The Sunbirds

[skylightgreg]

Sunbirds sing in endless reveries of color,
from vibrant hues of red and blue and yellow
to melodic threads of turquoise 
-and blots of tangerine orange.

They perch in the shadows of ancient oak trees,
in the silhouettes of olive branches, their delicate
twists deep darkness’ stitch of tumbling winds.

In the violet dome of the trees the vibrant plumage,
the glowing colors only shine more brightly, each
shade a dreamscape of what our own humanity
might become.

—-

At the hour of noon, the tamirs reach the
periwinkle sky, their wings like frantic fingers
tearing through Prokofiev’s Concerto,
Pianoforte.

Across the darkening sky-board 
the birds enlist feathers to paint melodies, odd
calligraphies,
bird poems,
prayers to the heavens—
any and all forms of expression
that might convey their song
of desperation.

Again and again the winds use the hands
of erasure to dismiss the despondent
cry of the sunbirds.

All sorrow is holy,
dismissal profane.

The birds must be held,
once again in the confines
of the trees.

By morning their wings will be clipped, their
bodies wrestled to the ground,

their masses rolling in the mire, wash,
and sludge of Wadi Gaza.

—-

May the memory of their beauty
sing to the light within us all,
like a prayer
for compassion
and continuous hope
for renewal and grace.

[Colm Roe]

The message is crystal clear, and you have the voice of a poet. 
There's so much to enjoy here, but IMO the message and poem would be intensified/improved with (pardon the pun) some clipping; sometimes less is more. Here's an example of what I mean. 

In the violet dome of the trees the vibrant plumage,
the glowing colors only shine more brightly, each
shade a dreamscape of what our own humanity
might become.

In violet domes, vibrant plumage
glow colours that shine brighter, each shade
a dreamscape of what our own humanity
might become.

[skylightgreg]

great suggestion.  i'll work on it once Fives are over.  

[Dave]

Great advice from Colm. Sometimes the language tends to the flowery and overpowers the images and message. Having said that soemtimes the message becomes a little telly especially in the middle passage:
each
shade a dreamscape of what our own humanity
might become.

This is a common human conceit and both cliché and impossible - the word dream gives it away but also that a human has written it making it obvious it is alread in all things including humans. It robs the images of their power by overstaing the case in my opinion. Only an opinion.
Never less than interesting though, your poems