Best Cockerels Poems

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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among hens
among cockerels
even if hens rebel...

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 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...

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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...

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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...

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[In the spirit of ‘Old Macdonald’, I envisage a class
full of kids filling the space between stanzas with
moo’s, quacks and dings etc as appropriate. Of course
if you’re in charge of a room full of kids... you might
choose to polish your medal first]

***

The farmer raised his...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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....

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