Best Condor Poems | Poetry
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Sight of the lost Condor
by faherty, dennis
I am a Condor
by Gangabissoon, Anoucheka
The California Condor
by Gorelick, Barbara
El Condor Pasa
by Kendrick, Sara
by Brackley, Matthew
View all new Condor Poems
The Best Condor Poems
Segun my child! My son!
Soon, the cock will crow at dawn
And the east will showcase the sun
Soon, you will leave my home,
To found your own
With words of wisdom, you won’t be alone.
Like a mini-skirt, advice is too short
But it covers the body’s vital lot.
Your brother is not your friend,
He is another you, but independent
So your love for one another, allow no dent
For the sons of men…
Every journey far destination brings
Nature presents a transport means
The snow has the snow dogs
The desert has the camels
The long distant road has the horse
Even technology came to aid us
For the road, we have the cars
For the seas and ocean, the ship
For the rail, the train
The sky has the airplane
All, to lead us through our destiny lane
That is it with man’s life and the battle in it
For whatever fate comes to us, so be it
As the future hungers like a wild beast
Likewise on it, your eyes be firmly fixed
Take a deep breath my child, and learn this
Every master was once an apprentice
Be it the prophets or the dentists
Fate is most times very unfair
Be not defeated by the things you saw
For life is more like war
And all is fair in love and war.
But whatever life’s battle you face
Nature will surely with remedy surface.
When you fall or fail
Don’t ceaselessly wail
Inhale…count to ten, and then exhale
Turn stumbling block to stepping stone,
So the builders reject, will be chief cornerstone
Two Demi-gods are on man’s destiny entrance
Their names, Consistency and Perseverance
Segun, to them, you must bow
No matter what, no matter how
On their feet, bring your head down
I know my son, I know,
That adventure is the blood of the youths
But by rushing the moment, the petals are bruised
So, calmly assimilate my child, calm study
For so, Apostle Paul admonished Timothy
Never be the first to hate
But to forgive, be the first and be in haste
My son, all humans can’t love you
If they all do, then they want to kill you
Likewise, all humans can’t hate you
If they all do, then they want the best for you
What people suffer to get, yet you so easily get
That you must never despise
For it is your miracle in disguise
For the sons of men,
Me, myself and I comes first
Don’t follow that context
If you find the opportunity to rule
My son, take the alternative to lead
For where rulers doom, leaders bloom
When fortune knocks on your door,
Be quick to offer him a sit
Use your wisdom and condor
To keep him and give him no exit
Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2011
“Beloved Femme Fatale”
Musk and Neroli satin skin spoons
Naked feet ‘neath The Pillars of Petra
She towers majestic above you, colours your grey skies
You are worshipping her on your knees
What does it matter, anymore? Before your eyes, the story unfolds . . .
Such supplication suits the silence in her movement’s music,
There is a symphony in her slender fingers.
She reveals to you her story, simple, as they speak in hushed signs
That softly tease the air, not you. Like harp strings,
She plucks your heart, discards your thorny disguise.
Lapis Lazuli dripping her irridescent Blues
Between her breasts, around her knees,
Smokey Green Aventurine her windows
Belie her different dimension’s aventurescence.
Mirror quartz bedazzled scrying, what is this phenomenon?
You dream you are in her eyes, you now see yourself
Some other soothsayer soul gone Eagle Condor wild -
Like a Magi Djinn you are, soaring high, in her eyes you are flying.
Then, there you lie, in the reflection of her twin iris fires, you've alighted
both feet on ground, though you know you are no longer sound.
She’s a Lost City somewhere,
Buried underneath the dry desert sandstorms
Of your mind.
Mysterious, dark and hidden, she waits to be discovered
And all her treasures, your five senses lay bare, so naked
Plundered, while she lies conquered splayed and love drugged
on her throne -
You find you are no longer speaking to an empty chair.
Your coal warm hands part the flaming fan of jet and there,
Just there, you know where
you witness her distant smile
She is nowhere near you yet,
She is dreaming in Ancient Sanskrit…
She is casting her runes.
She opens the floodgate to the Secret Place, all in good time, where
Ruins of passion, ripe succulent Pomegranate dusted in Palm Sugar
Her fruits are all lying open and waiting to be tasted
this is her Temple of Subjugation.
Her kisses, deep raw Vanilla and soft essence of Blood Red Persian Roses
Crushed Velvet petals lie at the heart of her heated Shrine
Now blooming swollen exotic violet
Higher and higher she climbs.
She worships your Sun rising
Where she lies in her Moonlit valley
Running milky Rivers of Pearls.
A dusty blind sweet passage she transforms
Echoing epiphanies of escalating ecstasies
Au tres Sauvage, never sublime,
Opalescent orbs swelling
Two Moons of The Goddess
In twin reflective mirrors now feverishly shine.
She sings poems of Love in her sweet distress.
No destruction, no pain in this hidden city now fully undressed,
She transmutes from Woman into the Girl of her youth, again
You lay your crown in her beseeching arms
While you trust her magic and bid farewell to peace, rest and all things sane.
For you see, you’ve now entered her Kingdom, she resides on another elusive otherworldly plane.
An Ocean is rising
The Gift is delivered, delicious and dripping.
She is High Priestess
In the midst of your dreaming, you’re over the edge euphorically tripping.
You are the sacrificial offering and you go gladly
Lick the salt, pay your alms, you drink her up
Drunk on her julip you wanted so badly.
Your ship is rocking
You have been cast in a spell
You dance in her storm, you think by now, you know her so very well.
You're Odysseus' charms break Circe’s gold chains, you think you have broken the spell that unlocks who she truly is, you connect -
She’s The Electric Storm come to defibrillate your waning, lacklustre Tempest.
She is wrecked on the Shores of Femme Violent,
behind her the Woods of Lost Love.
Calm waters you float towards her necromancy
A single silver silent Gondola sluicing Venetian Canal,
you and your mortal sorcery.
What harm to again approach this Rasputin Romance,
You are Royal Romanov come back from the dead for last dance.
Her smile is low and bewitching
She calls only to you her Siren call, you can tell.
In the World of The Dreaming
You reach her Pillars of Petra,
Your Long Lost City
Your Beloved Femme Fatale
Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018
I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention
There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart? Should I?
And to what profit? Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs. However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody
and "Mama's Song"!
Note: For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children. RIP w/Papa!!
Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010
A staff is more than handhold, its worn
to the grasp, trust in what fell down from above.
The llama's sure foothold fits like our staffs
in the rocks climbing upward to the top to the sky.
We risk the blaze of sun, for the wide wings of condor
soaring, spiraling, hunting for a meal, never assured
except for his hold on the sky, flight, supreme
over the rocks and tumbles and worn out straw
of season of cold passing into days of warmth.
The spindle clatter, the roil and curve of weft needle
a prayer to on high, like the spirals of rock to the sky
the sun speaking to us at feet, these are complete
to the rest and remain of our escape to safety
in the cradle of our summer retreat, waiting for stars
to fall among us, waiting for stars to carry us away
from homes built within a circle of spires, three spires
to bring the ley lines of power into our grasp, to offer
escape from the dust and dung we live in, amazed.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Vultures on the wing high up in the sky
Careen in flight as they go sailing by
Tracing out patterns of vanishing lines
As they create most exquisite designs
Other birds like eagles, gulls and falcons
Also engage in such exhibitions
Viewing them gives a feeling of freedom
That transcends daily life's din and humdrum
With wings outstretched they effortlessly ride
Rising air currents that support their glide
With angled wings they dip down and then rise
Navigating their way up in the skies
In total mastery of flight they appear
Cavorting and floating up in the air
With the gracefulness of their flight on high
They are true avian sailors in the sky
Since I was a child, I have always admired the effortless gliding of vultures up in the sky.
Among other gliding birds listed are albatross, eagle, condor, stork, frigatebird and seagull.
It is a truly delightful to watch the marvellous gliding action of these birds way up in the sky as they ride the air currents.
This poem is dedicated to them: the genuine avian sailors in the sky.
(I have made some adjustments to the original to include some other gliding birds in the body of the piece).
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2017
Bluebirds can't fly over the rainbow,
And I'll tell you something more;
The only avian species that can
Is the Andean Condor.
A chased rainbow is never caught.
Somehow, a rainbow's never "here".
The closer you get to the pot o'gold,
The rainbow moves or even disappears.
If I could fly over the rainbow,
My heart would sing;
But I can't fly over the rainbow,
'Cause I've got no damn wings.
Yes, we're all seeking rainbows.
In that, there's nothing wrong;
But every day I can say,
"I'm glad Judy Garland sang the song."
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
He flew away, soaring high, like a young condor
With a thousand dreams in his heart
His mind, a compass, set toward the eastern shore
To find his love waiting, beneath the stars
Two lovers, united, blazing bright from afar.
Written on 6/17/2015
Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2015
Ten thousand years ago he roamed free
He was king of the sky on both coasts
Now his kind is just clinging to life
Only about 160 birds left to boast
Lead poisoning led to his decline
That, and the predation of man
Now, sadly, he's raised in a cage
Protected as much as we can
With a wing span of up to 9 feet
His bald head seems far to small
But in flight he's quite spectacular
For in the air he's not ugly at all
Each little egg is a treasure
As we try to hold on to the past
We try to play surrogate mother
In hopes their species will last..........
The centering instruction "kinda" worked...
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010
The Coming Of The Day
Pipeline to be circumvent.
Broken Promises and lies,
Uniting of many tribes,
Waiting for a judge of man to surmise,
And Great Spirit to decolonize.
Black Snake of greed,
You thought we were a "vanishing breed",
The reptile met the spirit steed,
Oil is not the Native creed.
Upon treaty lands you slither near,
It is songs and prayers that you will hear,
From prophecies and spiritual seers,
You crawled into the Standing Rock sphere.
Where Sitting Bull's spirit dwells,
Where Crazy Horses' courage compels,
And Chief Gall's stands still and rebels,
Sacred Lakota parallel.
Disturbed graves and uncovered bones,
You really should have left them alone,
Together the eagle and condor has flown,
The dead are not powerless nor are they gone.
We've been waiting on you for centuries now,
Since the birth of the white bison cow,
To you we make our own avow,
The sacred tree lives and we are the boughs.
What Wovoka spoke was all true,
The buffalo's return gave proof,
The Father says so and it is long overdue,
And now you have much to hitherto.
Copyright © Darlene Smith | Year Posted 2016
The wind blows through the ocean between waves and the sky
Through the islands where dragon of Komodo lives it will fly
Wild tiger the soul of India it will pass by
While arctic wind with it is on collision course if they meet they’ll form hurricane with an eye
Arctic wind has story of its own
All the way from where polar bear rules it has flown
Where aurora borealis shines and it has grown
Coming from place when nights lasting half a year are known
It gain strength in Scandinavian ocean above whales
It gentled by Baltic as it moved ship with sails
It whispered land and sea tales
But as it moved towards Russia its fury once again would tip the scales
As it moved past the Russian onion shaped domes
Through where saiga antelope roams
Past Northern Indian catacombs
It meets up with southern wind right above yoga practitioners’ homes
The hurricane formed will go through desert of Arabia
With even more fury then it had at Scandinavia
Living behind Asia
Turning gentle again by the Nile and pyramids last wonder of ancient era
Then across Atlantic Ocean it will soar
After it comes ashore
Ending up before American Congress’s front door
But as it flies west it will continue to roar
Through Appalachian Mountains badlands and sea of Kansas grass
As it flies through Grant Canyon it will make a fuss
After the canyon it will surpass
It will end up in south western desert its last stop on this landmass
There it loses all its power and furious tone
All day in the desert sun scorched every stone
Now surreally beautiful sunset above cactuses has grown
The eerie violet hue of clouds moving gently not with fury of cyclone
But desert extremely thirsty is
And if wind would bring rain it would be bliss
As gentle and slow dreamy sunset is
Equally suddenly scary lightning crosses the sky carried by remaining breeze
But it is all in vane
Heavy cloud but no rain
The true magic is there but still great pain
The eerie violet sunset is beautiful beyond all abstract but it can’t yield rain
The day turns to night
In the desert stars shine incredibly bright
To the eye it is delight
But lack of moisture kills desert’s soul and it is sad sight
Finally in echoes beyond echoes of continuity
Perfection of Great Eye is the key
As California condor spreads its wings with majesty
Welcoming divine life giving rain that in this second coming down will be
Copyright © Patrycjusz Kopec | Year Posted 2014
You may find me where the green gentle grass lies sleeping
For I shall be there healing wounds by their weeds weeping
You may also find me near where waters wilfully wander
As I watch the skies for the calculating carnivorous condor
You may find me in the vinaceous valleys visualizing my dreams
For I sail swiftly aboard their silent saddened streams
You may also find me under the towering Trembling Aspen trees
As I bravely bond with and ingest the beguiled breeze
You may find me lively lucidly listening to rhythm’s of the sphere
For I meticulously marvel music the wonder that I hear
You may also find me in the habitable harmonic healing caves
As the earthly echo embraces my soul that it saves
I am now found on the magical mystical mountains high
Where abundant ambient Angels keep a watchful eye.
March.14.2016 For Contest --- Where will they find you---
By Marugu Mo
Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2016
Night's shadows grew weary in the oppressive heat;
Repose of Earth's golden orb brought little relief.
Like a condor shadowing its prey from aloft,
There was no respite from the encompassing doom.
Behind curtains of vanity man hid his pride,
As he destroyed the Earth reaping all its rewards -
Spewing gaseous emissions - fallouts of his lust.
His reckoning upon him in forty more days;
God's Kingdom would come to Earth, for man's wicked ways.
Too little, too late as our foundations crumbled,
And the Horsemen of the Apocalypse appeared.
In man's last hour suppliant prayers rocked the night,
As humanity came together one last time.
Might man save his Earth forsaking his wanton ways?
Might he learn to live in harmony with his land?
Forty days an eternity for all on Earth;
Can we live as one - our answer might be our curse.
Copyright © R.A. Marschall | Year Posted 2016
in den Bergen getrotzt,
versteckt in den Wolken
getragen vom Geist des Inka,
wie von Geisterhand
überragst du das
zerklüftete Tal des Urubamba.
Stein auf Stein,
gebaut mit großem Geschick,
geboren durch die Kraft
der letzten Überlebenden,
verborgen vor den Augen
aus dem so entfernten Spanien,
die Feuer und Tod brachten,
dich aber nie sahen.
Umhüllst dich noch heute
mit nebelgesponnenen Rätseln
aus tristem Gestein.
und über deinen Mauern,
jetzt nur noch Heimstatt
zieht wie einst
seine vibrierenden Kreise.
hidden in clouds,
carried by the spirit of Incas,
as from ghostly hands
are you extending beyond
the rugged valley of the Urubamba.
Stone by stone,
built with spectacular craftmansship,
born by the power
of the last survivors,
hidden from the eyes
of the intruders
from far away Spain,
who carried fire and death,
but never saw you.
You cover even today
in foggy-spun mystery
like newly born
from solitude stone.
and above your murals
now only home of the Gods,
a condor is drawing as once
his vibrating circles.
resistiendo en las montañas
escondido en las nubes
protegido por el espíritu del Inca,
como de una mano de fantasma
tu te levantas
sobre el valle hendido del Urubamba.
Piedra por piedra,
construido con gran destreza,
nacido por la fuerza
de los Incas.
de últimos sobrevivientes,
escondido antes de los ojos
del tan distante España,
que traeron fuego y muerte,
pero nunca te veían.
Te envuelves todavía
con enigmas hiladas por nieblas
como recién nacido
de rocas tristes.
Tu alma viva
y sobre tus murallas,
gira como antiguamente
sus circulos vibrantes.
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
I WISH I WEREN’T AN ANT
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I wish I weren’t an ant, my survival rate is scant
Done in by a pesticide, or a shoe, as I gallivant
A solitary figure, when I roam, I am seldom seen
In Africa, in motion, we’re a devastating machine
But that’s not my fate, I’m a sentinel at the gate
Guarding the queen laying eggs at an alarming rate
When I’m on a hunt for food I always leave a scent
So I can find my way back home in rapid descent
I may be small, but I can lift twenty times my weight
Orts, meat, leaves or carcasses are typical freight
We are constantly on the hunt for sugary sweets
When acting in groups we perform incredible feats
That’s enough about me, I’ve got kin you need to see
They’re called fire ants once upon you it’s no mercy
They overwhelm you, stinging, causing great pain
Stumble across their mound; your distance maintain
I’ve got giant kinsmen that are in our tribal clan
Called carpenter ants habituating across the land
Their name may give that group a sense of glamour
I ask you, ever seen an ant carrying a hammer?
We are always busy, maintaining a colony means work
Soldiers, drones, workers, none allowed duty to shirk
But always being busy causes my legs to get sore
I’d like to be someone else, like the majestic condor
Soaring high over the Nazca plains in southern Peru
Seeing geoglyphs visible only from an aerial view
I’d glide, dive and do inside n outside double loops
High above Andean peaks with frightening swoops
But alas that’s a daydream of mine nary to be seen
As I forage seeking food for our egg laying machine
Copyright © John Arribas | Year Posted 2017
Carnelian robes permeate dreamtime landscapes
of parchment and prayer flag.
Smiling faces walk swiftly
through corridors of ancient walls
carved from living mountains,
spinning cylindrical wheels in their wake.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.
Eagle feathers jounce
as soft moccasins dance heartbeat
on the prairie hair of Mother Earth.
Sacred sisters hold position in jingle dress rhythms
offering prayer pipes to their men,
who burn sweet grass as they fancy dance past.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.
Hula dancers waft sea breeze
in the heat waves of Pele’s fire.
Warrior lines pace boundary between the worlds,
as molten lands part the waters
and oasis the humble in a paradise
where lei lines encircle life.
Patience of a thousand thousand years,
we wait for peace.
Condor circles as mountains spirits speak
telling stories of forever and ever.
Ancient peoples gather in raindrop mists
to nourish the living land
and feed the collective soul
the medicine of dreams.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years,
we wait for peace.
“Imagine all the people” sound waves and ipods
park bench hosts to afternoon drummers,
as momentum gathers
inner city gardeners and beekeepers
buzzing to the cyber shifts
of “sharing all the world”.
Patience of a thousand, thousand years
we wait for peace.
Copyright © Krow Fischer | Year Posted 2010
In arcade of rigorousness
that brought the use of scrupulousness
walking in the valley of rectitudeness
with a pure mind of purity
which truncate not, witting truthfulness
to a steadfast adherence of walking uprightness
showing the way to an unfailing trustworthiness
in the great mind of Chastity
road to life for righteousness
with moral ethics of great sense
truthful footstep of Kosher dispense
the land that makes a good person’s life easy
the real estate of deed in geniuses
giving the pathway to a man of faithfulness
bringing the concord of a sincere hearts to the apex of wholeness
connecting the plainness and condor in harmony
location where everyone should be and dwell in virtuousness
through the conduit of righteousness
gathering station for the board of trustees
discussing on the role of decency
Watch! insincere hinkers will scorn you because of your uprightness
but be of good cheer in your doings
for the light shatters every plan of the scorners
this is not just word but an homily
that’s what it takes to get to the promise land of trusty
if you are not on the road yet, quickly change your theory
but if you are one the road already
Welcome! to the land of HONESTY
Copyright © Afolabi Oluwaseun | Year Posted 2015
I fly, alone, powerful, high up in the skies
Wondering at what makes clouds grey
At what makes the land green
At what does there be for me, except the carrying of my duty
I fly, alone, powerful, wanting to be deaf at humanity's cries
When, I do see that blindly, people do go on their way
While being consciously mean
While being attached to this world and its promise of liberty
I fly, alone, powerful, knowing full well that I am scary
Even weird, for I am a predator
I hunt, live, and do take the time to sit and wonder
Wonder at why does life seem to be so silly
I am the condor, the one great powerful bird of the world
I am the only one who does see what does there be up above
Above the blue veil, above the grey cloud
But, being the guard of the skies, I do keep pretending to be a silent sentry!
Copyright © Anoucheka Gangabissoon | Year Posted 2015
Bleeding ripe woman,
wet naked stone;
honey rock dries--
fast star bone.
Dead memories change
just like laid,
wants fly open--
soul sky parade.
Sea moon dreams,
daddy heard stars--
known little face;
death drives cars.
Rainy days wash--
brick looking mud,
blank reality strings
dry midsummer blood.
Dog's child minds--
revolution spreads wings,
dirty molten other
fraught angel sings.
Corner ocean waves--
milk sounds morbid,
freeing minnow slaves
gritty condor kid.
Catch passing eclipse--
my suicidal dream!
Kissing dying lips,
conscience eagles' scream.
Roots stop barely--
silver burdened rhyme;
river's metal tracks
help God remind.
Lofty smokeless breeze--
bird's echo box.
Ice burg floating,
saturates frozen socks.
Rings pulled strangers
silk blossoms singing--
remembering ancient maps
deep words bringing.
Canon pirates' soup
dreamer's record stalkin',
river's whole amount--
dead man walkin'.
Instant scattered corona
clenching eagle drowning;
rubber slamming secrets--
reading Robert Browning.
Copyright © red barchettadrive | Year Posted 2015
Pardon my condor sensitivity,
but can I be
dead serious candid with you
Everybody look down on me,
and talk mean about me
But, in the future, they’re gonna need me
even nuclear more
I’m nature’s finest,
best garbage collector
My critter pals,
when they get their fill of wilderness lost you
They say to me: pick up the trash, will you please,
when we’re through
So I do what I do best ...
I pick the bones clean, rotting flesh and all
I devour the things other animals
don’t got the stomach for
Circling up above,
my telescopic olfactory senses
are searching downwind
I see some fool lost drug mules
thirstily water struggling in the wilderness
They’re slowly dying ... disoriented
since wandering out of the way
Now unbeknownst to them,
the desert will be their last score grave
Once they’re dead and baked,
I’m gon have me a good cadaver brownie cake
Those stashed hash mules done football kicked me good,
‘cause I’m flying high ... higher than before
Man, what an extra-point desert score!
After that sickly sweet rancid taste of victory,
I hear my coyote friends give a howl alert:
Death Valley off road tourist route,
cavern aisle four
But it’s too early for a lunch break,
way too rigor mortis early for me to be eating fresh meat
That poor adventurous soul was compass challenged,
and got sextant separated from the tour group
And he just pauper purchased an early expiration date,
but some things I just can’t bring myself to eat —
I hate fresh meat!
As for now, I’m waiting patiently,
perched on a craggy, desert mountain outcrop
Waiting hungrily ...
for that Big Mushroom feast in the sky
Until that special day arrive,
it’s the same ol’ mundane work routine
Garbage carcase collecting is a thankless job,
but somebody gotta do it ... ain’t that right?
Excuse me, Ms. Mountain Lioness,
can you hand me a rib cage toothpick
from that dead prairie dog
Just give me a cleanup call
when you’re through with the rest of it
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018
It starts beautifully in tropical rain forest beyond majestic mists
Birds of paradise show off their colors to admire their exquisiteness team persists
But there among the deep mists
Casting huge shadow their target exists
The way up starts little bit bumpy but it matters not
The slope is still gentle and of vegetation there is a lot
Word fear was not yet taught
But as vegetation changes from tropical paradise to eerie moorland ever expanding
And the sheer granite rock face seems daunting
While at the top there is volcano blazing
Right now it is not bird of paradise but sad condor that will sing
Yet in his black feathers there is still luster and his visage majesty
The team is still brave and free
But way up soon turns into infinity
And the summit beyond mist hard to see
The air turns thin
That is where real life will begin
The death in precipice is price you pay if you don’t win
But if you do win you have to do it clean
The challenge tests the very soul
It doesn’t come easy it don’t come hard will it come at all?
Many will stop in fear of fall
But few will continue towards the goal
Higher to the top ice covers the path
And fire of lava is everywhere there’s no ice just in case survival was still in the math
It went from pleasant to unpleasant and now to full of wrath
Now they are thinking endurance before they just needed a bath
First it was easy then manageable but now all hell is breaking loose
But they still have option of which path to choose
Thousands of things at once take issues
Justice is blind as the trouble brews
But they reach the peak at last
As down on the valley mountain shadow will cast
They put the cross on the top of the peak and their victory they broadcast
The daunting challenge their unyielding souls have surpassed
Copyright © Patrycjusz Kopec | Year Posted 2013
How 'bout that recent zephyr?
Scouring her formidable claws
like a circular saw
That thirsty condor vampiric
for considerable moisture for sure
While with your gentle indulation
'twas riding your form in Pacific
cleansed warm n' terrific
You ladeled me like a lentil
made me feel one of your own
Oh what secrets lie 'neath your surface?
Delving into your murky depths
Landlubberers still so inept
with their mad science n'equipment
n' so many myths
Still only shake their heads n' confess.
10-17-2016 Duncan R.M.Ferguson
Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2016
El Condor Pasa means Flight of the Condor
Song preformed by Simon and Garfunkel
I'd rather be a
sparrow than a snail
Yes I would
If I could
I surely would.
(Do you remember this one?)
Watching the buzzard up high
Circling in the clear blue sky
Catching the air currents, free
Looking down on you and me
Searching for nourishment, meat
As he circles what does he see
His homeland, his dead tree
A great country that's still free
A homeland riddled with crime
No longer really safe, nor free
Freedom to leave doors unlocked
Cars no longer safe to just park
Maybe the buzzard is waiting
To feed, on filth that rules
The streets with crime, drugs
Handguns wildly handled
(Unfinished and rhymes somewhat. Can you think from news of something to
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
From a duck.
What the deuce
Don’t be a clown.
Just watch below
That runs amuck?
Watch your hide,
From the thing
It will trick you
Then pick you.
It’s so quick, it
Will ‘git you,
In the thicket
Where you hide.
Grab a gun!
Toward the sun.
Is it an eagle
Or a seagull?
From whence it came?
What’s its name
It’s so regal?
Hit the floor,
Coz it’s coming back
What’s it carrying?
It is carrion
Which it madly adores.
And man oh man
Reaches eight feet four.
Coz up there, soars
The mighty Condor!
Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2015
With keynotes of watch winds
With plants of high plateau
With shamanic powers
With spirits of skies
Death, desires, disorientations.
Magical modes in spinning wheels
Recesses in stones, meditations
And the perfumes.
Quescha ! cocarna ! Quenchensa !
Gloss of intoxications in lunar brain
Opening gateway into recreated gain.
Flute drums and cymbals
Da, dadedum , durkum.
Linked that will join the unknown sources
Flights of eagles, crows crawled in forces
Softly engaged in flights of the condor bird
Converting sounds of spaces in muted verse.
Copyright © Durlabh Singh | Year Posted 2008
He brought me a stone in his green uniform,
A gift from a distant land to see he loves me still;
And the joy that he gave me his presence of five years waste,
For he is my son the one almost lose in strange sands.
He brought me a body in pain, a rock as it was before,
A smile scorched with salty sighs teasing him as never it was;
And the smile on his face as he told he still the son
The one who left the nest many summers ago.
He brings my old body to his chest each time he cries in despair
A son he is still a son to see through the rosebud light;
Amid condor-filled sighs and through it he has a dream gone wrong
Because he isn’t the son I have before which angels watch him to sleep.
God, lead him gently and find him a good wife
In the morning when it’s light and spring,
For I know this Mother eventually cannot see all of these
Because you should know I am not pretty as one day I was.
Copyright © George Zamalea | Year Posted 2013