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10 Awesome Bird Poems

Updated on March 5, 2020
chef-de-jour profile image

Andrew has a keen interest in all aspects of poetry and writes extensively on the subject. His poems are published online and in print.

Birds And Poems

All of these bird poems are original, written over several years. I hope they reflect the deep respect I have for all avians.

I love to watch birds. I'm intrigued by their personalities, movement, colours, design and the way they fly. They are in our lives for a second when they flash past the window. Closer to us as they perch in a garden tree or come down to the lawn for food. High above us soaring, gliding and wheeling. Across our path as they break cover and skidaddle into the undergrowth. From the humble sparrow to the duck, from the thieving magpie to a gang of vultures, birds are a pure source of inspiration.

What shulde I seyn? Of foules every kynde

That in this world han fetheres and stature

Geoffrey Chaucer The Parliament of Foules

A book, 21 bird poems, by the author is available.

Male blackbird singing
Male blackbird singing | Source

Two Blackbirds

Morning grey on sunless Stoney Lane.

They commute, the faces queue

for the sake of engine roar.

Song from the skeletal sycamore

is love, is a gentle pain, signature

of a bird captivated by it all.

Sing blackbird sing

for those who dare not face a

a mirror, for those

who look back and see

what today already

leaves behind.

Song touches the mind

shapes something inside

we can hold,

carry in to the fray.

* * * * *

I found that bird,

thin twig

of leg twitching,

thought it absurd

without knowing

there would be no life.

The simple explanation

in glass behind me -

the window's inner woodland fooled her

final flight


in the same safe world

beyond the mirror's



Idea, Parrot

Ducking to avoid her advances

you screamed, she screamed.

This was Scotland.

What did two crave?

Feathers finer than language,

vice versa,

a tongue free of the cage,

tiny letters sprouting

afresh on her barren skin,

a dialogue most valentine.

She wanted it. You had it.

Millenia's worth.

'I will give you lips

so you can say

'behave beakless behave',

the freedom of the hallway

for thirty years,

a soft net curtain sun,

the reward of spruce green light.

Dawn Chorus

Out of a dream

one sweet solo

threads the light

through my head

into day.

Partial dark -

life ignites life is song

behind my eyes.

Blended bird unseen

outside I am undone

from night's black hold.

Crescendo choir

build time

into a space

of fine welcoming.

Car Park Sparrows

Delayed train, taxis graze

tarmac, weeds root in red brick

announcing the value of waste

and young sparrows under

parental care taste

blackthorn petals in a shaking breeze.

Herons building a nest in Copenhagen,Denmark
Herons building a nest in Copenhagen,Denmark | Source

Lessons From The Heronry

Patience gathers like cloud

colouring from the inside out

gawky young under a wide sky

on nesting mess.

Below the adult stares into water

stalking itself, a hinged double

in a glassy skin sky. Or mirror

with frozen bird arrowing in on fish,

printing a signature in mud

the fed up hunchback waits

for my retreat, a foul meal

lodged in it's sunken throat.

This skylark is the nearest thing to the complete Bird Poem

Skylark | Source


I saw her drop

out of the song

a mute stone soloist, fallen to earth.

I ran breathless to the spot where

bird and grass merged, searched

for the clutch she'd laid, hidden

in rough dry tussocks.

Summer was full of outpourings,

sung stories at field level rising on thermals

sloping pastures gave

climbing on rhythms

of wing and heart, homage to accepting sky.

Sun music foreground, background, constant

threads of work and resistance, a field's worth

sustained on high and young eyes burning would

look for her

a dot against the blue reaching

the pinnacle telling of a

mystery in the simple grass.


Jackhammer, you

tapper of resonant wood

the sporadic drum

machine gun dry

from the stub

of an established beech.

The afternoon sits up

with your industry,

a beak an artisan

would want rounding a hole

in the lifeless limb.

A line from tree to tree

your flight is work

the business of

forest and copse unseen

only that hard rapid echo.

Great Spotted Woodpecker
Great Spotted Woodpecker | Source

Upkeep Of Canaries

Were we once dreaming, like men,
of curly clawed ancestors
who inhaled day, exhaled night
long before skin became song?
Now all of us
are amongst subdued musings chewed innuendo
between gobs and baccy.

The black wheel blurs, silhouettes alter shape,
a gruff choir on concrete finding themselves.
Long gone are children of wax who would melt away
in winter sun, leaving ponies, patterns in grass.

Light is a pinhead or a mirrored star they drop
us towards, like larks in steel introduced to rock.
All continuous song, deep song, transmitting finch.

Work mystifies.
Hold us up against definite warm roof space.
Wait for the planet to twitch.
Breath, breathe, brain, men, main, methane, all the voices
buried in their eyes.
Lemon yellow cravings when we turn to stone.



It's a crawling current,

drab water thick green,

a weak stone bridge

to a cul de sac,

meadow sweet and osier

lining the cut.

Rolling like a body

this t.v. dumped, nobody's

technology just floating

to the next world

right by me, sat.

A swan pushes out

into mid canal, serious

and white as campion flowers.

Confronts that junk

inspects the screen as it turns

like agony back down under water.

Swan drifts back satisfied

to four cygnets, instrumental necks

preening away oblivious

as a playing quartet.


Mute Swan
Mute Swan | Source

Tawny Owls

The roost is on.

Late crows towards washes

of wood are crazed silhouettes

hens queue at the pophole

as the field breathes a thin mist

fleeing blackbirds

in the moving tide of dark

who moves now in dusk

is big eyed or blind

the orchard disappearing the further

I look in I'm here for the twins

round headed on holiday

in twilight they were here practicing

swoops playful with moths

juveniles sliding up and down the back

of soft night tolerant and free

from the day's harsh opinion

you wouldn't think two post tops

were owls apprenticed to night.

οο οο οο οο οο



In Swan

cut - local term for canal

In The Upkeep of Canaries

gobs - tobacco spit

baccy - chewing tobacco or 'twist'

inspired from my years at the coalmines.

© 2012 Andrew Spacey


Submit a Comment
  • snakeslane profile image

    Verlie Burroughs 

    2 months ago from Canada

    Andrew, your bird poems are awesome. I'm happy to find this page today.

    "Song touches the mind

    shapes something inside

    we can hold,

    carry in to the fray."


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