Best Roosters Poems
SILENT ROOSTERS SLEEP
Dads don’t sleep. They drive over-packed cars, and sip coffee from a thermos cup. Kids in backseat mull over grandma’s home ~ roosters never move, cuckoo clock never quits, and grandma’s always at the door, waiting. Front passenger divvies out cheerios and chips. The turnpike yawns with well-worn pitstops. All seats salivate for grandma’s homemade coffee cake. “Are we there yet?” echoes, bounces, plays with the driver’s nerves. Dads get revenge, transforming the auto into a tour bus. Pointer finger flashes toward a birthplace, a high school, and a park, and finally a hearth in the suburbs of Depew.
silent roosters sleep
moonlight auto unpacks dawn
crowing door exhales
7/14/2017
Haibun Form
at this stage of the game- the only thing you're boosting is big pharma banks
Waves of rooster's songs resound
Voices like hallejuha
Split the quiet morning's air
Nature I'm listening to you
I hear and see the glorious.
A golden sun beginning
A pale blue sky dotted gray
There seems to be no ending
Pines silhouetted with raised limbs
Crepe Myrtle's fuchsia blossoms
Crows disturbed warn of danger
Look back to times forgotten
Learn from history my country men
Safeguard our future lives
When the morals of a nation
Decay, listen for the fife
Today every wrong is obeyed
Lying, cheating a must
When did killing become the norm
No longer in God we trust
The hollow sound of the doves
Their mourning echoes strong
There's dew upon the cut grass
Will the sound of trumpet be long?
They say the Mayan calendar ended
In 2012, today it is 2018
Maybe God could not expose
The horrors of the world's extreme
My country is the beautiful sun
My country is not the hard winter
My country is an often green Eden
Always languid and tropical at dawn.
It’s a country where the crowing of roosters
Revives everybody every morning
It’s a country furnished with filthy slush and rocks
Where nature is a vast and miserable garden.
It's a country full of horrid stories
Where slaves and decent people are revolted
Against greedy settlers and bloody buccaneers
It’s where only macabre memories exist.
In this awful and morose atmosphere
Where I banter all that is negative
I will build positive monuments
I will dream and recite fables.
My country is the moonlight
Which gives hope and strength to fight
Against masked and zombified
Bogeymen. Oh! God, I hold no grudges.
My country is the ever positive imagination
Presently, I don't want to denounce anyone
However, I will silence the chiming bells
Oh! It's sad to see my people on the exodus
Near the evacuative shores.
P.S. Gilles Vigneault, this poem is
For you and our people.
Copyright © January 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
I got inspirered this morning, by one
of our more prolific poetic members. In his
poem, he described self-mutilation, in which
I personal remain unmoved, that was until
He attacked the wrong thing.
What I like to call
My BEST Friend
You know I'm out here all alone
Not another soul, can be found
All day long their cackling,
is sadly the only sound
So, if you've come here just to talk
I can't hear a word you say
But judging by the truck you drive
You've come to take my chicks away
So take each one, or by the dozen
By the crate, barrel or box
Do what you will, with all my hens
But please, don't you touch my cock
It's bad enough, being stuck out here
With no one in which to talk
But sure as shootin' my pipe be tootin'
No one better grab my cock
I see you've loaded all those chickens
It'll sure be quiet, without their squawk
Don't worry about me I'll be hap-pi-ly
Just Sitting quiet, holding my cock
I own a rooster
live on a farm
the animals vote
I am simply caretaker
Under my farm
there is a huge bunker
a thousand men in uniform
systems, equipment and missiles
I am simply caretaker
roosters symphony
nature amphitheater
creek between two hills
roosters
red-headed
best the dawn
roosters' sad song
reverberates from hollow....
fall's cold rain pours
red feathered roosters
cock-a-doodle-do long, loud....
bobcat screech
Urban jungle roosters,
born-again scarecrow,
to untutored city eyes,
tawny pipit stonewall nester,
jet black Inca dove bereft,
of dovetail on a croque monsieur,
idle bone grub crawl,
mother hen to sandy brown,
and velvet bill gazer,
from an nearby creak,
recent rural migrant now,
a tree house side kick,
chickadee a late date sitter,
on this air flock beaky natter,
or tweet between the ice float,
edgy grey day species wield,
their sprightly ruffled feathers,
as an orthopaedic surgeon,
and their spatula when scraping,
rancid bark off windmill elm trees,
gastric bugle trenchermen ahoy,
while ogling a fellow common redpoll,
oh these tummy rumble diners,
will zoom in on every gourmet,
tangled wire mesh feeder station.
round and round they’ll fly,
on zesty mission beetroot,
a cock-eyed scavenger‘s delight,
are they siblings of a noble order?
white tale mountain bluebirds swopping,
habitat for granite boundary habit,
off key off discordant choirboys,
six sided snow bird chorus,
ear splitter for tardy wakening,
they cheep religiously as if,
their only valid creed was,
window squinting prayer meets
crickets are roosters
to the graveyard souls like me
who do it each week....
A fine damp gauze drapes across trees
As white dread locks fan out
Upon a pale blue morning sky
White doves coo, roosters shout
Come up orange sun, shine through shadows
Silhouette trees, warm
Surroundings for spring has sprung
Coming into grand form
Golden sun lift the drapes away
Allow the birds to nest
Bring the plants alive to seed, grow
To replenish the earth's best
They were all screeching about the robbery
as if it were important, some kind of stupid catastrophe
Their screams and whines and wails began to trickle into my shoes
I kicked them off, and kept going
I am a gourmet, selectively deciding what will bother me.
Material goods are okay, but I am truly all about food.
Pizza breathes life into me,
Especially when a chef understands how to garnish
And the importance of the right seasoning.
I hate to act prissy. I am not straight from a nunnery,
but I am selective. Everyone does not get into my head.
Common complaints and wails of others receives a lukewarm reception.
I glance around the barnyard, hoping to spy a little piece of pizza.
The farmer threw out some left over pepperoni to us yesterday.
The communists are coming
The democrats are crying
And the republicans are lying
This is May Day
Please don’t run away
The birds are coming
The deer are running
And the squirrels are jumping
Oh! May flowers! How beautiful
How gorgeous and wonderful
To be alive. Spring is here
We’re happy to be here, dear
Not everything is politics
Let’s chase away the ticks
The mosquitoes, the pesky flies
And the crabs. Spring is here
May and its flowers are here too
Let’s enjoy the fresh morning dew
The children are playing
The birds are chirping
And the roosters are singing.
Copyright © May 2024, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.