I'm near cuckoo
This Monday blue
A day not eas'ly recommended
for making sense
I'm way too tense
And hung-over to comprehend it
My mind's on the bend
my imaginary friends
are threatening to abandon en masse
I was perfectly sane
till they pissed in my brain
negotiations are at an impasse
It pains me to mention
the bone of contention
menacing our peaceful existence
my voices of own creation
went above their station
with mutinous and unfair persistence
Old Mother Hubbard
had sneaked to the cupboard
to steal skeleton bones for her yapper
the skeletons in-wait
welcomed their bait
with little resistance managed to trap her
As to why she'd no clue
their demands were few
and until met they'd keep her as hostage
twixt two skeletons squeezed
the hag was well-pleased
only in dreams she was ever in bondage
The skeletons vacated
on their long-awaited
crusade for their rights to be equal
a sudden scurry in my head
when the voices I have bred
became hushed, which was rather unusual
passed a colorless wind
voiced their single demand: to remain
"We were made to vanish
to a dark cupboard banished
we demand henceforth to share your domain."
A resounding "No!
You'll stay down below
we're totaling 20, including the yapper
there's hardly space
the din to embrace
and an hour-long queue to the crapper."
"Then the beldam Hubbard
will remain in the cupboard
lore would have it, bare to the bone
the cupboard, that is
not the hag, whose Maltese
diced up raw will be fed to the crone.
We implore you most
kindly engage our host
in negotiations and if necessary plead
we want into his brain
and share your domain
or prepare for a skeleton stampede."
PART 2 TO FOLLOW. THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE, AS I'M LOCKED IN HOSTILE NEGOTIATIONS
Copyright © delysia hendricks | Year Posted 2013
A pre-lit Christmas tree sparkles the entrance
Monet, Van Gough, and Wassily Kandinsky prints
adorn the walls of her sitting room
a dozen painted roses sit in a faux crystal vase
and the smell of apple pie lingers in the air
coming from her Scentsy candle warmer
resting upon her replica baby grand piano
The seconds tick loudly from the tree house looking cuckoo clock
as I wait
patiently I wait
down the stairs she comes
waltzing ever so gracefully
ever so elegant
in her bright flowing yellow dress
accented by beautiful costume jewelry
my heart skips a beat
as we kiss hello
and I know
yes I know
This love is real
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015
I wandered as lonely as a dog,
Me pantaloons were full of frogs
Slurping suds while on the grog,
Dog paddling with the ducks,
I thought I knew her lovely face,
Got cuddling with Aunty Grace
mascara was every place,
me swimming togs got stuck,
a rooster crowed up in the church,
cuckoo clock was in reverse,
I could think of nothing worse,
When incest, comes a riding?
Contest Name Make me Laugh
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
Nothing is like riding this tornado,
wild and twisting, away that we go.
Oh, it is so magical, this adventure,
whipping around, an enchanted blur,
we are more than a mere whisper.
Sensations are the fireworks scream,
wide awake, blasting off into this dream,
this is crazy, this is that in love feeling,
heart racing while kiss stealing,
Super glue sealing, broken heart healing.
This is sweet like cinnamon and honey.
Trip and fall on funny bone funny,
yeah this is what happiness brings,
the sound that only a cuckoo bird sings,
love is more that whispered sweet nothings.
Nothing is like this wild ride,
nothing is like this full blown fire inside.
For contest: Whisper Sweet Nothings
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2017
Jealousy is not the fear of losing
but the feeling that our position is threatened
As wet sand between your toes, unwanted
Sometimes jealousy turns into obsession
There are many wars, love your enemies ... never
We fight for love as a tender and small sparrow
Bitter taste, there is a fly in the soup
- Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
As if it’s not enough that I must share
this little stump of wood with you, my friend,
I have to HEAR you! How much must I bear
before you have me going round the bend?
Although we are the same birds of a feather,
the way you chitter on, I'm turning cuckoo!
I can’t believe we still do things together,
and this comes keenly from my bird’s eye view!
Please don’t be the “little bird that told me!”
Go find another bird that “gives a tweet.”
You’re going to burst my bird brain, Twiddle Dee.
I tweak your beak with one of my clawed feet!
For Francine Robert's Contest: "Enough"
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Keep well away from dark, forbidding dreams --
Instead, stay near the hearth and play your lyre;
Sleep even so will wait on wooden beams,
Seducing you beside your cozy fire.
Meticulous and careful you may be,
Evicting darting shadows with the blaze --
Inside your quiet cottage, patiently,
Night's emissary holds you in her gaze.
The cuckoo calls as midnight church-bells chime;
His warning message echoes from the walls --
Enchanted ears have lost all track of time,
So far from whispered fears as silence falls.
Her chilling hands then rip away your voice,
And images assail your inner eyes --
Denying you the act of conscious choice,
On captive lips she mixes truth and lies.
When sunlight climbs the sky and breaks her spell,
She blows a darkened kiss, and bids farewell.
Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock | Year Posted 2007
For P.D's "Going Haiku Crazy" Contest
going to St. Ives
met folks on that smelly bus
more than I could count
Just Sleep Walking?
Wee Willy Winky
caught outside a boy’s window
in a night garment
naked in the lane
three bags-full of wool sheared off
baa baa black sheep fleeced
She Didn’t Know What to Do!
Kids’ cries from inside -
outside an old woman’s shoe
child welfare people
Clean Your Plate!
Licking their plates clean
Jack Sprat and wife do their part. . .
kids starve in China
The Treacherous Hill
pail of spilled water
Jill’s body sprawled over Jack’s
one big bloody mess
What a Ding Dong
good deed for the day
boy scout Tommy Stout by well. . .
scratches on his arm
Not Even a Bone
old Mother Hubbard
Social Security cut
dog needs a new home
victims of Porgie
confront him in the playground
his true color shows
The Original Blonde
Bo peep loses sheep
birth of a new tradition. . .
blonde jokes being told
some spilled curds and whey
spider near a fallen chair
Making the Best. . .
Humpty takes a spill
the whole army can’t fix him
omelets for lunch
Baby Catches On
the church and steeple
and now you show me people?
those are just fingers!
They Say He Couldn’t Keep Her!
gossip in the town
pumpkin shell big as a house. .
where is Peter’s wife?
Bye, Hushed Baby
the sound of wind’s rush
baby’s cries abruptly hushed
broken branch on ground
*I'm choosing this series of haiku for several reasons.
First, it's the only post I made named "Twisted" so it
is an obvious choice. Second, I do have other poems
I consider a bit twisted, but, I simply cannot
remember the titles of some of these really old poems
to look for them. Finally, this series was inspired by
a long ago contest of PD's in which I got the idea
to take nursery rhymes and twist them, and so
I'm reviving this series which can no longer be
viewed by anybody here unless it's in a contest!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
We bend low under over-hanging branches
lit by reflected river-light gently shifting.
Our boots suck the muddy bank.
We wade into clear water
the dappled up-light playing
on our serious faces.
Intent on our task
Cold-shocked I gasp.
You hold your jar steady.
I scoop mine.
Triumphant in a shower of icy prisms
we hold our prizes aloft,
laughing and shouting,
water streaming down our arms,
jars teeming with tadpoles.
Faces pressed close
to these underwater worlds,
we stand transfixed.
Each reflects a small disc
of sparkling sky.
April trees rake scudding clouds.
Far away farm dogs bark
at wind-snatched shouts
of bird-nesting boys.
Somewhere, a cuckoo calls.
In the back garden
a blackbird stakes out his territory.
Ignoring him the cat purrs,
yawning in the sun.
on the garden table
beside a upturned jar,
of flattened tadpoles
drying in the sun.
The bored cat
her tail held high
in the shape
of a question mark.
Copyright © Maggie Huscroft | Year Posted 2006
~ Grandfather's Clock ~
My old grandfather had a clock
It wasn’t a grandfather clock
A clock it was that went tick tock
It sent me mad grandfather’s clock
Till once I hit it with a wok
But it was steady as a rock
And then it laughed and said cuckoo
A little bird went out and in
It said cuckoo bee bow and boo
Then I took aim and threw my shoe
It ran in fast and closed the door
Of old grandfather’s cuckoo clock
I had enough of all its cheek
I had it planned to glue its beak
So then I sat on wooden floor
And waited there, looked at the clock
Grandfather’s clock that went tick tock
I sat there long and fell asleep
Then I woke up and had a peep
Grandfather’s clock was under shock
It was tongue tied, not one tick tock
It hung in silence on the wall
There were no echoes in the hall
How strange it felt now that the clock
Had lost its voice, no tick no tock
The little bird made not a sound
No sortie out, no bee no boo
I missed that tiny red cuckoo.
Like a spoilt brat I'd moaned and whined
The way I acted was unkind!
Then I sat down, felt bad inside
I was ashamed. I cried and cried!
As my tears fell I heard tick tock
The friendly sound of grandpa's clock
To cap it all the red bird flew
out of the door and said cuckoo!
Contest: Childrens Story, Dr. Seuss Style
Sponsor: Casarah Nance aided by Abigail
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
I've a growing b-tch
of a persistent itch
plaguing a part down under
in a well-hidden spot
sweaty and hot
tearing my sanity asunder
I long for a table
legs sturdy and stable
for a really quick rub up-and-down
even a toothpick
or any such gimmick
heaven help; it's now inside my crown
Tightly I'm tethered
I grin but nay bear it
for relief lift my legs a mere tad
the heat's volcanic
the swelling gigantic
as far as itch goes this is bad
Mouth starting to foam
I hobble on home
I've mere minutes 'fore madness takes hold
my head's on the spin
an orchestra within
one step from insanity's threshold
Once inside my abode
rev to fast turbine mode
my eyes and my fingers a-twitch
on the verge of cuckoo
I kick off my shoe
with relish scratch the dastardly itch
I curse, for this morning
I disregarded Ma's warning:
"Today sultry and hot is our weather
to avoid insanity
wear shoes that are comfy
not those ones of el cheapo leather."
Copyright © delysia hendricks | Year Posted 2011
Slams Destroyed Her Head
She was slammed by slam poetry, boo hoo!
Some folks wondered about the hullabaloo.
When bombarded with dread,
Sad thoughts destroyed her head.
Now, she thinks she’s a blithering cuckoo!
© July 17, 2010
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010
Cuckoo clocks are quite ornate it is said
But those raucous squawks we suffer with dread
Why could not its designer
Have found a bird much finer
Like a sweet trilling canary instead
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in Brian Strand's "Five Lines Down" Contest - May 2011
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
Owl’s Knock Knock Joke
Hen with Bad Illness
Bird Hits Windshield
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
Time was running out, Christmas Eve was drawing nigh!
The elves had worked day and night since early in July!
To meet Santa's toy-making schedule, there must be no slack,
To ensure there were plenty of goodies for Santa's toy sack!
Elfie was a mischievous but a hard-working little sprite.
He was the littlest elf of all, alas, this added to his plight!
It seemed that the harder he worked and try as he might,
The hapless little fellow just couldn't do anything right!
For instance, he put Jills in boxes meant for Jacks-In-The-Box,
And placed chirping chickadees in all the fancy cuckoo clocks!
As he daydreamed he painted the fire trucks aquamarine,
And put wheels and wings on every toy submarine!
Talking dollies counted cadence, "Hup, two, three, four!"
Toy soldiers cried, "I want my mama!" as they marched to war!
He placed Lincoln Logs in boxes labled Tinker Toys.
Oh! What a Christmas 'twould be for little girls and boys!
Santa mused, "It seems that every job I put him on he mars,
So I'll put him to work pulling levers making Christmas Stars!"
He did so well that Santa asked, "Won't you come along with me,
And place a brilliant Star atop every child's Christmas Tree?"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012
When the Season turns and Old Winter spent,
Sudden colour blossoms on budding trees.
The daffodil blooms and young Spring’s sweet scent
Is gentle carried on the evening breeze.
Fast changing period of restless mood,
Faltering sun and uncertain showers.
Sleeping souls wake from Winter solitude
Aroused by Spring’s lengthening daylight hours.
Migrating birds return on sun warmed wings,
By shaded woodland the yellow primrose
Blooms. Nights shorten and the first Cuckoo sings
And all around Nature’s industry grows.
Copyright © Barry Stebbings | Year Posted 2017
Glacial ice melting
The climate suddenly changes
When the blue jay sings
Listen how wide it ranges
The boundary of spring.
After rain rainbow
Thunder makes the coastland smile
Faith provides the oil.
So I map landscapes
With audacity to see
Change, a boomerang.
I search through petals
To find a woman's soft heart
Felt a bumbled sting
No bridge left to cross
Love drowns everything in tears
So the cuckoo sings
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
On a spotty, sprinkled day, at the Plott's house on the block,
A squatty Uncle Scotty had sent a polka dotted, cuckoo clock!
The family said "That's handy!", and found a spot upon a shelf
For the dandy, new Swiss timepiece,...next to toddy mix and tea pots!
While Mommy Plott washed all her pots, Daddy Plott worked in the yard
The children, too, were caught worn out, after swatting flies so hard
By the twilight of the evening, they were worn, like pennies spent
Supping lentils, corn and pintos, ...then, up stairs they gladly went
Daddy Plott turned out the lights, falling, plop, right into bed
But bolted up with such a jolt!!...loud "CUCKOOS!!" hurt his head!!
The brand-new clock, made such a noise, his nerves hung by a thread !
That yoddling bird, that could be heard, might wake the neighborhood!
It popped out every hour, and the sour house would shake
With a hollering "CUCKOO' voice....with an awful racket made!
They covered it with pillows...and took it from the room
But the "CUCKOO-CUCKOO-CUCKOO" could be heard...from even the moon!!
They would just doze off, fall fast asleep, and think that it was done....
But when the hands said Next O'Clock......it would cluck out lots more fun!!
One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock...four....!!
The poor little bird, with his voice getting sore....
Saying 'cuckoo', ....'Cuckoo'......"CUCKOO!!!" again !!!
So Daddy took out the tick...........then he took out the tock
Then he defrocked little birdy.....so that he couldn't talk
Now it sits on a shelf.....in the house at the Plott's
Even the clock's little birdy.....can sleep like a rock!
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
I find you in an old silent pond,
The imagery you've left will outlive all,
With nature,your immortal bond
You will stand like a kiri tree tall.
You, the gem of haiku,
Your name be echoed in Fuji's peak,
Mogami river shall chant your lines
Your praise be sung by the Cuckoo.
The rivers and the oceans shall seek
To preserve you in their shrines.
The Cherry trees bow in thankfulness
Pines remind of your gingko walks,
Spring departs,autumn smiles in happiness
The rivers, the winds and the clouds.
Though time fades away,deem all out,
You shall remain in greenness of nature
Forever alive and forever young.
This word-wreath be bestowed
Upon you and your name shall feature
In the valley and ocean shall chant your song.
Copyright © Kiran Bantawa | Year Posted 2013
Do DINOS SOAR, do fish have SOLE
Do elephants have ANTS in their PHANTS
Have you ever seen a real HORSE FLY
Or a FIRE that's started by ANTS
A PEA CAN go wherever MAN GOES
Does a CROC know how to DIAL
Is every HIPPOS A POT OF MUSH
Can laughing hyenas just SMILE
Do MANTIS PREY, does DON have a KEY
Is there always at least TEN in a KIT
CRYSANTHA'S MUM is such a pretty thing
Do LIONS tell the truth just a bit
If a PELI CAN, does she wear a Z BRA
Does WILL OWE anybody money
Does SNOW have a FLAKY personality
A bear's favourite would BEE HONEY
Are DILLS always DAFFY as far as you know
Can CUMULUS CLOUD your view
I hear there's some trees that are EVER GREEN
Why are BOOBY'S feet always BLUE
If you can answer any or all of these questions
Write me at seventy-seven Cuckoo Lane
I'd sure like to hear from all you folks
To prove I'm not going insane
© Jack Ellison 2015
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015
Ruby eyed cuckoo
Shall I stop “my lullaby?”
“Koo, koo” lulls baby
This is my husband's theme. Thanks to him
Copyright © manel gunatillake | Year Posted 2013
The elegance of a duck gliding over the still pond....poetry in motion.
Down here the serenity of this afternoon of May
suddenly shattered by a busy kingfisher,
it swoops down to water for day's last prey
sending ripples in the still pond water
and then vanishes in the hushness of dying day.
The Spring comes alive
as a cuckoo starts singing
last song of the day,
its beseeching tone echoes
in my mind and in nature.
Wings of migratory birds in sky
stealing Sundrops for a new dawn.
© 2011 kashinath karmakar
Copyright © kash poet | Year Posted 2011
Earth dwelling mongeese are neither toys nor coins and pedalling backwards then forward is not considered the primary way of jet propulsion off a very high hill. So one two ping means fried rice coming? How long for? Will it rest a while? On a sofa or a couch? It is not particular. When passing trade tickles the fancy if the local gentry then sentries can be posted at doors. And savouring a little bit of currant pie is a fantastic idea in an afternoon soiree. Quite pleasurable really. Resolution reaching radiuses rather radically. How observant is a door frame. How sectioned are the audio reactive wave arches? A temple in a bean burger and a pistol in a frilly night gown. Oooh look a diamante leaf tiarap bending and freeing captured twigs. How rather nice and polite it is. Framework fashioned fixated first fleeces found foundations. And the tail arch from a tailrace is very very very quick and versatile too. Mingle with the moons in a bowl of white leaf soup. And dip feet into puddles to correct erosions of toes. Then upon rising chanting to windows can often display a timely workout in a garden gym. Pushing plants. Wearing weeds. Standing soils. All whilst wearing a Bhatia hat of fine distinction. But to ascertain whether the verb flies south is to organise a noun in a pleasure dome. Not fun. Not good or useful. In fact it is quite unnecessary. In an era measuring two minutes it is wise to be a bee than a mildew. And a tidal force can operate the machinery. So never rely on the symbolic codes on a screen. Point now. Go on point. It is the point that places the cuckoo clock. On the hour song. On the hour chime. Spare not a dime nor a pound for a disturbed crocodile face on a yacht. Travelling. In a pair of white shorts and shirts. Pristine. Cleaned daily. Ha ha said the passing whale. It would be great to knock into the boat and spill the red drink over the oversized frames of those greedy obnoxious humans. They sail around whilst people on the ground over there forage for fodder on the floor like ants. Such fun. Then whale glides away. Monotony does not sit well with whales you see. And a flurry in a hurry is a passing shoal. Ants attempting a backflip to entertain should be stripped and whipped and put in front of the high queen. Then doomed to a life underground removing faeces from carnage brought by the open dwellers. Link not a laughter. And heel clicking is best performed upside-down in the artic circle in a thunderstorm. Plaintiffs plainly play political polo politely and the zoo opens the doors to the wilds for the flood arrives when temperatures dip. The incessant chatting from the thermometer changes and argues with the satellite dish. Woof said the dog in a garden bake sprawled. By a small square empty pool. With a crack. Boil no brow said a fountain in the town. It is here I stand proud. Although I was erected upon ancient graves. I do not care for that. I am delicate and handsomely carved. Curators cheat chickens chatting charging chimes chopped. And the wide angled dish of tomatoes can be located at the west of the supermarket. Ding dong. Eastern smell and a drafty curtain bringing spices unto the streets. Wow. Generalistic genocide gearing gaining goblets. And a wide tooth or pincer works best in the snow than a tongue. Please do be aware that when an eel dons snow boots it is time for the skiing competitions. Worldwide. Of course worldwide. No country is ever omitted in a nature contest. And nowhere to be seen is the mangled mish mashed heaps of fortified blaming brigades. Duel duality daring deviations during denominations. And joining in wisdom spanning decades appropriately. Tailoring hop of a seven foot cloud. Grinning angelic and demonic orchestrations of a circular formation dancing. Whirling. Wow. Fantastic isn't it. Free souls of men. Radius of watery eyes weaving. Hahahaha bookings boy bootjack boots. Hahahahahahah wisdom whirlpool xxxxxxx coniferous clambering clam xxxxx deforestation destitution z
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
Discarded dusty beer bottle lying dormant on the tracks
Commuters await their carriage
Adorned in business like macks
Trees sway in gentle breeze
Capable of more tension,
Performing their shedding of leaves
Far too many to mention.
Pigeon jumps on pigeon
Mating season for all to see,
Another squirrel scurries across the tracks,
Across leaves and debris.
Solitary heron surveys the scene,
The dance of the platform,
The cuckoo dancers ensue.
Discarded shower gel lies half empty on the tracks,
How this could have got there, no one can tell
One person steps forward to check for his train,
Another steps back with woeful refrain
This pattern continues to emphasise my point,
Stemming from this anxiety a new dance I anoint.
Discarded crisp packet bounces gently across the tracks
Reminding me very much of a man on the moon,
Station clock shows the train arrival is now late,
Man grunts, swings his brolly...he is clearly irate.
Discarded cigarette pack fades gradually on the tracks
Whilst woman fixes make up, man kills time by playing with his phone,
Amazes me how people just can't leave them alone!
Man lights his cigarette in a reluctant fashion,
His car has broken down and he hates public transport with a fervent passion.
A multitude of people are gathered here today,
Business attire the name of the day
A brief case, a brolly, a black bowler hat,
And in some extreme cases
A flasher mack and a comedy 'tache!
Suddenly in the distance
A growing light appears,
A communal silent sigh of relief
As the train begrudgingly nears
Man stubs out his cigarette
As the train makes its approach,
In anticipation of his selection of coach.
Discarded Autumn leaf floating lazily across the tracks,
The platform is now empty
Awaiting its latest cuckoo dance!
Copyright © Stuart Rose | Year Posted 2015
The moonbeams tripped my pillow, gently, softly
kissed my cheek. My roof a Weeping Willow,
through which a gentle breeze did speak. In the
Tulip bowl I quickly washed my face, Damsel
Flies dried me with beating wings of lace.
Slurp ! Slurp ! The Snail came trundling by,
along a silver trail he came, slowly, surely,
slowly, Silas was his name. Heading for the
cabbage patch, his one and only aim. I climbed
his silver shell and lay back for the ride, my
pockets full of golden seeds, to sow the
countryside. Poppies, Orchids, Bittersweet
and Cuckoo Flower, Pimpernel, Primrose,
Pansies and April Shower. Whilst on this
journey distress did catch my ears, Silas came
to a halt before a pool of tears. Down the
shell I did slide, kissed him on the cheek and
thanked him for the ride. Against the moon a
lonely Rose it cried, come child confide in me
a friend is at your side. The Greenfly he sinks
his teeth, my tiny buds they bleed, ripping at
my petals in his urge to feed. I dressed her
wounds with herbs and love, caressed her petals
with golden glove. Have no worry to her I say,
for I have friends at light of day. They will come
when they have heard, the flowers friend the
Ladybird. Five spot, seven spot, eight spot,
nine, on the Greenfly they will dine. Softly,
lightly, his feet will tread, standing guard
around your head. Time is late I must go,
fields and pastures I must sow. At dawns
first glance I must fade, to the safety of the
secret glade. Under the arms of the magic
Willow, my bed of moss and Lavender pillow
Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010