When I Hear Birds Sing

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I sit amazed that each one knows their tune
Always on pitch they sing from morn till noon.
Perhaps birds love singing only one song;
Unending melody //making her swoon.
But how does a bird hatched out of an egg?
Know what tune to sing on their tiny legs?
And why don’t they try another’s sweet song?
Getting mixed up //and from another begs
I think bird melodies are meant to blend.
Like flutes in a symphony // all join in;
With harmonized beauty they sing their song.
Each plays a part // sweet symphony begins

Today we are experimenting with writing rubaiyats with our d’Verse group. Frank is our host and asked us to write one using the one of the forms suggested.
A single ruba’i is a quatrain, a poem of four lines. If there is a collection of more than one quatrain, it is called a rubaiyat, This is what Edward FitzGerald titled his 1859 translation of Omar Khayyam’s quatrains. The pattern can be AABA or AAAA.
I am using the first pattern in my poem.
Come join us at: https://dversepoets.com

rosebreastedgrossbeak

Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Symphony

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Nature’s Music

The Woodland Symphony
Music pours out from shadow and tree
Calling us all to enjoy a reprieve

A melodious symphony straight from the heart
Each tiny instrument playing its part
Miniature voices in perfect pitch
Unwritten scores of notes that are rich
Filled with a beauty beyond man or pen
A symphony of music that will never end

Mocking birds solo sopranos and basses
Finding their notes in so many spaces
Piccolo warblers and wren solos start
Antiphonal melodies straight from the heart

The bassoon bull frog comes in now and then
Cicadas’ strings play background blends
Crickets and blue jays fill the air
The snare of the trees adds depth to the pair
Woodpeckers drumming on old hollow trees
A staccato rhythm that floats on the breeze

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Suddenly // right out of the blue
The feline conductor brings all in on cue
With a growing crescendo from blue jay and friends
Celloed instruments calling, “This is the end!”
The squirrel plays percussion with his raspy scolding
As the woods fills with music // the finale’s unfolding

A thunderous applause from the balcony on high
Brings all to their feet // flashes crossing the sky
The concert is over the conductor’s gone home
Performers take bows // the music is gone

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today I am sharing one of my favorite poems that I wrote while sitting in the chair in the photo above. It is open link night at d’Verse Poets tonight. We are free to post a poem of our choosing. Hope you enjoy my Woodland Symphony.

https://dversepoets.com

 

 

Symphony

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The Woodland Symphony

Music pours out from shadow and tree

Calling us all to enjoy a reprieve

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A melodious symphony straight from the heart

Each tiny instrument playing its part

Miniature voices in perfect pitch

Unwritten scores of notes that are rich

Filled with a beauty beyond man or pen

A symphony of music that will never end

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Mocking birds solo sopranos and basses

Finding their notes in so many spaces

Piccolo warblers and wren solos start

Antiphonal melodies straight from the heart

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The bassoon bull frog comes in now and then

Cicadas’ strings play background blends

Crickets and blue jays fill the air

The snare of the trees adds depth to the pair

Woodpeckers drumming on old hollow trees

A staccato rhythm that floats on the breeze

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Suddenly right out of the blue

The feline conductor brings all in on cue

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With a growing crescendo from blue jay and friends

Celloed instruments calling, “This is the end!”

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The squirrel plays percussion with his raspy scolding

As the woods fills with music the finale’s unfolding

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A thunderous applause from the balcony on high

Brings all to their feet flashes crossing the sky

The concert is over the conductor’s gone home

Performers take bows the music is gone

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

The Woodland Symphony

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Sitting in my Adirondack Chair down by the creek that flows into the woods, I listened to the birds singing in the trees above me.  When all was calm they did their random chirping. I could hear the squirrels chattering at each other. The woodpecker worked on his nest in the rotten Maple behind me. The bullfrog croaked from the mud in the creek. There were songs for different things that were happening. I noticed when a hawk or a cat came by, all of the birds began raise a ruckus. I thought to myself, this is just like listening to a symphony. I got my small computer and began writing the Woodland Symphony.  This poem is the end result.

The Woodland Symphony

Music pours out from shadow and tree

Calling us all to enjoy a reprieve

 

A melodious symphony straight from the heart

Each tiny instrument playing its part

Miniature voices in perfect pitch

Unwritten scores of notes that are rich

Filled with a beauty beyond man or pen

A symphony of music that will never end

 

Mocking birds solo sopranos and basses

Finding their notes in so many spaces

Piccolo warblers and wren solos start

 Antiphonal melodies straight from the heart

 

The bassoon bull frog comes in now and then

Cicadas’ strings play background blends

Crickets and blue jays fill the air

The snare of the trees adds depth to the pair

Woodpeckers drumming on old hollow trees

A staccato rhythm that floats on the breeze

 

Suddenly right out of the blue

The feline conductor brings all in on cue

With a growing crescendo from blue jay and friends

Celloed instruments calling, “This is the end!”

The squirrel plays percussion with his raspy scolding

As the woods fills with music the finale’s unfolding

 

A thunderous applause from the balcony on high

Brings all to their feet flashes crossing the sky

The concert is over the conductor’s gone home

Performers take bows the music is gone

**********************************************