Love Poems About Macaw or Macaw Love Poems
by Brynne Cua |
Categories: depression, life, loneliness,

Scarlet Macaw

I am the scarlet parrot from the Amazon,
Intelligent, beautiful, passionate,
Trapped in a cage too small for my wings.

Bored,
With nothing but a pretty bell
To keep me entertained.

Lonely, 
With nothing but a mirror
To keep me company.

Hungry,
With nothing but a sprig of millet
To keep me sustained.

Craving fascination.
Craving love.
Craving life.


by ugenteraan manogaran |
Categories: love, sister

Powerful Than Blood Bond

Have you ever seen a talking Lunar Moon
Wrapped in a sarcenet heart-gold cocoon
Floating in the night sky like a balloon
Breathing the fire like the dance of typhoon?

She is...
An Angel mizzled from Heaven with snow flurry !
An isolated crimson rose that typify axenic glory !
An elegant ruby-red macaw mantled in alluring jewellery !
An olive sunrise in midnight that wreaks luxury !
An epic living legend that trembles the mystery !

Despite the blood that failed to bind this relation
and the religion that blasting a firm objection
She is my sister and thats my final decision
and I can't express this relation with diction



by Steven Miller |
Categories: hope, inspirational, philosophy, heart, heart,

IN MY MIND

My soul cries out for peace without fear,
In a world without the casualties of war,
My heart bleeds down with streams of tears,
For the down trodden, hopeless, weak and poor,
In my mind, all souls are free,
Cries of hunger are fed with good cheer,
Feasts and charities are given to thee,
On a daily basis from year to year,  
My love spills out like a waterfall,
Flowing into the sea,
My heart spreads wide as the wings the Macaw,
Soaring so effortlessly,
My spirit screams as a banshee wails,
For impending death to find,
My heart is pounding as a hammer on nails,
For The Christ within my mind.


by Eric Ashford |
Categories: poetry,

Noisy Cat



You have the hysterical look of mutes
that roar through narrow straws.
I see in your yellow eyes – a Jules Verne winking moon.
Soon that ribbed pink cave will release
another flock of demented coots
hacked from the craw of an ancient macaw.

Soon the whip of your vocal squawks
will pluck my eyes from their trembling stalks.
Maine ****, part Persian, part whiskery herring,
grimalkin mouser,
I love you not when you sing.

Verne goes to the movies, a flickering French theater
of painted malarkey, where mice threaten to Can-Can.
Buck Rodgers shoots rays of hyperbolic sound
from the open nozzle of your mouth.
 




by Caren Krutsinger |
Categories: garden,

The Luxury of a Garden

Garden’s luxury of pinkest foxglove,
Nurtured by angels from way up above,
Along with petunias and marigolds,
Honors the true path of the very old.

Joyful delight oozing from every pore,
Fairy brownie heart completely did soar.
Sweet deer in the meadow came up to see,
Owls and robins were looking from their tree.

Twilight breezed in on tiny birdlike wings.
Macaw and crow were given shiny things.
My poet’s heart was cheering in my dream.
Gentle brook trickled into every stream.

A prettier scene will never be found.
Joyfulness and love oozing all around.