-honestly...I have no clue why...-
As I began to rest in my fickle dream
Suddenly I was stirred from my sleep
I was greeted by many a whisker
And petulant snores from my sister
The cat mewed ferociously and purred
For there on the other side of the window—was a bird!
It chirped like a wobbly siren—the ass!
And I swear by my bosom it was pecking the glass
Suddenly, I sprang up in alarm
I swear my bosom was gone!
The cat then motioned at the feathered brat
For her bright breasts seemed extra fat
Of course it wouldn’t have been that
But I couldn’t just blame the cat!
I opened the window only a crack
And asked very kindly, “May I have my breasts back?”
Such pride she attained from my bosom
Yet why? –how would she use ‘em!?
The mockingbird merely turned a goodbye
But the stolen twins were too heavy to fly!
She plopped to the ground and squawked
I would have laughed, but I was shocked!
The cat scratched at the window and with her eyes
Said, “Prithee, take your breasts—she’s mine!”
Before I could think I had fallen to the ground
To a booming, most terrible sound!
My eyes then opened to a cat on my head
As the booming sound continued from my sister’s bed
To 'ride on somebody's coat tails'
Is the most dangerous thing you can do
'Keep a stiff upper lip' is another cliché
Mine's not stiff, how about you?
'One good turn deserves another'
Turns my stomach if you must ask
'There's no fool like an old fool'
I'm quite offended by the last
'Sticks and stones will break my bones'
Can break someone's heart as well
So if somebody up and says this to you
Tell them to go straight to hell
'A penny for your thoughts' is yet another
That's pretty damn cheap I'd say
A dollar would certainly be more in line
With the times we live in today
'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'
Who made up this silly old verse
A bird in the hand is quite messy I'd say
Poop on your fingers or worse
So I've come to the obvious conclusion
Concerning the debunking of clichés
Refuse to use 'em coz people abuse 'em
You'll wind up much happier I say
© Jack Ellison 2013
My friend Quigley likes to sing
And really almost any thing.
Though once her high note
Caused a blackbird to float,
Back to earth less one wing.
I bought a parrot but he has a foul mouth.
I let him loose so that he could fly South.
But he came home again.
This proves that I can't win.
He says the F word two hundred times a day.
He offends everybody and drives them away.
Nobody will take this bird even though I offer to pay them.
I'm going out of my mind, it looks like I'm stuck with him.
I have the only parrot on Earth that's a sinner.
If he doesn't shut up, he's going to be my dinner.
(This is a fictional poem)
Rest in peace Booger Red;
the dang old rooster’s dead.
He wasn’t near big enough to eat;
and he sort of wobbled on his little feet.
He squeaked whenever he tried to crow;
and his wee short legs were kind of bowed.
But my baby girls loved him anyway;
now he’s lying out back in a shallow grave.
Some doggone fool ran over him with his car;
I guess he got drunk down the road at Bubba Ray’s Bar.
What else could I as a father do;
I couldn’t add him to the stew.
I hammered a tiny wooden cross into the ground;
and said a brief prayer as the girls gathered around.
Rest in peace Booger Red;
the dang old rooster’s dead.
Says the ostrich to the emu with sigh,
"We have a pair of wings yet cannot fly!
I guess its just our bad luck
That we can't cruise like a duck.
Why have these things? I'll ever ponder why!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
Coo-Coo Ca-Ca Chu!
That means a bird’s crapped on you!
That’s not nice at all!
Big-eyed hoot owl perched in a tree,
hunting for prey while eyeing me.
He swooped down swiftly and caught a mouse,
flew up and landed on the eave of my house.
Old hooty owl quickly ate the vile little beast,
burped once loudly, then glided off slowly due east.
Wise Mr. Owl will return late tomorrow evening,
perch up high in the same darn tree and give me a warning
by turning his swiveling head 180 degrees all of the way backwards,
giving me a wild-eyed wink and dropping on my sidewalk a couple of turds.
His chicken vanished from the face of Earth
unhappy and distressed connected so
with sites of poetry where lost pets' dearth
transformed to versicle expression's flow.
Logorrhea of namby pamby lines
and balderdash of verbose gardyloo
bombarded him with rounds of porcupines
stampeded unctuous like rabid gnoo.
But on the other hand he met some birds
composers of refined and sightly verse,
with glinting souls and clever words,
their intellect's expressions wise and terse.
And when he searched of who to value most
received his chicken's metrical riposte.
© G.V. 09-14-2013 All rights reserved
There once was a gal named Lucy,
Who had a beloved pet goosey.
The goose learned to fly,
Which made Lucy cry,
Now there's no more Lucy's goosey.
For Blackeyed Susan's limerick contest
You all must read Sara Kendrick’s poem the “Chicken” before reading this one!!!!
Thanks Sara for giving me such a great idea!!!!!
Broadways.... "Chicken Play"
The stage was dimly lit
For the opening of this play
The crowd was clucking in anticipation
They had no idea
A love story
A play of philosophy
The writer used a feather quill
Was this not a hint?
The main actress, was a real bird she was
She strutted and strolled
The audience was captivated
Her allure was on display
Her beauty hid she was heartless hen
Out jumped the Kernel Saunders!!!!
Sword in one hand
13 secret spices in the other
Well, this birds suitors ran to her defense
To no avail at all
These buccaneers would end up in a bucket
I do not lie
It included the fries
Sadly parts where tosses to and fro
Necks and wings and breasts were sliced
It sure was not a pretty sight
A civil war this was not
The dame was slaughtered on a southern shore
Let this me a lesson to you all you gizards
While the chickens are away
It’s for sure
This silly poet will play!!
Mused the owl roosting on a pine tree shoot,
"My colleagues think I'm not very astute,
But I wisely perch in pines,
Not on hot transmission lines!
If they singe their butts I don't give a hoot!"
What does the hawk say?
“Eagles are overrated.
We hawks rule the skies.”
Why does the cock crow?
To get our lazy asses
out of our warm beds.
Leeroy von Nebulae and Pitter Patter Supernova
Upon the sparkling April field, where the bell-flowers blossome'd,
two poets stood amid the blooms, two writers of their wisdom,
where singing aves exalted them, cause deep in verse have fathome'd
and treated poetry like none, with loyalty and serfdom.
Meantime the birds were chirping in the leafage of the forest
the two composers synthesize'd the crop of thoughts that random
became their poetry's free verse, philosophy, thus, modest,
the scriptures called bankrupted talk and artlessness of flotsam.
The authors, thus, amid the trees, and vervains' purple colors,
narrated 'bout the pepper steaks and pizzas pepperoni,
the grayish donkeys and their bray, through softened words of candor,
conducting hence this spectacle and joyous ceremony.
What was occurring round the two was godly sent, on purpose;
the softened breeze, the sunny morn, the singing of the birdies,
and furthermore their kindest verse that both believed was flawless,
- the soul's redemption stands upon the praising by the toadies.
Obtusely raising, slow but firm, their tilted thoughts euphoric
have driven both to fly above this natural assemblage,
hence joyfully enjoine'd the cause of logic anti-strophic,
amid the clouds envisioning a pizza-Heaven-cottage.
Leeroy von Nebulae and Pitter Patter Supernova
expressed their malarky of verse, that donkeys then recited
and stood impassive 'mid the blooms, their thoughts a dull cadenza,
evaluated by the birds, that chirped their notes, astounded.
© 03-23-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic decapentasyllabic verse)
What does the crow say?
“When I’m the farmer’s greatest
enemy, life sucks.”
The cock crows in the morning.
The hog snorts all the day long.
The bull bellows dominance.
‘Do you like Pigeons Dad’
“They’re scummy things
They’re Rats with wings
They’re vermin of the sky”
‘That can’t be right Dad’
“They pilfer seed
They breed at speed
And harbour disease you know”
‘Are you sure dad’
“Since the Rock Pigeon flew
And ended up in a stew
Since their domestication by men”
‘But I like Pigeons Dad’
‘I like how they sing
I like the shape of their wing
So you should like them too’
“But I don’t like Pigeons Son.
Their walk is bizarre,
They crap on my car
And they’re really not that clever”
...they wake me in the morning,
With their delightful coo,
Their plumage is wonderful - an iridescent blue.
They look good in the garden Dad
They don’t make such a mess
Do you like Pigeons Dad?’
[This poem was the result of being asked this question many, many, many times by my son. My son is on the autistic spectrum - he has Asperger's Syndrome to give the official diagnosis. He is a lovely human being & I love him dearly. But one of his most irritating traits, is the fact that he asks the same questions continuously all day every day. No matter how you respond, the same question will be posed minutes later. Currently and for at least the last 2 to 3 years: 'Do you like pigeons daddy?' is his favourite/most frequently asked question. Now that you know that, perhaps you can really feel the exasperation in that final ..."Yes"]
It fell from the sky.
I have a knot on my head.
Dead pigeon falling.
Percy the peacock flaunts his colored tail,
Spreading gold wings like a Japanese fan
To excite a mate, a future peahen
Along the hall where children watch him sail.
Once, thrice, Percy struts a handsome display
With eyes blue, he looks around for a pick.
And ladies murmur of avian topic;
While they form a circle nearing his way.
The prettiest one robed in aqua-green
Shows interest while Percy loudly drools,
That flappers open acting super cool!
Brilliant her poise, tall as he, and serene.
Ready to capture his one, perfect bride
Wham! Percy flops on the hall’s wet cement.
An honest proposal almost denied,
But maiden takes the chance, how heaven sent!
Animals Alive Contest of Carol Eastman
The mighty eagles soar high in the sky.
The penguins explore the sea.
The loons are in Congress.
All Porto geese
When I’m in my garden
I’m a King, I have a throne
I sit here very solitary
I am happy on my own
All my subjects gather round
The birds, the flowers, the trees
And all those noisy Sand gropers
The frogs, and all the bees.
Canaries have a special place
They play music for my court
Often wild birds join along
As I sit wrapped in thought.
My courtyards are not tidy
All the bushes cling together
But hey, they give me so much shade
In our hot sticky weather.
So I sit and write my memoirs down
Like a good King really should
As I sit here in my kingdom
And I really feel so good.
28 August 2013 @ 1419hrs.
When Santa got stuck down the chimney
What a terrible fright for young lives
Imagine the sight that then met them
Imagine their awful surprise.
With a crash and a thump and a holler
A bang and a whoosh and a boom
The magical globe trotting Santa
Daintily entered their room!
He landed full square in their fireplace
His hat flopped down over his eyes
He looked really much more like Black Beard
Except he was double the size.
The children sat up in amazement
Then hid and peeped through a crack
As this unfortunate dirty old Santa
Was hit on the head by his sack.
The air turned quite blue for a moment
When he finally uttered a cry
I’ve hurt every bone in my body
Was the gist of what he implied
Now Rudolph looked down from above him
Shook his head and then let out a sigh
Get up you clumsy old has been
We still have work left to do tonight.
Well Santa looked right up that chimney
His plight became clear in a flash
He was stuck with his sack at the bottom
And didn’t know how to get back.
The children, still hid in the corner
Just couldn’t believe what they saw
As this dirty old Santa recovered
Did his job and then limped out the door.
They watched as he climbed out the window
His suit now completely akimbo
But Rudolph was there with the sleigh and a spare
He now had clean clothes to change into.
Once more Rudolph rescued the big man
Stamped his hoof, got him out of his whirl
Threatened to leave less he focus
You know, of course, Rudolph’s a girl!!!!
The children got up in the morning
Frustrated, annoyed and distressed,
For their bedroom looked just like a bombsite
Where two sacks of gifts had been left
Despite having left him a message
Stating ‘ please do not leave so much trash,
We are modern day children remember
What we want is a cheque or some cash’
Once in a land full of life
At least that's what I was told so
There lived a happy man and his wife
Who smiled and watched the birds go
One day as they were watching the birds
The old man had flipped his hat
For he had said only a few words
And it was that he could fly like that
The wife then began to frown
For the man had simply gone mad
So she got ready to leave the town
Which made the cheery guy sad
He swore to her that he would fly
So the wife had grabbed her things
She opened the door and said bye
And when she left, the man sprouted wings
A few years had come and gone
The wife grew old and watched time pass
One day when sitting, she heard a song
That sounded from her fifth floor window glass
'my love,' it said, 'I now have wings.
my love,' it went on, 'I wish you would see me fly.
my dear, come look at me, drop your things.
I wait by your window, perched in the sky.'
The wife got up and looked out the pane
She froze at the sight she had saw
Her husband flying, or was she insane?
He smiled at her dropped jaw.
'My love, come with me. Fly in the sky.'
'I can't,' she shook her head
'oh come on. climb out. I promise you won't die.'
So she climbed out, and was never seen again.
(this is fictional)
Trio of Limericks.
There was an old fellow named Dave
He found a dead chook in a cave
It smelled just a bit
But he had to admit
That a whole lot of coin he did save.
When Andy got randy
There was an old sheep dog named Andy
He had such a liking for brandy
One day he got drunk
And lord how he stunk
Cause with an old skunk he got randy.
Once an old lady named Faye
Who ate like a horse every day
This day she did choke
And it was no joke
Her corpse in a heap now does lay.
In the home of J.P. Truet
Lived two mynahs - Grace and Huet -
Big and black and caged up always,
Locked up in the marble hallways;
Perching near an oil by Tanner,
Keeping watch of Truet Manor,
Letting nothing slip away,
They both stayed there night and day.
One dark night with lightning flashes
They heard broken window smashes.
As a burglar climbed with bag in,
They knew how to fix his wagon;
Calling out with caws and wheezes,
“Be prepared to mee-eet Jesus!”
Not fazed by these faith-filled words,
He shot back, “You silly birds.”
On he bagged both wares and china
Heeding not the words of mynah
Echoing from hallway ceiling,
“Soon you’ll have a sinking feeling!”
Then as thief swung door to kitchen,
He froze right then, scared and twitchin’
Seeing Mastiff’s teeth of pain,
And with “JESUS” stamped on chain.
It brings happiness.
I am looking at the sundown,
tied in a tree branches.
In the Garama river cruise,
we laugh and joke,
with monkeys in the trees,
and with the fireflies.
The experience with no price,
but has a great value,
We come and go.
We meet and depart.
We listen to different stories.
Stories of bravery.
Tales of cultures.
And the beauty of the language.
The language of tongue.
The language of self.
But I am putting an ink to paper,
will make the story begin.
I once heard a knock at my door
And there was a crow repeating "No more"
I was so taken aback
I hit him with a rack
And sent him crashing right on the floor!
hungry falcon dives
eyeing easy meal in nest
angry blackbirds rise
showering him with fierce pecks
leaving him stunned in surprise