Owl Poems

Poetry about a subject!

A Hole in the Tree

Roost here, roost there,
Why not roost anywhere?

Well anywhere would be dull.
Instead this hole is rather particular.
I feel quite full,
Fitted here, from the ground perpendicular.

It is the perfect frame to rest in.
It’s Cozy. It’s Nice.
I think i’ll stay here for the day,
Maybe once more than twice.

Sauntered Glide

Flutter, shy, air aghast
I’m chilled by the wind, going fast

I’m lightning, i’m hot and frightening
I pass by without sound, wings lightening

Seeing the world, its brilliance
Swaths of land, sturdy, resillience

For many hours, rest and content
Else, drop and flare, a gleeful descent


A hole small and big
in it, here I am alive.
Look at me, warm and fuzzy
at night, jump in and dive.

Bright light, in the morning
wait, then out my head will pop.
Bounce around for a bit
and later, can’t wait to belly flop.


gliding over fast fitful air
sliding through a tunnel of sound
riding a soft popping bubble tear
spending very little time aground


Majestic long ear tufts
erupt from my feathered head.
They are soft, colored puff
hued like burnt bread.

Many tall statues pass my domain;
blinking bright lights at me.
Cannot go near that terrain
as there is a wall I can see.

Astride Dilia, my kindly love-pal,
I am Leland, the Eurasian Eagle-Owl.

My sky is short and small.
Nothing around is hostile.
This place is all I recall.
In it, I’m alive. Here I smile.

Colored Cuties

These owls have color
tan, beige, this one is tree
and that one is snow.

Brown, orange, grey,
they may,
even end up the color of clay.

These owls are fly
soaring through the sky
it doesn’t matter why.

White, fluff, grey sweats
freshly butt oven baked owlets.
Did not know fluff was a color.


Tall, statuesque
A beam of support
or ancient ornamentation
a Pillar

Short, textured
A parent of life
or pest removal
an Owl

Normally not so shaped
sometimes, owls being so still
look like
a Pillar of Feathers


A soft feathery gown
From neck to tail.
Not much unlike a cape
Glittering with gold.

Stretching and crossing
Big, mighty sails.
Tall and forever warm
Never shivers in cold.

A Knowing Look

Old being, old thing,
so stout and wise.
You look down from the tree,
Knowing that I am here.

You stare long
You stare hard
And never look away.

You remember don’t you.
Peer at something else and
This spirit you see standing,
May well disappear.

Horns and Eyes

Two feathery tufts rise off a building
Next to an open park.
Powerful large eyes sight-fully gliding
Over the grass and dark.

These striking yellows gaze,
This view they take.
Dusk has left its haze.
It is good to be awake.