Cockerel~A painting by Marc Chargal..
confused cockerel, turned night into day, like some humans.
When his father-in-law got him
into the poultry biz in Rhode Island
Joe had not fully contemplated that
first day to market when he
when he failed to truss and bag the birds
properly, a holy-moly cock-up so
when he tossed them into his ’02
Honda Accord LX to parlay
the beasties down 95 South RI,
they managed to wriggle free
the chickens did, got loose
from the burlap sack
the chickens did, flapping anarchy,
and mayhem, and bad policy about
the Aught-Deux’s upscale cabin,
the mad bastard capons pocking
fine leatherette and Boze while
Bad Chicken Farmer Joe flailed away,
fowl and feathers, feathers and fowl
flailing, clawing, at the faux cherry
wheel, finally rip-cording his failed way
down exit 8A for Quonset Point,
where, at the light, the cross-walkers froze
glaciating, mightily at the cockerel mayhem
unraveling inside a popular Midclass Sedan.
Who is this muse before me stood?
I know her not, I say.
A temperate stirring of the blood,
I bid her go away.
Her seducing, warm, pacific smile,
The shining in her eye;
I watch her handsome form a while
And yet, her I deny.
I took, once more, a further glance
Affirming what I thought.
A glowing, flowing, countenance
Upon mine eyes here brought.
I bid her go, a second time,
Yet, still, she must remain
Sparkling in the morning rime
Be gone, I say again.
I close my eyes and hope to see
Her off before I wake.
An angel come to beckon me
And for my soul to take.
My eyes are opened, looking on,
Aroused from my repose ~
I'd surely bid her thrice begone
Afore the cockerel crows.
4.30 cockerel crows,
Turn over back to sleep,
4.50 it crows again,
Cockerel is doing my head in,
It crows yet again,
May as well get up.
Sitting in the garden in the sun,
Cockerel still crowing at half past ten,
Blocking it out as best I can,
Stay sitting in the sun,
Crowing yet again.
Next morning 4am not again,
Cockadoodledoo it goes,
"Belt up" I yell closing the window,
Neighbours up in arms,
With lack of sleep,
Cockerel moved peace at last.
5am cockadoodledoo I give up.
stentor of the dawn
shatters drowsy morning sky ~
time to seize the day
27.04.20
Morning Praise Poetry Contest ~ Sponsored by: Raul Moreno
rooster wakes the dawn
sound of hens fluttering wings
tender grass springs out
4/25/2020
Poetry Contest: Morning Praise
Sponsored by: Raul Moreno
Strutting a glowing plumage;
. The cockerel stood akimbo,
Lord of the manor, realm in view,
All the hens rambunctious,
As unease pervades the realm,
Skirmishes here and there.
Lo, above the sky
A marauding crow, swooping,
Swooping and picking a hen,
In the realm of the cockerel,
. For a meal, a meal fit for a crow.
The trumpet fails to blast
not for lack of wind;
but a wear.
An old cockerel crows at dawn,
not to herald the day
but to hint the world:
I'm alive,
awake; to stir the snorer
from waste.
It's pretty
sleeping early. Dreaming
before a slumber; a shadow
while the sun blazes through.
Flowers wilt,
wither before their span
because the sap drains
on the cusp of prime.
The wattled old cockerel
sparkles from peep to dusk;
his crow rattles,
stirs the day.
© 2017 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi