straw thin legs
And then whoosh
All leave at once
Their invisible skytrain pulling away as fast as it comes


Author: Lucky Queue
Date: 16/01/2020



Sparrows land on the telephone lines,
Tiny scaled feet feeling the vibrations
Of clumsy human speech
Coursing through the connections beneath.
Come, tiny sparrow, nest in my hands.
My palms were hollowed to fit your wings,
My fingers poised to feel your heart
Beat within the down breast.
I rejoice in finding something so beautifully real,
Authentic in your wanderings, your songs.
If only I could be half so truthful.


Author: Elaenor Aisling
Date: 25/08/2019


Sparrows sweet songs

Sparrows sing sweet songs:
Echoes of forgotten dreams
Never truly die

songs,  sparrows,  sweet.

Author: Haiku Donna
Date: 11/08/2019


A pair of sparrows building a nest

It's 10: 20 a. m. , or a. d. for that matter,
I'm drinking for a sloppy mistake
I call ease, in circumstances that
Are rather necessary for my balancing /
Juggling act... the alarm on the clock just went off
But i woke up two hours earlier, listening to
B. b. c. radio 4... talk of birds (cuckoos /
Winged parasites the specialist says) and
Hindu assimilation into western opera via goa;
I'm watching a pair of sparrows build a
Nest in my neighbour's guttering;
They noticed me perched on the windowsill
Puffing out smoke, so they figured,
No better safety than under the watchful
Presence of a dragon;
And indeed the chinese and the welsh
Drew dragons long before any bones
Of dinosaurs were unearthed;
It wasn't necessarily instinctive,
But a premonition, i. e. prior to the motion
Of accommodating such a truth,
Or truce, however you mind it;
So an eventful morning, while i stress over
The fact that i have two sleeping pills left
In the reservoir, and am about to phone
Up the surgery to, "hopefully" getting a
Triage appointment with the medical
Bureaucrat / general practitioner (who
Gets the entitlements of the status 'dr. '
And a 'dr. ' salary, while the surgeons doing
All the dirty butchery gets less and only
A title 'mr. ', i guess paying them less is
A motivational tool, look at all the pauper
Artists of the Renaissance for a comparisons,
The pope and all his riches could never
Enrich the message of our father);
So a pair of sparrows flying in and out
Of the shrubbery, he brings back a beaked
Piece of twig, she brings back her presence,
I don't know who to attach the
Number of caterpillar legs i. e. who's
Doing the leg-work to, i know she's the oven,
But why isn't she chopping twigs off?
She's just randomly flying to and fro -
And indeed man imploded, he knew
The hunter gatherer, the beer brewer, the plumber -
She exploded with the numbers,
And only in times of war was she conscripted
As equal and equally able in the realm of
Man's autism of provisions of profession,
Into that deathly hollow of obsession -
The prostitutes just laughed the whole thing off,
You could see them from 20 miles off:
Ha ha he he... but boy were they pissed off
When they received an orgasm on the job...
The highest reconciliation, and yet the lowest ebb,
The futility of the matter,
Having gone through all that trouble
Using skin creams to create a fake arousal
And actually reach the peak of being aroused
Via an orgasm...
Well i did once fuck a girl with a dry vulva...
Obviously i'd proclaim it as rape,
I have to... we watched the film the machinist
Prior - when you have sex with a girl
Who isn't aroused but she still wants to,
Then we'll have a talk about the precautions
That prostitutes take when having sex
Without psychological intimacy,
Oiling themselves up with skin cream
To ease the matter of engagement.
But still, two sparrows building a nest,
Because they know a dragon perched on the
Windowsill puffing out cigarette smoke
Is formidable enough for a cuckoo or
Predatory affairs curbing the multiplicative
Chances of defence tactics being used -
And as man, we have become that in a sense,
We provide a multiplicative evaluation of things -
Yes we are, yes we were, yes there's more to come -
But in terms of addition, there's hardly an
Explanation at hand... i mean you diminish the
Chances of addition by citing maxims of those who
Added to the history, but that's still a multiplicative
Evaluation - you haven't ventured into the realm
Of adding something to the feat and fate of humanity,
You're still there, a maggot on a fishing hook-curl;
So whether you (x) to humanity and seek the algebraic
Fascination of questioning to the extent of not really
Answering, or whether you (+) to humanity and become
Yourself, an algebraic fascination that asks and answers
In baby-steps... there are still two sparrows
Building a nest in my neighbour's guttering.

building,  nest,  pair,  sparrows.

Author: Mateuš Conrad
Date: 05/07/2019