Best Cockerels Poems
blueprint
To have the innocence
again, not abused
nor denied
to see with the
eyes of a child
the beauty
that could be
in it all -
what we lost,
through bitterness
the curse of
me over you
and warring life
throwing its poetic
grenades, watching
feathers fly
the absurd piranhas
and cockerels fighting
fed love,
the monsters
put to bed to sleep,
to wake
to live
the beautiful dream
the sting
of wonderment
in the child’s heart
untouched
open, sweet
beatific smiles
innocence untried
retrieved blueprint
could be ours again
in another world
in another time
bathed in sun,
Blue Sky
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"The Walk"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_walk_1376951
Soft somnolent skies have ceased seething, for day’s nearly through,
while winds echo whispering thoughts of returning to you
and heavens throb, pulsing and bleeding in crimsons, once blue -
their passions, like flames, fill my veins as you pass into view.
The breeze holds her breath as you touch, then embrace me anew
and smouldering clouds withdraw, blushing, then paling their hue.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
The pendulous moon appears, sweeping the fog from up high
distilling the drops into notes of a hushed lullaby,
their quavering tunes spinning tales which amaze, mystify,
while tremulous stars fling a fire that fevers the skies,
for stories they tell reflect love as revealed by your sighs -
their fury is burning, alive in the depths of your eyes.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
The shifting shore’s moaning, seduced by tempestuous tides
which flow with the rhythm of flesh as our senses collide,
and quiet explodes as the stillness of night’s amplified.
A lingering kiss bids adieu till the morning breaks wide
when cockerels come conjuring dawn with voluptuous pride
enticing the sun into banishing night, starry-eyed.
The twilight is painted with wandering dreams of your charms,
so close your eyes slowly and slip into sleep in my arms.
Is it the songs of the chirping bird in the morning?
Or is it the sound of the crickets at night?
It could be the timely crow of the village cockerels in the morning
That has awakened the residents for yet another beautiful morning?
Could it be because of the village mongrels that are barking furiously as they chase the
wild rabbit to the nearby wood?
Or it the mooing and the bleating of the sheep as they demand to have their middle belts
filled?
It could probably be the noise of the school children as they rush to school
Probably it is because of the hooting of the milk collector as he comes for the morning
milk to take to the dairy?
Is it because of the fresh produce of the greens?
Is it because of the numerous expanse of the land that the eyes can not have to its full?
Could it be because of the naughty neighbors that will listen to your silent conversations?
Or is it because of the early neighborly visits just when the "morning devotion" is at its
peak?
Could it be because of the neighborliness of the neighbors?
Probably it is because of the 'friendships' behind the banana plants near the house.
Or it could be the whispered sweet nothings under the tree just outside the gate with the
moon smiling over the young lovers
It could be because of the 'accidental' pouring of hot dirty and foul smelling water to
the shadowed forms near the banana plant?
Or am i just blindly in love with country life?!
Form:
A farmer fancied some chicken for dinner
A fat cockerel he spied sure was a winner
He sharpened his knife
To end cockerels life
Cockerel wished that he'd been a bit thinner.
Inspired by Jan Allisons poem Cluck Off
I'm a Wood Cockerel
a Metal Tiger's my mate,
which meant for her birthday
five years I did wait.
Then twenty four years
had passed on their way
till joining of species
on that happy day.
Tiger and Cockerel
fur and feather and fun,
in crowing and growling
they can't be outdone.
But nesting together,
at home in their lair,
this cock and his pussy
combine as a pair.
They’re totally manic
mammal and bird,
strutting together
the pictures absurd!
Now that forty five years
has passed this pair by,
their children surround them
and non can deny,
that Cockerels and Tigers
though a different breed
found that love found a way
to propagate seed.
Together forever
under Chinese Moon,
there’s non now are saying
they’ll separate soon.
For a lifetime of living
they’ve shared with each other…
A Cockerel as Father
and Tigress as Mother.
Ivor G Davies
I have seen them
strutting like cockerels on podiums
sweating like pigs in their ill-fitting suits
words bubbling out of their snake forked tongues
-democracy!- development!- unity!
I have seen them
lock themselves up in their posh grave tomblike cars,
is it to avoid the dust of the potholed roads
or the sight of poverty ridden comrades
who crawl along the streets like sprayed bedbugs
I have seen them
prancing along the corridors of power
thirsty for more, more and more
always more while their comrades get less
-Salaries – Allowances—Terms
I have seen them
preach peace but sow strife
scream democracy while muffling fundamental rights
promise development while worshiping corruption
I have seen them
torch the nation with careless words
fanning the flames of hatred amongst comrades
destroying – always destroying!
I have seen them
stamped like buffalo herds
on the foundation of the nation
till it stands on shattered and battered grounds
constitution amendments – always amending!
I have seen them
do all these and more – always more
but like a man condemned
I stand on the sidelines
watching—only watching!
among hens
among cockerels
even if hens rebel
The widow
What about the first rays of each dawn,
Does recall her from the land of slumber?
What does announce that the night’s gone
To release her from each night’s cumber?
Owning no cockerels to herald the morning,
With shrill. anticipatory predawn crows
Is there then, a scent that’s adorning
Of dawn, only discernible by her nose?
Awake, she never does lumber about,
As one in the daze of insufficient sleep,
Her chores, efficiently she does carry out;
Her progeny, she must slave for their keep.
Her aching palms, withered and abrasive,
Are blistered in testament to years of toil,
But never a deterrent into being dismissive
Of a menial job, even the carter of night soil.
She’d sworn to never use as the egress-
Her body, from a poverty that’s truly abject;
The goatish rich feeding off her distress
And making her the village gossip’s subject
Her children’s dreams she’d rather marry;
Never by tradition, her late husband’s brother
Forsaken by most, her suffering may tarry,
But this shameful custom, she’d help smother!
Must have been six when I encountered my first carnivorous reptile
Walking up the up the hill with my brother I spotted what looked like a snake
I'd heard of snakes, from my mother's tales
I saw it, I wasn't sure whether it was a log or what..
Then I took off running as fast as I could
My brother said it was dead, lifeless
For a long time my brother loved retelling that story
My mother's tales, of walking cockerels wearing red high heels
Of long big snakes with their tongues vibrating and hissing
Of cats and how they see demons, hence "the black cats phobia"
All these representing a face, an evil force, a witchcraft. ..
The many warnings:
Never shake their hands
Never go to their house
Never eat their food
Never befriend their kids
Never talk to them
Never look at them
Never take their gifts
I remember how one time we burned several sea shells
Because
"Sea shells have bad spirits and that's why they make that sound"
And this was done far from the house, in the presence of a pastor
Sometimes in the dark, in fear, I see snakes
Either behind me when am walking in the dark especially in the house
Or at the corner of my eye, I may see some figure
And sometimes when I sleep, I have scary dreams of snakes
And as I have grown older, I've come to interpret these dreams as a sign that someone in my life is deceiving me, someone is trying to hurt me or someone is trying to take from me
So in those times when I have those dreams, I always pray
Being a Christian I understand there are forces out there, of dark and light
Shindwe shetani
The clouds are turning blue;
the grass awaken to the first heat.
flowers smile at each other:
daffodils, sunflowers and the like.
Morning glories awake, stretch their petals lazily
swaying to the morning breeze playfully.
The cocks are already crowing accolades
to the ONE who made all things.
The mooing of cows, among the cattle
clashing their horns, sounding like spears in battle.
The chatter of sparrows, the cawing of crows;
the crowing of cockerels, the twittering of swallows
all cry for the heavens to awaken.
Then the sky becomes tingly bright red,
orange; and the sun bursts out in dazzling yellow,
spraying the world with rays of hope, joy and laughter.
The birds burst forth, and then,
it sounds like morning in the Garden of Eden.
Dew sparkles like diamonds on the blades of grass
all creation rings with songs round about
to the God of all flesh, Creator of all things;
without whom nothing would have been possible.
And then, just as the morning deepens,
Moving caps are seen above the tall grass, going towards the fields.
inside the banana suckers is our temple
at dawn we dance round the tombs
in the dusk, we crow as cockerels
then we
creep into the creeks with the crickets
a confluence of the strange
in holy matrimony with the strange
waiting for the next residence
in her residence
i sleep tonight
in the pain of her delivery , i emerge
defying the predictions of the bush doctor
by noon i shall be gone
with scars on my skin
lacerations on my index thumb
my face smeared with hot iron
my toes crush with anger
they wept, i laughed
i died, i died, i died,
i shall return the fourth time
awoh kingsley awoh
Voices scream like cockerels' within the farm of my mind
Awake again. should I even bother opening my eyes?
Maybe if I dont, the day wont have to start.
I roll out of bed into consciousness.
Coffee. Black like my mood.
Nicotine and coffee are good ammunitions.
How many hours till sleep?
inside the banana suckers is our temple
at dawn we dance round the tombs
in the dusk, we crow as cockerels
then we
creep into the creeks with the crickets
a confluence of the strange
in holy matrimony with the strange
waiting for the next residence
in her residence
i sleep tonight
in the pain of her delivery , i emerge
defying the predictions of the bush doctor
by noon i shall be gone
with scars on my skin
lacerations on my index thumb
my face smeared with hot iron
my toes crush with anger
they wept, i laughed
i died, i died, i died,
i shall return the fourth time
awoh kingsley awoh
I had a tasty cock-a-doodle stew
Now I crow at dawn as cockerels do
I pulled a sweet hen
And now and again
We dine on an omelette made for two.
the rising sun walks quietly in sky
then lowers her lips down
whispers to birds; “wake up”
tells cockerels; “crow loudly”
and intimates the lazy; “sleep on,
time is unfair, sleep on”
then the world bursts into noise
sounds, cries and singing echoes
in every quarter there is activity
with the sun watching and wondering
“I woke up a few creatures but
the whole world has responded!”
then wise sun smiles and vanishes