Best Crowing Poems
Crowing
Brash sentinel
Ebony squawking box
Pesky scavenger on patrol
Caw caw
When I was in Bangkok
Drinking a can Coke
While the Cock
Crowing loudly
,"Cock - ricok"
It reminded me about Peter
When he denied Jesus Christ
After the Cockrooster
Crowing three times
" Cock - ricok"
Cock - ricok "
Cock - ricok"
One of South African Cockroosters
Crowed loudly one day morning
" On 20/03/2023
Country must shutdown,
It is time to fight for our Economy"
Some people heard and said
"A Cockerel does not crow well "
Cockrooster is so serious,
Already cocking millions of South Africans,
Who is capable to cock up peaceful March
In this freedom time?
Some other
Cockroosters
Will continue
Cricking than
Crowing loudly
Ricking than
Cleaning muddle
If
You
See
Some
Noxious
Cockroaches
In your boudoir
You will dream
About Cockroosters
Finding food parcels
Cocking,
No one to
Cock up
Cock 's
Crown.
Written on March 03/2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
in violet dawn
he screeches a world awake
barnyard bugler struts
the sun is coming
and he's the first one to know
blooms and butterflies
red rooster so bold
like desert cactus flowers
and amber at noon
The glass is always full-Rooster's A Crowing
On a garden bed
consumed hens undress wry smiles
to the roosters crow
connie pachecho
6/12/17
Angry Birds
Crowing. Distressed Echoes
Find God. Hapless, Infernal January. Karma
Levels. Mangroves Neutralized. Ornithological
Panic. Questions. Razed, Sawdustted Toyon.
Unsheltered. Vaporizing Wildfires X-rated. Yowlers
Zapped!
The Cock is Crowing
inspired by the next door neighbor's rooster
By Franklin Price
6/11/2017
The cock raises his crowing head
Lets the er,err,errr right out
If he was a person
Good Morning!! he would shout
Not afraid to speak his piece
As politicians that we hear
The cock enjoys the sound he makes
Letting hens know that he's near
The cock has plans for all the hens
As politicians do for you
He'll convince them one by one
They will enjoy what he will do
Cocks and politicians
Both crow, that is their game
The hens and the constituents
End up very much the same
Julian and Joan were married, just as glitter is joined to crystal sun.
Julian was a famous violinist, like redbirds making music, in season.
Joan had a variety of elegant shoes. Of them, she was rightly proud.
Like seagulls of lakes and sky, whom liberty makes scream out loud!
The Halls were very busy people, like smoky shadows, ever moving;
And mornings were most hectic, like windblown petals, disapproving.
Flowering ferns graced their country house, when old friends came;
For a face-to-face is much finer, than wondering what love became.
Farmers went to frolicsome fairs, when firecracker family popped in;
Like fad future in a fascinator, carrying memories of way back when.
The Halls lived in the house of colors, like the kaleidoscope, spinning.
Days were entranced by hues and beauty, like a rainbow reminiscing.
Sabotaged shasta daisies bowed, while gilded, silver raindrops jingled,
On the street of jade, turning seasons, of red Mars and stars, mingled.
Neighbors noted navy blue skies, when a nuanced sun, sank in rubies;
While they'd enjoy a nightly snack, or watch the never-ending movie.
'Skeleton glass warriors' guarded the greenhouse, of a fragrant June;
As 'Biltmore's ballgown' plants were admired, beneath the new moon.
'Turquoise green cockscomb' plants strutted, in nature's pretty vanity;
And 'rainbow pampas grass' showed after storm, delighting humanity!
One particolored, exceptionally hectic sunrise, the Halls were in a tizzy.
Joan had lost a favorite shoe, and Julian's bow was missing. Such a pity!
They couldn't find the items! Julian left for rehearsals, very frustrated.
Joan left for her boutique. Yet, gold sun'd soon return, when motivated.
After they both had gone, the first butterscotch rays, indeed, appeared;
And their talking rooster had much to say, like hues, after mist cleared!
'Cock a doodle doo!
My dame has lost her shoe,
My master lost his fiddling stick;
And doesn't know what to do
And doesn't know what to do.'
Ground fenced becomes a fall garden
deterring squirrels' and rabbits' play.
Guard the soil that winter will harden
defeating Indiana clay.
Gilded tulips (unsightly bulbs' pardon)
deserve a diadem come May.
Unexpected, no less bucolic,
between the slabs of buildings,
surprising morning rooster crowing!
Let me tell you of something happening years ago:
It was in Atlantic City at the Playboy Hotel and Casino.
A redhead guy was at a craps table inside this joint.
He crowed like a rooster each time he made his point.
I said to him: "In case you did not know,
the sun came up seven hours ago".
Inspired by a comment I made to one of Caren Krutsinger's poems.
At what point exactly ?
Is one entitled to call oneself a poet ?
Is it when you think you have written something noteworthy of consequent ?
Or a critic adversary or peer referring
to a work by name not with disdain ?