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By: Pat B (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 04:37 PM EDT (Read 46573 times)  
Pat B

For our many poets!!
Either post your poems here only - or post where they were topical - but bring a copy here for safekeeping and easy reference!! Grin


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 04:57 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

Poems by 4voyager
2009 Season

I. How ?
II. One Step
III. My Home
IV. Never Forget
V. Sunrise Life
VI. The Fair Exchange
VII. Silent Morning
VIII. An old gray tree
IX. Was it a dream
X. Like a Good Book
XI. Crystal window
XII. Wonderful
XIII. Go, Be
XIV. To be an Eagle
XV. The Nest
XVI. Again

How ?

Hey, How you do that?"
That long hopping stuff. How you go so far?
Just flap your wings like this.
You mean like this?
Yeah, that'll do.
But you went more than I did.
It's called Flying/"
Well, when I flap, I don't fly. I just stay in one place and shake.
Keep at it kid, it'll come to you. You just gotta practice. Now, watch what I do and you do the same. Some day you'll get the hang of it .
There is a problem, though. One time we do it, we will leave and not come back. So, really be ready to fly when you take that long, long trip up into the sky.
Cause from then on, your on your on.
Take care, big brother. And thanks for all the help you gave me growing up. Maybe, just maybe, we will see each other again.
Someday. Somewhere.
I hope so.


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 04:58 PM EDT  
Velma Flann

One Step

It is just one step.
Here is home, the nest which has held me, not against my will but comfortably, helping me to grow, helping me gain confidence,
helping me become who I am.
Supporting my efforts, holding together the family as we each grew to know the other, both in smooth harmony and small disagreements.
No judgments were made, just encouragement as we all matured.
It is just one step.
But to leave. The step is bigger in mind than distance. It separates what the nest is from what lies beyond, the unknown future. It leaves behind my life.
The nest is all I know. Not where to go but something says go I must.
What is the rush to move away from this certain ground of birth.
Is it to, like those before me, rise from this perch and soar high above the earth, drifting on the lifting forces of the warm rising air, to twist and turn with ease and grace. To look the white vaporous clouds close up, in their face and say I am free. Free to climb, and dive. To roll with joy as I rise higher into the blue sky to then relax and go with the wind
To drift, and see. See the trees, the land. To smell the cacophony of odors from flowers, trees, grass, life.
It is just one step.
But it is comfortable here. I need to stay a little longer. That future must wait a little longer. I must become a little stronger. Then I will go. Somehow I will know. Somehow I will be brave enough. Soon, I think, I will leave this behind to find myself in the world I see before me.
But holding on feels so good.
Others have gone before me and they make it look so easy, when shall I go. Soon. After all-
it is just one step,
to fly


My Home

No, Tink. You cannot live here after we are all gone.
Your father and I will be leaving soon to go up north for the summer.
But, Ma..
No buts. We have done our part, given you a safe place to grow into a fine eagle. Now, you have a chance to go see the world for yourself.
But, Ma.
Now, no buts. You’ll find someone to travel with, share a nest. Why, in such a short time it will seem, you will be feeding your own young. That’s the way the world works.
Ma. I want to stay here. It’s comfortable. Why, this is my home.
No, my darling, this is your launch pad from which you leave to see the world and be the best eagle you can be.
I‘ll be so proud to see the three of you strike out on your own. I am already proud of how you have grown, fought your way into taking food away from your older, stronger nest mates. I know you will be fine.
And next year, your father and I need this nest ready for a whole new brood of wonderful young.
Ma, I will, I will go, see, and find a love to share life with.
And our young will look just like you. Love you, mom.
I love you too, Tink. Now, keeping looking ahead, that’s your future calling.


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:00 PM EDT  
Velma Flann


Never Forget

Hey, Kid. It looks like you figured it out. This flying stuff.
Yeah, sure did. It’s great but it sure is a lot of work. My wings just get tired in a hurry.
I don’t understand how mom and Dad can just keep going all day.
Well, remember, they have been at it a lot longer than you or I, Kid. And remember just a short time ago you couldn’t even get from one tree to the other.
Yeah, that’s right. I just about died when the nest gave way and I fell down through the branches. It was really lucky I was able to grab hold of that one limb before I fell all the way to the ground. It hurt awful as it was and if I had hit the ground, I don’t know if I would have been able to get back up in a tree. Probably would have died right there.
Kid, you scared us all when that happened. And there was nothing we could do. Sorry that we just watched but I sure could not lift you. Even Mom, with all the pain she was feeling for you, was helpless.
No, she wasn’t. She could not lift but she could feed. Mon and Dad made sure I had enough to eat and they encouraged me to hang on. I got hungry but that helped me lose some weight. That and more wing flapping and being totally scared of falling again gave me the strength to move, I know, I moved slow, but I did move until I finally made it back.
That you are. You are back and better than ever. Is it not a gas to leap off these limbs and move so freely from one place to the other.
That is great to look down and go without hopping, just flying. And is it not fantastic that Mom and Dad are still bringing us food. Maybe I will find food but for now, I watch them and learn
Hey, do you get any feelings about going somewhere else to live?
Well, Kid, I am glad you asked. I wondered if it was just me. I have been feeling that I want to go somewhere. Maybe Mom and Dad will show us the way.
If we leave here, will we come back.
Who knows? We might. Might not. Might find a better place. We find a mate we might want to live where they want.
Doesn’t matter. Anywhere I go, I will always remember this nest, this home. And you. There are some things we will never forget.


Sunrise Life

Sunlight spilled from the east horizon and caught on the high peaks
which ran along beneath my feet as in the fresh morning I glided, and watched as the sunlight flowed down the mountainside, to bring morning to the valley. Happy in the stillness of the air, not yet tossed into turmoil by the rising currents, which as the day moved into bright from the darkness of the night , would rise up from the green floor and stir us all with its might. Then came your cry.
Below. There. I wheeled and searched and found you, climbing up, up into the rays of the sun which made your white head a glowing beacon for me. I folded my wings and dropped down, faster and faster, rushing to meet you once again. Our talons locked and we tumbled toward the earth, screaming in joyous delight. We had each other and in that frantic, tumbling, tossing spin, with the earth spinning past our eyes, we renewed
our vow for the other, to have and to hold, then we had to let go, to spread our wings, using the speed to give us lift to run skyward, to soar high and look ahead.
The nest, same as last year, lay waiting, a little messy, missing a few pieces, the detritus of winter visitors strewn across the bottom, for our arrival. Waiting in anticipation of a season of newness.
And that soon came. Three cracks, three beaks searching for a way out of the fragile shell which had held them ‘til now. And the beaks were forever open, yelling in our quite sky for attention. They eagerly ate all we could provide and we sat on nearby branches, crying out with pride, as if saying to the world, look, they are here, aren’t they beautiful.
We saw them change, grow from fluff to smooth sleek feathers. Soon, they will be gone and we will once more roam the ridges in the still morning air, holding still as mother earth gives us lift to remain motionless as we glide above our land. Our blue sky , the white billowing clouds, the golden sunsets, all there for us and now our new eagles.
We watch them prepare to leave and wish they could be as happy as we are, as lucky as We are.
We found each other.


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:01 PM EDT  
Velma Flann


The Fair Exchange

Where is the fair exchange that one life must go that another might grow,
That a mother’s broken heart weighs less than a healthy start,
That the lost hours of tender care are countered by the years we later share,
That the empty nest can give another peaceful rest.
No, there is no equal time, no equal event to remove the hurt, the awful pain
that comes to one who never shall see that young love again.
But we know that is the flow of life, to live with daily strife.
There is no automatic balance, for some lose, some gain.
we just go on, as best we can, and perhaps sometime, try again.


Silent Morning

Silent still air fills the trees and fields, held in place by the morning fog
Muting the faint sounds of awaking life, dimming the vision of distance movement.
Gone from the awakening day are the pleading calls of blossoming youth,
the anxious waiting for morning food and the anticipation of parental care.
There, now, is emptiness in the heart of the parents who nourished their youth and watched as they took flight into the open skies, to rise above the past and move eagerly toward a destiny all their own,
on their own, and to the parents, unknown.
We watched, as invisible observers, to see then change, unable to stop the movement of time. Time which would, we knew but wished we could stop, pass them from our view, our ears. And replace their comfort with our fears. Were they, would they be, safe, healthy, happy and family in later years which wrap them in mystery?
We will not know and that hurts our hearts. Our wishes have no influence in their lives but in our eyes bloom tears of both joy and sadness.
The moments we shared, without them ever knowing we were there, the daily problems we suffered through with them. Helpless to help and helpless to resist the feeling of possible harm coming to a life. Then, in elation, seeing safety and progress. We shared the hope together and now has come the time they will become invisible in plain view. We will watch every eagle, hear every cry and our heart will try to mend the feeling of loss but simultaneously revel in the beauty of the experience with them.
The nest is empty, our hearts are not. We thank them, parent and youth, for letting us be included in their time. They left. They left our view but not our memory.
When, in another day the sky holds the circling, gliding, soaring broad dark wings carrying the proud white head of a magnificent eagle, there will be our fulfilled dreams and hopes, there will be lifted our empty feeling, to ride the air with them and feel their joy of life.


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:01 PM EDT  
Velma Flann


An old grey tree

An old grey tree stands alone
No longer do green leaves burst forth to announce the spring
Its bark has disappeared with the blasts of many winter winds
And the skeleton of its lofty branches are stark against the sky.
There, up near its top, which, in its youth was covered
by birds flitting through the rich green crown are some sticks.
A jumble of small branches, hardly enough wood to make
a campfire or warm a cabin. Just enough for its job.
An now, its job has run the course, the jumble of sticks no longer
hold a family. There is an empty nest in the tree.
The tree stands, waiting for the summer to drift away into winter
Whose snow will fall heavily on the nest, building in weight,
To test the strength of the old limbs
Will they bear the load through the winter and prove, once again,
that they are able to hold up to the energetic movements of young.
And if, the warmth of a new spring finds the nest still strong, the melting snow turns to water to wash away the crumbs of this year so a clean nest will appear.
Next spring, an outbreak of green buds foretelling of beautiful leafy forests
Will find the old dead tree, ready to welcome back new life, not from its core which now runs dry but from its arms which stand outspread, calling in their own silent way,
Come, stay with me,
let me hold you up to the sky.


Was it a dream

Which filled the hours while I watched an eagle protect the eggs nestled under her wings?
Nudging, turning, caring, warming to help the development along and waiting,
for the first tiny crack, the first weak peep from a new one and so to start the struggle.
Was it imagination that in that dream came the food, brought often by two to give pieces to the three eager beaks calling out for attention, for their share and the little one,
over there to the side, trying to avoid the chiding of the older ones but ready to take a quick peck to gather a dropped morsel. And mother’s encircling wings protection from the rain showers.
The huddled warmth they shared with each other as the bodies grew, sinew strengthened and fuzz became feathers after hours of preening. The parents intent on feeding and letting the new ones care for themselves as much as possible, developing the skills they would need so soon, to defend their rights to their food, their space and somewhere their own nest. For the lessons had to be learned and time is short. Dependency cut off before my watching eyes thought it should be. I wanted more time to see how their lives changed from feeble to fledgling.
Then, suddenly, the fall. No, no, not ready. Time stood still as the dream went by in slow motion. To see them all, that became the prayer. Out of view while crying from all directions and helplessness suffused the heart. Where is life, where are the three. Here, there, one then the other appears, leaves, and reappears, and our eyes strain to know who has shown the strength to be an eagle.
Had the dream become a nightmare of loss? Then, one by one, in their own time, they come once again into one nest, to snuggle with each other. Was it to be the last moment they would share a nest , the last period of family before the call of freedom drew them up to ride the thermals, to soar into new worlds and leave us behind.
Has the dream ended and they are gone. So soon, I know it will be.
I will awaken from my reverie and walk alone, without them.
But another time, another day, again, I can dream, see them in my dream as I await the cycle to start again. It will not be the same, these are special – but then, so will the new ones be, in another dream


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:24 PM EDT  
Velma Flann


Like a Good Book

Like a good book, I come too quickly to the end. I know I should slow down to make it last, save some for tomorrow. But, how can I not read all that I can, as quickly as my eyes will sail across the pages. Then, it is there. The last page. I cannot close the book for I want the story to continue, I want to be able to follow the characters that have entered my mind to continue on, I want to visit them each day. I want, but I cannot have. For that story reaches an end.
Oh, the story goes on but the book does not. Nature has a sequel for the characters and leaves me out. I want what I cannot have. All I can do is wish those heart warming moments would continue even if I never view them, except at times in my mind, when I hear a call, see an eagle soar, or skim across a beach and shoreline to snatch food from the water.
And I will look, hoping that it is one of three, it could be, or so my heart sings. But I know the book is finished and I must close the cover. The magic will be there when , at some later time, I take the book out of the depths of my mind and replay a few fleeting scenes in gorgeous color with surround sound, to be again suspended in time living with the eagles.
There will be a new book. A different book with new characters on the stage. I will remember the previous cast and anticipate becoming familiar with the new ones. But not yet, I am not prepared to close the book, I flip back and view pages already seen, thoughts that dominated moments, and joys which savored triumphs. And I see a black form, sitting on nest’s edge facing away from me, looking not backward but ahead, ready and eager to start its journey as an eagle.
Farewell, beautiful black beauty, farewell and look down as you fly,
I’ll be there, looking up.


Crystal window

Gazing through a crystal clear window and seeing nothing,
My mind has wandered away trying to find a missing cry
Searching through the reaches of foreign beaches to find love
On the wing for voices heard faintly in the air from a distant nest
A spider spins a vibrating distraction in my mind, the morning sun,
turns its gleaming dew drops into dancing golden spikes which
Hold for a moment my sight then that too disappears,
still I search for something to see, but it is gone.
The mother’s empty talons carry remembered food to no one
and the tree top holds her in its lofty grasp until comes the cry
Ringing across the blue, blue sky it asks for care, for nurture .
And joined by others, whose voices fills the breast of desire
to care for those who have such need and are helpless
while all the while driven to teach them to grow that they
might rise on mighty wings, shining in brilliant sunlight
to turn and go from now into a distant, unseen horizon.
A movement filling the view to fade away in the distance
to become a dot then to vanish into nothing
That is what I see from my window which just yesterday
was filled with wonder. Today empty.
But the memory can fill the window if I but close me eyes
And let my mind be as free as what I watched fly away.



And so the story begins, as the unity ends, one nest to hold three,
Has released its grasp and that moment is past, a memory.
One by one to step apart, taking flight on wings carrying our heart
To become new, having loosed the things binding them to earth
And risen to fly in joyous mirth, twisting, turning, climbing, and sitting
On a lofty perch of rising air which holds them suspended in time.
Now, briefly returning and leaving, back to home and off to roam
Into their own future and leaving us behind, with them still, only in our mind
It is not for us to travel with them but to lose them into the wild
for which they were born and now fly to lives we can just imagine,
hoping they are healthy and happy cavorting through experiences
we can only dream of while wishing we could have hidden in their eyes
to see the wonder of their view and feel the freedom bearing them
through green trees, blue skies, wind, rain and so many other things
making life such a joy to wander among, to be, to do, not just watch.
We take them with us as they have taken a part of us with them, each,
in its own way, a part of the world shared together, now parted.
This story ends, but theirs is rising on the morning warmth to ride softly
Away, into their day. Go gently, to be with your kind, to skim along
The surface of the sea, across the mountain ridge, and rest in beauty
of tall forest tops where you are the majesty of the sky and let your cry
carry though the air to tell all that,
despite faults, life is wonderful


Go, Be
Silent crying hides behind closed eyes while agony swirls through
The heart which said goodbye to a loved one, even if it never knew
how close was the presence, not in distance but attention.
The daily actions noted, compared to yesterday in preparation
for what tomorrow might bring, a mental chart being drawn deep within,
plotting the stages of development, knowing the inevitable loss which comes
before the chart is finished. Preparing, wondering, elation in each step ahead,
and dreading the parting step. Then, against the time allotted,
the first separation comes, before we were ready. Can it not wait another day,
another hour, just one more minute , one more look,
one more heartache at the loss. We can not go back but the future rushed in,
too quickly and left me stranded in hope, held still in wishes, alone.
Tears stream through the subconscious, keep at bay the pain, unable to tell
another of the loss, even while knowing they too are hurting.
When will the crying end, we ask ourselves and linger in memory
until finally giving our blessing to the loved one and stealing the sorrow
away from the heart to be replaced by awe at the wonder of it all.
Then silent tears of joy stream down carrying away the bitter salt of sad tears and a clean feeling cries out with happiness.
Go, little one, fulfill your destiny.
Go, for I will not, cannot keep you
more than in wispy visions drifting through time.
Go, you have earned it,
Go, be.


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By: Velma Flann (offline) on Thursday, July 08 2010 @ 05:25 PM EDT  
Velma Flann


To be an Eagle

To all of us viewers, from Breeze, Hero, and Tink

I have flown across lakes of glass
And rose above fields of grass,
Over waters filled with fish,
and gone where ever I wish.
I have called with laughter filled voice
To tell the world it was my choice
Which takes me upward to see the green earth
And gives me a life filled with mirth
At all I have been able to do and see.
I call out to say, look at me
Soaring on newly trained wings
To live a life that truly sings
Of all the wonderful things
my deep blue sky and green earth brings.
What ever I might say is too feeble
To express the joy of being an eagle


The Nest

The nest is empty, but it needs cleaning. They might come back today.
Or have they gone away, forever, or maybe just a while. They could come for a meal.
I would gladly get them food, even feed them, if they would return. For just a moment.
That stick is out of place, move it over to the side. That space must be open if they, or any one of them, drop in unexpectedly. No, not there, here. Oh, I don’t know.
Where are they? Do they think of us? Miss us? Are they o. k.? Why must my life be so torn up when they are healthy and gone. I was not ready to say goodbye, not even “so long.” Then I realize I never would have been. That is part of my life that flew away with the wind. The wings waving goodbye to heart bursting with joy and torn by sorrow, one trying to hold on and another trying to release.
I knew it was coming, with each bite they took, I knew it made them stronger. That strength was what took them away, but I could not do less than make them as strong as I could in the time allotted to me for being a parent. But it hurts still that my success is the root of my pain. And my joy at their growth and maturity balances the scale of my yearning desire to see them again, even as I see them in my memory as small and helpless, dependent on me for all, but knowing that time is gone and they are mature enough to be alone. Now, they are self reliant and I,
am put a side into “used to be.”
Dreams are not real. They might not fly over and see the nest, remember it as home. But they might. That stick over there, move it a little to the left, no, to the right. Do I hear them crying in trees? How can I think when I miss them so much? Maybe, someday they will bring their kids over to show the new ones where they grew up. Wouldn’t that be wonderful. We will keep the nest ready. Maybe, maybe. No end to the maybe, no end to the hope.
But also, no end to the pleasure of sharing in their lives, watching them overcome all that challenged growth, no end to our wishes for them to have abundant happiness, beauty, life spilled into every day they live.
And , maybe, once in a while, they would remember us.



We will meet again if only on a lonely walk.
On some misty morning. When the buoy’s horn says hello
from off in an unknown distance. A reminder that we once
were close and now are parted, but there is that chance that,
on another day, when the fog has cleared, the buoy is in view.
How will we know it was that voice we heard and not another
which called out to our memory.
And when we hear, from a distance, the ringing cry of an eagle
echoing through our heart, can we know it is the voice of one
with whom we have shared moments of joy and wonder, moments
that live inside where they can come, unbidden, to give pleasure.
Or is it the voice of a stranger we never met, with whom we did not
relate in the darkening evening light, or share a sunrise.
That voice needs no name, no identity, for it is our natures to be
strangers. We walk the earth and look up to see the eagles circling,
Flying for food or forage, for work or just the sheer pleasure of
being at home in the sky. And as we walk we will always carry,
hidden from the view of others but living in moving, vibrant love
deep inside, where we can call them forth as we wish. Or have a
sudden moment of awe when the memory rises
and floods across our day, the special moments.
So now, I say “Goodbye” knowing it was not meant that we would
stay close in contact but also knowing you will never be forgotten.
Never lost are the impressions stored away from our daily view.
For the years to come, the eagles cry will call from our hearts
”Is that you?” when we know it cannot be,
but our hopes and wishes go to you that your life is filled
over-flowingly with the wonderful pleasure you gave us.
Will we meet again? Maybe.
Someday. Somewhere.
I hope so.



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