Best Beak Poems
A tiny yellow bird, tiny beak,
Sits on a tiny branch
Of a big green tree,
Taps its feet, chirps, hops,
joyful, playful, circles around,
Lands on the deck post,
Agitated, loud and louder,
Aiming to snap the piece of bread
I tossed on the deck.
A big yellow bird
On the big green tree roars:
beware of humans;
Zooming in,
Grabbing the piece of bread.
I get angry at the big bird
Until I see them together
On the big green tree
Sharing their love
Beak to beak.
August 2017
HM: Strand choice B by Brian Strand
BEAK OF NIGHT
Following the glow in every star in my eyes
I lay here in the frenzy grass with swimming thoughts
Escapading~
Thunder hides in the still of the night
Doves fly high in an epic way
Swans glide in the mist of night
Everest tears, run down my cheeks
Speechless~
------- I left you-------------------
The wind carries the sorrow from a chime,
A touch with aromatic perfume, that turns out control
My shadows peeks around the warmth of a Phoenix mirage
My head is losing balance to a negative magnetic seal
Secretiveness ~
Sleepwalking with the tendency to crawl
My feelings stray as I lay on this frenzy grass of snow
Years that come and years that go
Things In life I will never know
I pass the morning till the night popsicles away
A blanket of snow to cover my dream
Wings taking flight near the river stream
Mockingbirds protecting their branch
In every scream!
Silence~
---------------- Far Away-------------
Leaves fall on me like an endless Odyssey Romance
I'm a lonely sparrow with an enigmatic look
A Gothic Dance, under the stars
Prancing under the devil's claw
I hold myself
Side to side
I lose myself to an ironic form.
Zero is what I can't perceive.
Muteness~
With and without a beak
The mystique of my lips
Is all billiard-up
My mouth sewn shut
Shut up~
--------------No Words, Indeed------
EPIC
By; p.d.
A cosmic beak pecks
an explosion of maroon
that converges with
galactic vastnesss where stars
brightly splatter midnight blue.
Feb 20, 2019 for the Tell Me- What Do You See-- Poetry Contest
of James Edward Lee Sr.
Epiphany falls exactly
on the sixth of each January;
children call it, " La Befana ":
she's the opposite of Santa!
On the sixth of each January,
the dauntless witch flies away;
will the beak-nosed Befana find
Baby Jesus and become kind?
Children call it, " La Befana ":
an old witch riding the broomstick,
bringing gifts; she's a real nonna*
to those kids who are good, not slick!
She's the opposite of Santa:
who's jolly and he's never late;
should every Italian kid trade
their Befana for our Santa?
P.S. Nonna is the Italian word for grandmother
Brownie broke her beak today
Purloining potted prawns
Despite Will’s whistled warning words
To only eat from lawns
But Brownie boldly battered
that toughened tin top jar
and broke her lovely beak in bits
she’d pushed her peck too far
but wily Will he had a way
to triumph testing trial
so searching for some Superglue
he produced a plastic phial
But Brownie fussed and fluttered
And Thang a tuneleth thong
Worried when Will wrapped it up
thseed thing her thong all wong
One dinky drop of adhesive
Fast fastening he found
Forever fixed his flailing foot
But stopped that thsquawking thound
Sharp piercing eyes with far searching light
Familiar with the basic rule of fittest survive
Prey bird knows well to use its keen eyesight
Water bodies not just their abode but a guide
Their soaring style matches with swift air tide
Each hour a battle of sea for living is a fight
Bird of prey raging high with forehead bright
Esteem inside for being an asset nation wide
No longer threatens the extinction of its life
Bald Bold and Brave species of seamless pride!
Every friggin day
mother hen runs amuck,
while all chicken's
beady eyes appear awestruck
drawing particular
agitation, irritation, perturbation...
of Punxsutawney (Doctor) Phil
(well grounded) woodchuck,
the latter glaring at henpecked
yours truly rifled
tail feathered rooster,
whether communicating
nonverbal sympathy
towards me, a garden variety
Gallus gallus domesticus dumbstruck,
who doth make feeble attempt
albeit without explaining
rhyme or reason
poetic, plaintive, pathetic... cluck,
regarding doomed pyrrhic victory
against incessant cackling
more fowl and upset
than goosed duck,
she that casus belli hideous source
feels cooped up bred to lay eggs
absent any pleasure to fµç*
out her tail feathers fin
hushed yoked for sole purpose
mutter under beak, what the "huck"
subsequently, she takes frustration
buzzfeeding me 'bout chained to
chicken feed to earn
breeder (yours truly) favorable luck
yielding "FAKE" farmer
Matthew Scott Harris megabuck
regarding top quality accolades
raves subsequently generate
he invariably feels moonstruck
matter of fact expanded business
necessitating workers to drive
state of the art rigorous motortruck
the missus decries mistreatment
scratching thru mire and muck
to fill little beasts in belly,
eventually retired, repurposed
relieved invariably chef
buoy or gull hardy sole destiny,
whereby one or another
hired hand will gingerly pluck
every spruced, primped,
groomed... feather
in short shrift priming
precious helpless creature,
(who bemoans lack
of state bird status)
into slaughterhouse five
butchered, filleted (maybe), quartered...
routed to household kitchen
gamely served at potluck
toothpicks applied to teeth
loosening gristle unstuck
after appetites satiated
belt unbuckled years ago
purchased before Sears Roebuck
shuttered stores, plus
bought linens and things
comfortable pillow perfect to tuck
under drowsy sudden sleepy head
unaware coop d'etat mutiny hatched,
whereby sly fox weasels him/
herself to guard henhouse
finding petrified slack beaked
AC/DC powered chicken coop,
where prating poultry thunderstruck.
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
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.
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.
A passerine bird,
One of the smallest of sizes,
With a beak almost minute.
On its beak you can count many;
the tiniest to biggest,
the slimmest to the fattest,
the lightest to the heaviest,
the ugliest to the finest,
the sourest to the sweetest,
the slowest to the swiftest.
All on this paltry beak,
it houses them all.
And what do you liken this beak to?
A lad's might,it is.
The crow perches and watches,
all that walks below him.
With his black, silky feathers his waits,
as if holding a secret.
Keeping his beak closed tight,
he keeps the truth hidden.
None will know if he doesn’t speak.
his black, stone eyes dart to both sides,
making a quick chuckle to himself,
before he opens his wings,
taking flight aside the moonlight.
Wings feathered in snow,
weightless, drifting through the air,
a beak chirping, strong.
Elizabeth Smither' THE BEAK ' (JUDGE)
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the tangerine beak
stuffed into a round of snow -
where a carrot grows
1/28/2019