Holly beak bird had a soprano voice that carried sixty miles
She had a beak that seemed to be full of laughing smiles
Party givers paid her big bucks to come by and sing
Many households reaped the benefit of her ting-a-lings
The Chicken in the Road
why did the chicken cross the road?
he wanted to eat that toad
he put his feet in the street
and a passing car nearly took off his beak
he thought I am a lucky rooster
that definitely was no morale booster
as he walked to the double yellow lines
he realized he was being watched by a bovine
the bovine asked watcha’ doing
if you aren’t careful, you will be in a pot stewing
the rooster said that’s it
even though I’m half way I am going to quit
with that he turned around
but it was too late and by a car was run down
I have not seen bigger than his own conk, much more than twelve thousand miles!
He lives in the west while the top of his so huge longest conk, in the east!!
His mouth like an ancient cave full of scorpions, snakes, bugs, and wild things!!!
It's considered bad manners if you pickup your food
with the fingers that extend out from your paws
So many traditions surround
these inane culinary laws
Some days ago I watched a kookaburra
prepare a piece of meat
So unlike a human who need
a knife and fork for everything they eat
First he/she took it in his beak, thumped it on the turf
did it several times until a piece broke off
Then he opened up his beak, tilted back his head
downed this mini morsel with a mighty scoff
Humans are the only species that maintains a large variety of utensils
to prepare their food and then do dine
Followed up with crockery
to scull a glass of wine
Set the table, put cutlery in its place
add a clean white napkin on which you wipe your face
Me I prefer to be like the laughing kookaburra
Pick my fruit and park myself beneath a spreading shady tree
to dine in peace and eat my fare, much more naturally
We were cruising along on the Norfolk Broads
One bright September's day.
When we moored up in Wroxham
A Swan popped up his head to say
"Beak a boo! Beak a boo!
Do you have a crumb or two?
We like to greet each stopping crew
And we see that you are new."
When he paused to look at us
We all broke in to fits of laughter.
Just before he bowed back down again,
Nana snapped a shot to enjoy after.
"Beak a boo, Pugwash and crew,
It's a joy to meet you too!
My family and friends are here too.
Will we meet again? I hope we do!"
Such memories with the ones we love
Can help us to cope when they have to go.
The cover of this very book
Is a drawing of my Nan's photo.
I’m a dumb rooster’s beak
pecking broken chunks of cheese
from every event
every moment is astonishment
and if I climb a roof
only left in the ruins
you’ll see my people
behind the sunlit bar
but my next neigbhour
who’s coming in
is a thief and the new label
on the beer we serve
I’m engaging him before
this place is bombarded
with that machine dogs
One may see puffins and parrots
any hour of the week
both birds bear a big colourful beak
the former pelagic feed on fish
and live in large colonies on coastal cliffs
tho' monogamous collectively breed as a bunch
but with renown as the Atlantic sea clown
in Iceland several are served as lunch
the latter arboreal primarily frugivorous
toco being by far the largest
are opportunistic and occasionally omnivorous
to a few prudes it may seem unseemly or rude
and yet if they stick around they'll later get down
as their chicks are seen to hatch in the nude
these avians may fly high in the sky
have the same such things as two wings and legs
and of each species the female lays eggs
but that's where similarity does stop
one puffin can do more than toucan do
in more or less of a day
after mating its pecker turns grey
and without waiting its bill it will drop
The beak has broken, and I settle on the shore of painful thoughts,
while the sea sews salt around a shell of feathers—
a cradle carved from a time long vanished, a vapor dream of the past.
I touch it gently—the wings contract like secrets hidden in evening shadows—
fragile bruises, a poem of memories passed through rains of forgetting,
hidden beneath an old echo of lullabies that the wind whispers voicelessly.
But still, the shell splits and leaves behind only silence that drips into the depths,
beautiful things, shattering harder and harder now,
its beak caught in the shell's emptiness, wide and unmoved, a scream transformed into sculpture of silence.
And I—I remain stuck, dreaming with open eyes at skies of memories,
dragging myself through the sand of time, with knees scraped by edges of dreams,
still trying to fit into a space where I was never meant to be.
And the only question left—how many times can you bury a falling star,
that never asked to be held in the palm of an unknown desire?
I am your little bird
I want to live in your nest
I want to live with you...
I want to share a little space
I want to be on your path
to have a life of pleasure...
Come, let's be very close
together, beak to beak
to create a beautiful comfort zone...
You are my beautiful little bird
I am your sweet little bird,
so close together
let's overcome everything,
and Live a free flying life...!
I am the hawk, the falcon, the eagle
circling the skies, swooping with the winds
that roar through gold and carmine canyons.
I soar to hunt, to pursue, to feed.
Gliding on ageless currents of thermal energies
exploding through the clouds,
stooping to the field, the sea, the desert.
I have the strength, the will, the fortitude
of the ages beside, and within, my being
sharpening my insight, my vision,
calling me to the feeding grounds.
I am the caveman, the forager, the hunter
of all within my penetrating sight.
Succumb to my mighty beak and talons.
Elizabeth Smither' THE BEAK ' (JUDGE)
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The day The Eagle is defeated
The incident shall be repeated:
All transmitting stations televise it,
The rarely praised tongues loosen in wit!
Born - to - Rule Valiant of All Seasons
To be lambasted for four reasons:
Who had off switched its amazing wings
Or had God said "it's time to spoil things"?
What had it done to matchless vision
Begun to things sights in division?
Could Mortifying Beak go on strikes,
Suddenly curve less because this likes?
What can have happened to stunning speed:
Rehearsals ended that would it feed?
The day The Eagle is Defeated
Furnace of 'Why' shall be reheated.
The Remotest cause solicited
The sweetened truth not prohibited.
I’m sure that what you seek
Is at some cloud-veiled peak
That could pick up more than a week
For a nearing by The Weak;
To be soon skinny that is sleek
And mentally thwarted – A freak
This proving by easily sounding Greek …
And-Gosh!-already, I picked out a beak
About to on it havoc wreak
Or leave an unseemly streak …
It is sure, a discouraging prophecy
But Wasted Effort is no legacy.
Oh Heck
There's a frog stuck inside my beak, oh heck
And the rascal's has his hands round my neck
The frog is no quitter
Should've been my dinner
I'm now fast becoming a strangled wreck.
23rd May 2021
Quitters Never Win Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Wings feathered in snow,
weightless, drifting through the air,
a beak chirping, strong.
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