Paintings and poems inspired by these wonderful birds.
In frigid realms where ocean whispers sigh,
A penguin stands beneath the velvet night,
With stars like scattered salt upon the sky,
While rippling hues of green and gold ignite.
The southern lights unfurl their swirling dance,
As if the heavens breathe in colours rare;
Each arc, a painter’s dream spun without chance,
A fleeting canvas stretching through the air.
"Where do you start?" he wonders at their glow,
And “When will you dissolve into the dark?”
Such questions weave between the ebb and flow,
As silence wraps him close, a sacred spark.
In dreams he chases rainbows on the tide,
Yet here he stands, each wonder magnified.
Paintbrush beak dipped in the sea’s laughter,
Under waves of joy, he dances and glimmers.
Feet flicker like sparks; a splash of delight,
Feathered heart, soft as cotton candy clouds.
In every dive, a story unfolds:
Nature's palette swirls around him.
In emerald canopies where shadows play,
Parrots burst forth with laughter in the air,
Their vibrant plumes sing stories on display,
A kaleidoscope of joy beyond compare.
Through sunlit whispers and the rustling leaves,
They dance through branches, painting arcs of flight;
With every call, a tale that nature weaves,
Freedom echoes softly in golden light.
From treetop heights to valleys lush and wide,
Their voices mingle with the forest’s breath;
In each bright squawk a wild heart can not hide,
For here they thrive, a spirit free from death.
So let them soar where sky meets verdant hue,
In twilight's hush they sing their hymn anew.
Bemused penguin
Emerges from frozen cave
Blinking in sunlight
...
Penguins
On hearing the whisper
Shiver
Quiver
Then slither lithely
Wild and free
Towards the sea
This is the night
Full of delight
Taking their long awaited freedom flight
Into their future
Bright
Right?
Over the cliffs they fall
Unseen. Unheard
Not soaring as the other birds
Fear spreads
Through each approaching head
The long held promise
Is false
They misunderstood
They had understood
They would feel good
This opium of the masses
Is not majestic
It's unrealistic
An end games tactic
Or is it?
Together they face their only flight
A mournful sight
Joy overcome by grief
Rising
Bubbling
From underneath
Their hope never to be seen
Until
They enter the next place
Floating on angel wings
And yet
Their jet black hair is wet
They fly on water wings
In every breath
Enjoyment spreads
They see the truth
Through a glass, darkly
Praising loudly
Rising
Trusting their wings
Are not broken things
But gateways to their dreams
...
Happy feet dancing
Invoking ice cold breezes
Penguin partying
...
Clowns of the sea
Riding the Atlantic waves
Faithful swimmers
...
Colourful whispers
Through green canopies they soar
Parrots free and wild
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