Paris Down Under
I heard the thunder
all the kangaroos hid
children screamed in fear
the witch, her brew asunder
I calmed the innocent
peace is within my sphere
I danced with a Wolfe
Birds took a glance at philosophy
A druid mumbles
give peace a chance
I swallowed a lemon
said are crazy Sheilas in sanity?
Life full of questions
answers fly in the wind
just remember these wise words
ignore the ugly echo's
of skeletons in the wind
Budgie Budgie what can I say about a man named Budgie
when it comes to writing poetry, he's as tender as can be
but when it comes to rocking your world with his guitar,
well watch out FANS, for he's the best musician by far;
Budgie Budgie what can I say, "its your Birthday today
and its only right to make a wish on this very special day
White wolves will howl at the moon tonight so celebrate,
have a piece of cake, enjoy every morsel on your plate
Budgie Budgie King of Poetry you "poet of all times"
lets sit back and watch him shimmer, and shine
Happy Birthday dear friend, best tie is a friendship tie
that is why I knotted this poem with love, & Mai Tai .
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY FRIEND
MAKE IT COUNT...
February 10, 2021
So for a laugh, I thought I would buy Mo a cockatiel
Even sent it to a speech therapist, to learn the spiel
Soon it arrived in the post, and made itself at home
Where Mo was more than happy to let it freely roam
Days passed and from the cockatiel, not one squeak
Until a day it rustled up and said to Mo, tweet tweet
. . . *o*
He’s gone now,
And I’m not sure how.
Shocked to find his feathers on the bedroom rug scattered.
That’s all there was left, twisted and tattered.
White like clouds and blue like sky,
This wee small bird, my grief did console,
A birthday gift from a love who’s died,
'Twas a living link to that dear soul.
Sky’s gentle heart and sweet peeping love,
Helped me rise above,
The pain of loss.
In my mind’s eye now,
I see him flying once again whole,
Across paradise to perch on a gilded bough,
Beside that dear soul.
MRT
11-24-11
A line in a poem must never stray
A word in a line must know its place
For every action we take, we create
We change the order of things
Molecules, atoms, DNA, tones, notes
All connected, like water between ripples
Snow crystals in avalanches
Our hands gesturing in the air
Create movement, small folds in time
All in orbit like the cosmos itself
As gems fill the sky above every smile
As friendship exists without definition
But colours life, world and universe
***
July 6, 2017
Copyright © White Wolf and Darren White
Blue bird in a gilded cage:
But not as much as a single whistle from it,
and no piping, not even a proverbial peep,
only deafening silence from behind the bars.
To get the little blue beast to sing!
One plays it a symphony by Dvorak:
Nothing. There's only silence from the bird.
One plays the budgie some Smetana:
Again, nothing but silence from within the cage.
Beethoven then. Surely the Master's music
will get this avian singing again.
Alas, it's all to no avail. One only gets blank stares from the bird.
But, it's time for one last try, hope against hope:
One plays the feathery, captive foil
the Jimi Hendrix Experience, plays their "Still Raining, Still Dreaming":
The budgie suddenly chirps out loud in Martian:
Whistles songs from very far away, yet from very, very near,
and at one and the same time:
Sings, fluting, songs from Everywhere, songs from Nowhere,
songs without limits, ones without an end,
songs sang backwards and forwards at once,
faster than the speed of sound.
Our Hayley had a budgie, she loved it very much
singing in his cage all day, his feathers soft to touch
then one day I found him, on the bottom of the cage
just a bundle of still feathers, it may have been old age
I knew how much our Hayley, would be sad and so distraught
so I went down to the pet shop, and another one I bought,
I placed the new one in the cage, with tender loving care
she will not know the difference, when she hears it singing there
She was too young to know of death, and things that went away
and so we tried to shield her, she’d know all that one day
She came home that afternoon, and went straight to the cage
the budgie looked, but did not sing, and then it ran away
Something funny here she said, don’t know quite what to do
this budgie has green feathers, but this morning it had blue
A bit of quick fast talking, birds can moult, and feathers fall
the changing of the seasons, I really said it all
She pretended to believed me, and the story she would cop
‘cause she was only four or five, and after all, I was her Pop
l
was
just small
with black hair
visiting grandma
and her budgie bird Pete, who flew
and would land on my head and poop and I would yell loud,
running and screaming, you stinky bird don't go on my shiny hair but he always did
one
day
he flew
after me
into the bathroom
because I really had to go
and he fell into the toilet with a big fat splash,
I laughed saying to grandma, Pete has finally figured out where he should be going
____________________________
July 26, 2015
Poetry/Fibonacci/budgie "Pete" needs to go
Copyright Protected, ID 15-694-799-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Everyone Poops,
sponsor, Roy Jerben
Third Place
Barking Budgie
Yes, that's right
I own a barking budgie,
his name is Chip
a friend gave him to me.
He chirps, as he barks
and barks as he chirps,
I think it's rather cute
I laugh so hard, it hurts.
His mate's name is Dale
she's quite timid, you see,
she'd rather run the other way
than to get anywhere near me.
I find it quite amusing
listening to a budgie that barks,
you, yourself would get the giggles
he truly is a work of art.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
May.5/2008
The budgie chatters.
The canaries ignore him.
He just talks louder.
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