Best Flamingo Poems | Poetry
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The Best Flamingo Poems
The pungence of heartbreak swelters
in the tangled dreadlocks of love-lies-bleeding
Take me somewhere exotic
to breathe not the foul aroma
of disappointment and despair
Show me fields laced with frangipani and orchids
in colors sweet and light as daydreams
Find me seafoam fields poppied
with pomegranate and honey
opium of jasmine lilting on a leeward drowse
delicious sift of sand drifting
warm and soft between my toes
as coral breezes court flamingo scapes
with pina colada suns
and I drift in and out of hibiscus euphoria
Let a mist of cockatoos flutter
in lapis skies puffed with fat feather clouds
parrots and toucans preening
like a rainbow shimmer
Tingle my pineapple senses
through the afterglow of mango afternoons
Create visions of paradise
in the cerulean of hyacinth
and never bring me back
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
Twisting and turning on tides of laughter,
we rise and roll with wild abandon.
Through sparkling sheens of summer rain,
those gentle gems of glistening, gleaming drops,
we fly freely upon this flamingo feathered carpet.
Happily we ride along the heights of heaven,
Gazing deep into galaxies that glow far beyond.
Saturn's seductive rings slowly pull us forward,
When suddenly we drop, diving low, dipping back into
the darling glow of our moon.
Then sweeping past the stars, smiling with delight,
we sail off in the distance, shouting our goodnight.
Now all the sights that we've seen shall swim within our dreams.
Come take my hand as I take yours and we'll fly off toward tomorrow.
Tanya Harrington © 07-30-2012
Inviting ~ Poet~Destroyer, Let's ride!
For Skat's Magic Carpet Ride Contest
Copyright © Tanya Harrington | Year Posted 2012
I miss so many things: the old pear tree, which once lived by the walk and the bees inside. The bees almost never stung, but made the most delightful buzz. The smell of the pear blossoms and the fruit as it rotted on the ground. I even miss the colonies of ants, which swarmed. You see, I chopped it down. Well, the bees stung my ex-husband, or, he was scared of the bees, or some such thing. The bees like the cat, knew more about the true core of the man than I did. Once the cat shat on his side of the bed, and pulled the sheet over it. Even then, I didn’t really hear nature’s call. I miss the rose bushes, which I tore out because of the June bugs. “Mustn’t have untidy, ugly, things around me,” fool that I was, and continue to be. I have almost eradicated the wild violets. Soon, even I will be gone. “Who will remember all that sweetness? Oh, the pear crisp with crumbled cinnamon crust on a Fall day, all gone.”
a mown lawn
stretches to the horizon –
a hedge clipper whir
The Rose Queen was a lesser villain than I. She was imaginary and I am real, or so I believe. “If you’d lived with Alice would you have played croquet with a flamingo club?”
First Published in Contemporary haibun January 2014
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
“Being crazy isn't enough.” ? Dr. Seuss
howl at little girls
howl at the moon
moon with your pants down
moon over Manhattan
Knights in White Satin
Knights with Bat ears
ears of a donkey
ears of a rabbit
rabbit across the street
run for your life
run the stocking
legs on a flamingo
legs under the table
"manners" said Alice?
"manners" said the Queen
Queen of Hearts
Queen of the May
who said that?
yoo-hoed a yodel
yoo-hooed on cue
cue up the table
cue ones and two's
two's are for pairs
two's for tea
bags for a season
bags for a reason
reason or not
reason be damned
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
The other cheerleaders didn’t like football
Basketball was much easier to follow
But I got bored watching them dribble the ball
My response was hard for others to swallow
Growing up I didn’t have too many toys
So I had to find my own entertainment
I became a master of animal noise
When I “croaked” on the bleachers strange looks were sent
My frog impersonations left them aghast
When I did my seagull, the team stopped playing
They stared at me oddly as though I’d passed gas
They couldn’t relate to talents displaying
This was the first thing that led to my nickname
But once in class I was asked to give a speech
The teacher was writing, so bold I became
Her attention I was trying to beseech
Being a contortionist since childhood days
Locked one leg and arm, looked like a flamingo
I perched on one foot for each eloquent phrase
The teacher looked up and called me a weirdo
The class agreed and “weird Carolyn” was born
Frequently called upon to put on a show
Much laughter I bestowed, accolades adorned
Never understood why I didn’t have a beau
*Entry for Francine’s “Tell us something we didn’t know” contest. Okay, the secret's
out and I'm ready for my punishment. At high school reunions I'm still called upon to
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Silent sighs hide inside breath clouds
exhaled into sentimental air
as brisk winds summon twilight,
tinting innocent horizons.
Oxygen dances with atmospheric particles
creating a plethora of chemical reactions.
Enchantment illuminates in flashes of
Celeste sapphire hints indulge
through violet shades of lavender hues.
Streaks of scarlet crimson petals
flow among coral flamingo shades
as golden streaks swim through
emerald crystallised skies,
seeking sanctuary within the realms
of infatuated devotion.
and that was the first time I saw her eyes
her perfect gift to the world.
26 October 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
Sailing on the sweet river Shannon.
Ireland's river ways central vein.
Sleeping soundly on a river barge.
Listening to the pit patting rain.
Stopping engine to eat each evening
Gazing at a flamingo pink sky.
Making many friends in local pubs.
Until it is time to say goodbye.
Rising slowly when at every lock.
Chatting happily with other folk.
Out on their daily riverside walk.
Who like to stop for a little talk.
Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016
Copyright © Sienna Muniz | Year Posted 2010
Purple leather turtles
Smoking hippy rats
Secrete Orange Juices
Leave my stomach
Swim in land.
Cauliflower hairy clouds
Pouring purple rain,
Salt dry water
Sad the clown
Stop long haired ants,
Angry bitten leaves curse
Paparazzi popping plants.
Slow feline drivers
Married canine sky divers,
Hot left shoe.
Cell phone starts ringing
Soprano liver singing
Because of you.
Drink liquid Ink
Dream is pink,
Black rainbows will
To purposely get lost.
Copyright © Jaime Ferreyros | Year Posted 2007
Wrought in silver confession of faith and love
Completely engulfed in romantic flames
No one knows that your lips understand what it means
Higher than the soul ~ a dream within a dream
The blessed birds sing about freedom and joy
A one - way ticket with the train of love
Pink flamingo in fiery dance
Two hearts full of strength and hope
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
so, the chicken
with an inventive burst
no wonder it can't happen backwards
the law of physics would surrender
the concept as beautiful as new weather
and fluffy tufted pink flamingo feathers
time and space travels only forward
no reason though, not to travel backwards
yet, God gives us a pink paradise
like pink roses he is so concise!
Pinks calm caring hues
a look on world views
Copyright © Susan Mills | Year Posted 2010
Once upon a time as all good stories start
Lived three pink flamingos who never were apart
Flo she's the little one, who likes to tease the others
They're Joe, and Moe, her big strong older brothers
They thought it would be nice to take a holiday
So each pink flamingo hired a car to go away
Now Flo hired a mini 'cos minis are so cute
and set off on her way with a suitcase in the boot
So to find the seaside she headed off as speed
but the road had a troll on, with whom she had to plead
"Mr Troll Mr Troll, please leave me to my trip
Just step off the road, and away I will zip."
"Young flamingo" said the troll "your car look rather tasty
I'll eat it for a morning snack", Flo's face went quite pasty
"But Mr Troll I need my car, to go on holiday
My brothers both have bigger cars and they are on the way"
"Go on your trip then, I hear your puny plea
Your mini is too small to fill a giant troll like me"
At the thought of bigger cars the troll he salivated
then lay down in the road where impatiently he waited
Joe Hired a sports car to zoom off to the sea
but stayed at home a little while to drink his cup of tea
At last he set off, to catch up with his sis'
Speeding down the highway, he saw something was amiss
A giant troll lay in the road, his mouth open wide
Hoping that the next car, would simply drive inside
"Mr Troll Mr Troll, I see you hiding there
Did you think I would drive in, without the slightest care"
The troll stood up, at last a car to eat
But Joe was too fast and zoomed between his feet
Joe sped along the road and soon caught up with Flo
They talked about the troll and worried for big Moe
Copyright © Nick Bagnall | Year Posted 2011
wings Para Para pink fans fly into the sun the lawn is silent
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014
With flashing eyes she did enthral
as to the beat of drums she danced
a wild flamingo with clacking castanets
her wide hooped skirt was all a-swirl
Golden earrings sparkling and flashing
heels looking impossibly high as she twirls
her eyes flashing enticing messages
as the men flock to her a mocking laugh
Siren of the senses as well she knows
she taunts and teases as she grabs hold
only to push her admirer head over heels
leaving him stunned and dazed in the dirt
In a puff of smoke she vanishes from view
long rolls of drums call to her to come back
the men look in vain for her return
a soft voice enticingly calls from the shadows
Singing of long journeys to far away exotic places
of caravan wheels swishing and of horses gavotting
of smokey camp fires bristling with full cauldrons
no clue to what lies within just enticing smells
She tells of lovers she has known in distant past
entreating the men, who try their luck to no avail
she sits brushing her long raven black hair of curls
and the sparks fly giving her an ethereal appearance
The fires die low and still she has not yet chosen
it seems she is waiting for someone not now here
flashes of lightening fork across the sullen skies
and the skies open in deluges of rain and thunder
As her admirers scatter seeking shelter she laughs
spinning round and round hair flying out scattering
droplets that glisten and sparkle in pale light
at last she crumbles done to the sodden ground
A mighty flash of lightening rends the sky in half
highlighting a jet black horse rearing up high
she runs forward laughing he is here, he has come
her gypsy king, he swings her up before him and turns
As the summer storm fades the last fork shows
the two lovers high-lit on the rolling hill
then gone, gone to their secret place of tryst
she leaves lingering memories in men's minds of what might have been
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
Emotional tension fills the air...
Lights and laughter everywhere
A fiesta audience waits eagerly for a night of passion.
The dance of Spain and a sensual dancer
The Andalusian Gypsy dancer
El baile flamenco tonight…Ole!
The guitarist enters…masterfully
Displaying his unique musical talent.
His music controls the dance
Finally, bailaoras, the great Camille, enters
More than beautiful, she exudes sexuality
Dramatically, her aura intrigues and mystifies
The Flamenco, some say, is animalistic
Elegant movements of the flamingo birds
So, much like the dancer's stance…
Camille points her gold slipper like a prima ballerina
Music begins--- she does not move…poised as a statue
The audience sits on the edges of their seats.
Motionless, no expression in the start
When she feels the rhythm, she responds
Camille claps loudly, steadily
As her emotions build, she begins…
Her back, arched and dignified
Arms elegant and poised
The flamenco begins torridly
Gracefully but fiercely, Camille stomps---
Golden shoes with their percussion sounds
Bedazzling her admirers,
No one knows where the dance will go…
That is part of the beauty of the flamenco
Her passionate moves romance or comfort her admirers
Thus, the greatest joy of flamenco dancing
Climatically building as a heroine in a play
Camille has no equal…
Astutely, the castanets click in her hands…
The difficulty of the dance emerges…
Hands and feet working not in synchronicity
But against each other
Her mother taught her well…
The dancer is the accompanist, moving her body
To the flying fingers of the guitarist.
Ultimately, the music ebbs away
Camile picks up her fan and looks at the guitarist
Both dancer and musician are spent...
Audience stands up, cheering and clapping.
This is the spice of life in Spain!
Copyright © Carol Davis | Year Posted 2015
Taming a tropical topical tree? Taking a trunk? Telling a tailor? Traversing a tale? Many ideas. Much like the ideological dramas of a beach front. Wavelength of winds. Movements if the tides. Coconuts can jump very high if wearing leotards but leotards are prohibited at various times during the year. It is quite impossible to count the exotic blooms that line up. Waiting wanting wishing. And the deity of a cactus can chant to tunes arriving from the sand piles. Dust dog. Digging. Whoosh warming wands. And a scent of a papaya in a fridge. Now that is all rather entertaining and remarkable for the long tailed fish whose darts prove to the leopard print turtle that it is very likely that a radiant radius forms from a watery weaving display. But jousting with a pineapple is not as fantastic as utilising a giant bee bush. Large leaves linking lanterns. And the aardvark grin. Heat from a ruin is a robed friend. Fiends are denied access by the calling cards. And the turban of souls spoke. Heed. Have. Heavens. Heaping. A morning mist is neither not a mood or a moon. And why buffalo wings and not pork wings? Why not pork wings? Operatic oink in a tropically scented garden. Seated. Or flying around and around. Then returning and eating apple pie. Stanza eighty nine is akin to a fine wine. A fabulous line. But a fabled monkey can be equalled to a nine foot serpent rising slowly from a wall. A mosaic deity. A wisdom. A pocket of chairs. Spin then. Aromatic cutlet smiling. Cover in liquids squirted from the appropriate discussion. And a rampant distortion of a small amount of energy. Save not a slug. Stamp not on a boating shrew. And spring over the jungle fauna with leaps of over forty two miles an hour. Sixty eight minutes of marvellous encounters. With unheard of animals,trees, and landscapes. The maka maka people are custodians of a channel and guardians of the tall blue beings. Shrouded in a misted canopy. High up. In caverns. Pictorial cues and evidence. Shrouds. Circuses are not allowed. Red read riots. And a dome cake arriving. Haha haha and a tall man waving. Haha and a juice dancing with a cloth. Haha beetle eyes in a pattern sewing blankets for the spotted frogs. Swirling stag staged. Melon elocution. And a little girl with a dramatic performance of a single page. Documentations in a dog bowl. Tropical topical trailers talking travelling trips. The radius of a forest floor is measured by twigs. And so the planet can be seen from a clearing. Oh good. Washing a flamingo is best done by a lake. And a frightened patterned peacock prancing can be placated by song, dance and rhythm. Such is the blossoming bloom of an official secrets act. 19 52. And an oceanographic octagonal office does not laugh or wave. It is to be said that mysterious snails of over two hundred feet in diameter can rise to meet the criteria of a successful businessman who has no meaning. And so the leaping ornate orchids can smile in appreciation. Swamps are really not that ideal for a morning swim. Haha goon gong. Xxxx beastiology. ANZ X.
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014
Hot penetrating star
Wanton repossession I lust
Kiss me afire
Spread me bathed blushing surge
Flare flies flamingo dawning sky
Contest: Late Summer Standard
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Re-edit from prose: 6/30/17
*'Smile of the Sunrise' - Painting by Marie Green*
Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2017
“Country Christmas Carol” --- dedicated to my family
by Miriam McCue (creator of flamingo art, & poetry.so far.)
We love to sing Christmas songs,
My Grandson Bubba and I.
And when we sing Country Christmas.
We almost make the angels cry.
A Merry Country Christmas
To all those great Country Folk,
And even to the City Slickers,
Who also love to drink and smoke.
We’ll take a drink for Bubba, Aunt Mike and Cousin Jim,
And hope that this Christmas,
They’ll say a prayer and sing a hymn.
Gather round the still,
Country People all.
And hold up Uncle Bill
So the old coot doesn’t fall.
A Merry Country Christmas,
One full of country joy.
Little Willie wanted a 12 gauge,
But all he got was a toy.
Copyright © Miriam McCue | Year Posted 2009
My Pink Angel's
Long reed leg's sun dance;
exotic pink angel's stance,
sweet pink flamingo.
Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010
People come to stare at animals there.
With no time to spare, they rush everywhere.
Moms and babies share as she gives them care.
Elephants declare their presence with flare.
Critters with long hair jump to trees midair.
Dangers anywhere, zoo signs say, “Beware.”
Alligators pair; together ensnare.
Flamingo welfare wades near unaware.
Black ravens declare their cries for warfare.
Orangutan’s flair all pose debonair.
Snakes slither and scare; many of them rare.
Giraffe heads in air stretched eating a pear.
Cutest baby bear stayed at zoo’s day-care.
Dark starts aftercare; search for disrepair.
Hunger fills the air; beast cries everywhere.
Zoo keepers’ aware help creatures forbear.
A mare with a scare had a wound repair.
Grounded in despair once freedom’s coheir.
Bald Eagle’s wing tear made life so unfair.
When problems ensnare, zookeepers say prayer.
Everyone is there beneath the sun’s glare.
Bound to a wheelchair, broke or billionaire.
People come to share; animals forebear.
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2017
I know there will be sleeping
enough in the grave
Yet when i fast, i got hungry and
Knowing fully well that the fast is
not going to last.
I see the cloud becoming thick,
dark and brownish
It rains, i expect the pains to
I have power, but i don't have
I couldn't stay an hour in the
mansion, I like it here in the tent.
It taste like sweet in my mouth
when i ate the mango
But in my stomach it stood on
one leg like flamingo
The flowers are beautiful as
confirmed by the eyes
But who deserves the most
credit? Is it the flowers, for being
beautiful or the eyes for seeing it
Before you see my trouble
Try and see my struggle
Copyright © Innocent Raphael | Year Posted 2012
A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
Come on chaps its time to go
We must leave now, before the snow.
I know the way, I know the path
The route is South to a great lake bath.
You’re my pal, so you’re first right.
Help me guide them on this long flight.
You’re first left, cause you fly so strong
Make sure our path is never wrong.
When I count to three, we’re on our way
The journey’s long, no time to play.
At the count of one, start to run
The take off’s hard, it’s not fun.
Flap your wings at the count of two
Not only me, but all of you.
At the count of three, lift your feet and soar.
Do it wrong and you’ll hit the floor.
Line up quickly in a V-formation
Maintain your distance, keep your station.
Then circle once and follow me
We’re heading South for a mating spree
Copyright © Patrick Maitland | Year Posted 2012
Have you ever seen a flamingos legs
And wonder about the angle
What appears to be his knee
Is actually his ankle
Copyright © Dawn Drickman | Year Posted 2005