Best Quail Poems
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Quail not at Death’s door if you wrought no wilful harm
Should turning back in vengeance be the Dead Man’s qualm
Though even as the end nears the comfort of proffered pardon
Will in no way replace the sacrifices to expunge the burden
Sure everyone wreaks harm by chance or through ignorance
During those moments when control depends on circumstance
The way the chips fall is not a matter for individual call
Is not that the way centillions of quarks knock into it all
Do the Dead turn back to set right their splintered houses
Or do the worlds keep spinning guided by original causes
Tell not the man whose wits desert him what’s really wrong
The punishment the Dead incur is a judgement well foregone
He who turns self-righteously around to avenge or to meddle
To set right the world’s injustices in the Manichean treadle
Might earn himself a life’s sentence to roam all over again
Dead people walking numb through friendless terrain
All they may be able to do is to warn you of a fiddle
Of some danger sapping your strength the key to a riddle
Even if friends and relatives who betrayed your confidence
Will cling to spurious justifications ever through repentance
Think not of the lives milling lost in the neck of your clouds
Is there no end to ramifications vilifications in livelihoods
Do the Dead take along with them the history of their lives
And in which distant sibling planet are they stored in archives
If only it were as easy as to look up and wish them all away
What good can this earth be with us all dead in it anyway
Bickering for pieces of molten land pieces of names in decay
Metals and rock on fire hurtling down minuscule Milky Way
What need has the Maker for such a vast and roving Empire
Even children give up playing with trains and coaches on fire
Do the Dead renew passports before entering galactic spaces
Or do they coddle up in comfort in inalienable birth-places
Wouldn’t our world be some thing else but for this baffling secret
The foregone fate of earth-born gods if it weren’t for this regret.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
A covey of quail
Under a snarl of brush
Out of the weather
Eternal love is considerate, in its presence ~ gliders grace with elegance—Poet
All true and deep love is a sacrifice—Carl Jung
*
As winter’s snow drifts upon the meadows
I await the thaw, *
and the caw of the cockatoo
perched on the magnolia tree branch
White icy avalanche melting, *
nourishing the soil ‘neath the brittle bush
*
As the first cherry blossom blooms
An umbra of blushing pink
A white parrot whistles his tunes
Spring dissipates dark ink laden clouds
Left behind are the remnants
of snow squall shrouds, *
*
Fall's
* cascading
eminence
*
A new moon dawns
To defy autumnal of March
would be to deny
the swans of their elegant arch
Of their everlasting love
for each other, fidelities peace
As peaceful as the dove,
As loyal as geese
*
They roam, lead bird navigator,
social dominance his experience
Holds sway as an avian aviator
Riverboat pilot steering the helm
Like the migratory birds with no homes
find comfort on the majestic elm
In serene and bluest of skies
flocks fly in V forms *
Trailing birds ride an updraft effortlessly
glide along the breeze
While other birds fly aimlessly
Swanning over the hillside with ease
*
Gliding above the oceanside
are the seagulls without any destination
Robins let their tails
just brush the ground
To spat isn’t the mountain quail’s thing
Just charming chit chat *
Or a love song he’ll sing
The parrot in the cherry blossom tree
Elegant, considerate feathered friend so free
The whole world belongs to you
In warmer weathered early Spring
God gave Moses and his brother Aaron this celestial command:
"I have selected thee to lead My people to The Promised Land!
You'll wander in the wilderness for forty years in the scorchin' sand!
I'll hold you personally responsible to see that nothin' gets outta hand!"
After many plagues, Pharoah was finally convinced to let them go.
There was much singin' and dancin' but the euphoria quickly lost its glow.
The mob grumbled about their first stop, Elim (aka Palm Springs East)!
Miffed because there was no swimmin' pool, golf course or 5-star place to feast!
They complained about bitter water at Marah so Moses struck a stone, and wallah!
A stream of sweet water flowed from the stone more than they could swallah!
They moaned and groaned because they were foot sore and had little to eat,
Complainin' to Moses that they shoulda stayed in Egypt outta the searin' heat!
Heavenly manna descended upon them and they gathered bushel baskets full.
But they tired of mannaburgers, mannastew and mannahelper findin' it rather dull.
They murmured and wanted meat so God provided flocks and flocks of quail.
Still they grumbled - too much quail a la king and at Moses they did rail!
Hapless Moses nearly threw in his staff but God said, "Keep followin' that cloud!
I'm quickly losin' patience with thee and that ungrateful, complainin' crowd!"
So Moses with resolute stride led the Israelites to the land of milk and honey,
Mumblin' to himself, "Darned if I'll do this again for any amount of money!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
sleeping quail~
soft snores forgotten
under a blanket of Gravy
QUAIL ARMY SONG
I don’t know but I’ve been told
No quail born ever gets old
It’s plain that we gotta fight
For each and ev’ry God-given right
To be quails and not hors d’oeuvres
It’s simply what we all deserve
We want quail houses with double glazing
Is that so very amazing?
And quail babies and quail mortgages;
And not to end up as quail sausages;
To pick up our old-age quail pension,
And not even have to mention
Ignominiously turning up
In a French mustard dip,
Like uncle Bert who met an early death
As pate on a singing soldier’s breath :
“47 Chevy and a tankful of gas,*
Quail liver pate kinds tastes like grass”.
………………………………………………………
*Plagiarised from HEARTBREAK RIDGE movie
(From my collection of Bird Poetry and Other Pretensious Crap"
The sudden storm trapped
baby quail in the gutter.
Somehow, he got free.
See "Sudden Storm" by Andrea Dietrich.
Quick and swift, dash away
quilling crown, so flashy
quite a bird, moves in flocks
quirky squawks when fleeing
quest to kill, tasty meal
quoth the hunter, who waits
quaint portraits show the prize.
A Pleiades Poem
9/29/2022
They named me the wilderness quail
I'm not as pretty as other birds are,
my feathers are golden, brown and frail;
I hide when a storm starts and my bizarre
behavior becomes fret, no stone pine
can protect me on a noon with aflare
lightenings crossing the semi-dark atmosphere.
Uncommon and ignored by all I spent
my day searching for food by a lake and wait...
until an unsuspicious lavaret comes afloat,
sometimes he stays at the bottom for fear
and I have to fly miles to provide a meal
for my chicks waiting in the branches of a fir:
I'll be disappointed coming home without a kill!
Although I'm so neglected by all the blue-winged teals,
I consider myself to be humble and kind in deeds:
helping a lost sparrow find her desperate mother
who is searching for him everywhere near a pond,
or a brook where reptiles attentively wait for their prey;
I'll hide him under my wings if he's ever in danger!
By now everybody can guess where this place is:
I dwell in Southern Italy, a land that many envy
for her stunning scenery and delicious fruits,
where no vigilant quail ever goes hungry!
Keep me company and I show you the beauity
and the tranquility of this lovely country!
May I taste the unbreakable bond to the perfect union of
Uni and quail eggs.Two true dancers
Stir vigorously
Agitate rice while it absorbs fish stock
May I never acknowledge obstacles to the perfect union of
Uni and sake.Two adventurers
Interlock freely
Fine-tuning Español while rice grains formulating starches
Inevitable extrovert – against all odds
Be Still:
Clouds cuddling while interexchange liveliness
Simply being still ~
Sounds of silence penetrates through skin into core existence.
Fusing breathes onto
Singularity – infinite dense core – falling and falling in, falling high,
Floating and floating deep, floating beyond general theory of relativity
Insanely radiant in seventh heaven melting into ashes,
Carbon.
Grilling in underpants under the moonlight, starlight, flashlight.
Choose this Mentally Sensitive trail by act of will.
Touch the natural color of faith
Or fear
Trust unknown territory of inner compass to Fill a void
Yes, you may ride the accelerator to the perfect union of
Professor and entrepreneur.
What’s more:
Maybe quail eggs lead to turkey sandwiches and squash blossom.
When I turned twelve, Dad bought me a shot gun
Thought two sons hunting with him, would be fun
My brother also got his at that age
They were Remington Wingmaster, 12 gauge
Dad had two Pointer bird dogs, both well-trained
This is a breed born to hunt, it’s ingrained
The dogs had been named Old Red and Clover
Clover ranged close but Red was a rover
Dad’s bird hunt of choice, was always Bob Whites
As these quail don’t run before they take flight
Other types of quail, like the West Texas Blues
Run before they flush, that’s dog hunt bad news
I’d walked on hunts, but never with a gun
Then dad said “Boys you’re hunting on this one”
We both knew gun safety and how to shoot
Clay pigeons move out, but quail really scoot
“Get the butt tight to your shoulder”, said Dad
The gun kicked hard, so the stock had a pad
Still before I learned, my shoulder was blue
It didn’t take long to know what to do
We left for the hunt, the sky was still black
Went in the old pickup with dogs in back
Just getting light when we got to the field
Gave the dogs a short run, then made them heel
We started to walk, but stayed fairly tight
Dad was in the middle and Big “J” on the right
Clover was working but stayed right in front
Old Red was way out ranging wide to hunt
We could see Red when he went on a point
When Clover saw him, she froze every joint
Old Red on a point is a sight to see
Clover backing the point’s a thrill to me
We walked toward the covey very slow
Clover stayed, just in front, she’d freeze then go
Old Red would only move a foot or two and freeze
Dad talked soft, wanting to keep Red at ease
Both dogs looked tense and about to explode
Like a beam in stress from an over load
When the birds all flushed with that sudden roar
Big “J” shot one and Dad dropped down two more
I never raised my gun, so had egg on my face
Spellbound by the dogs, I couldn’t keep pace
They both had a good laugh at my expense
It’s my first time out, I said in defense
The dogs retrieved the bird as they were trained
Then the hunt ended as down came the rain
On the way home I yelled, “I’m the winner!”
I don’t have to clean a shot gun before dinner
While gazing at wonders of star gleams,
listened to wild quail as they cooed dreams.
Up and down dry riverbed came cries
of night birds exploring darkened skies.
Warm-blanket sounds to erase day's rush
Slowly sounds fade, night deepens to hush.
November 11, 2022
Quail Run
The birds are quiet in the morning.
They eat the bugs on the ground, all around.
They are beautiful.
They are peaceful...
They are Quail.
By noon the rooster is in full form.
He is challenging all comers, to a fight.
No one is taking him seriously.
Instead, they call to each other,
with calm noises,
pretending to make them louder
then they should be... to hear.
The ladies are too busy to care,
they simply stare at the feeder for more.
They lay a dozen eggs,
and keep on going...
Twenty-one days to the next generation,
a cycle of perfection.
Later..., as the day has passed,
and the night threatens return...
The cat calls, the dog barks,
and the birds listen.
The music of the moment,
not lost on any of their ears...
only added,
the fears,
of the owl.
Absorbing sunset colors as I sat,
I heard the soft mews of a mournful cat,
Lost somewhere in the garden near the lane.
For its forlorn owner I sought in vain.
Suddenly there came the sounds of quail calls
Though quail never feed here as evening falls.
Were their cries clues to where the cat was now?
I listened, careful, for the next meow.
Soon came a cascade of solo singing:
Robins, jays, finches sang as if on cue.
Which was that silent creeping cat stalking?
I would bet those birds wanted to know too.
Wrens, larks, and chickadees chimed cheerily;
All the while, nary a bird did I see.
I searched and I called for my feline friend;
Shrugging, I gave up, my search at an end.
I turned back to the house, walking slowly,
When the cat called from the sycamore tree.
I looked up as I thought I heard a dove;
There was the high-leaping sight that I love:
The silhouetted imitator sly
Of the untroubled rosy evening sky;
Colorful, charming, and sometimes absurd,
A fluttering, mimicking mockingbird.
stealthily tracking
harmless game like rabbit. quail ~
clever, skilled hunter
Wild Animal Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
I used howmanysyllables.com to count syllables
April 11, 2022