The clouds have opened their eyes wide
And all blackness wiped off the face of
The earth.
Night’s curtain has been drawn.
The rising birds in one single squadron
Halloo the world,
Winging and swinging through the
Broad lanes of the ceruleans.
I wake and tremble with the coldness of
Netted fishes;
My spirit stumbles upon fresh thresholds
Whiter with the dews of a prostrating day.
I return to my first day when I had cried.
I speak of my vagitus.
Morning celebrates itself,
Its return from a wayward night trip,
And the glory of dawn.
Crows from drunken cockerels
Ring out loud and clear on the spine of
The village,
Saluting the birth of a new-born day.
Allusions lead to absence?
Believe it, sir and ma'am.
Hold the door? Then get ye hence?
Why the constant slam?
Truth be told, the terror tells.
Tollbooth of the dead.
Nebula, will-o-the-wells.
Stray to look ahead...
Young the yellow yearling?
It's right there in his name.
Hornets, honeybees. Same sting?
Stake it on thy claim.
Frame of usual story?
O kindness, are you real?
Would if could, morning glory?
Flicker as ye feel!
Unity the ugly damn?
Indeed. That's been true.
Summertime, the crowds thin. Ham?
Blow away the blue.
Hated is the world outside!
Woe betide, landslide.
Pace of poet, poison plied.
How the cockerels chide...
Memories of death and dark eminence
The long sleep, lingering last enemy
The coldest, lifeless, breathless silence
Ensues and consumes an eternity.
But hark, then slowly, after sightless sighs
The invisible and subtly faceless hides
Like 0 becoming 0.1 and then 0.3
Our own hero, here for thee
Distant in the deep, heralded by birds wee
sweet blue light seeps into the sky.
All is cleansed, to begin again
Reason returns, an ember burns
And then when fanned into a flame
His colors increase, the mystery ceased,
And let light linger from the East,
It comes glorious, gentle, and glistening,
All heaven and earth is now listening.
For Lo: Apollo knows what follows,
As the ancients scry, angels prophesy
Cockerels cry, until nigh the black bids “bye bye.”
Just as night is the mother of day
Never lost along the way
The pendulum swings, the trees sing and sway.
After long drawn shock and sorrow
Dawn has taken the time in the morrow.
I had a tasty cock-a-doodle stew
Now I crow at dawn as cockerels do
I pulled a sweet hen
And now and again
We dine on an omelette made for two.
blueprint
To have the innocence
again, not abused
nor denied
to see with the
eyes of a child
the beauty
that could be
in it all -
what we lost,
through bitterness
the curse of
me over you
and warring life
throwing its poetic
grenades, watching
feathers fly
the absurd piranhas
and cockerels fighting
fed love,
the monsters
put to bed to sleep,
to wake
to live
the beautiful dream
the sting
of wonderment
in the child’s heart
untouched
open, sweet
beatific smiles
innocence untried
retrieved blueprint
could be ours again
in another world
in another time
bathed in sun,
Blue Sky
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"The Walk"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_walk_1376951
Voices scream like cockerels' within the farm of my mind
Awake again. should I even bother opening my eyes?
Maybe if I dont, the day wont have to start.
I roll out of bed into consciousness.
Coffee. Black like my mood.
Nicotine and coffee are good ammunitions.
How many hours till sleep?
A farmer fancied some chicken for dinner
A fat cockerel he spied sure was a winner
He sharpened his knife
To end cockerels life
Cockerel wished that he'd been a bit thinner.
Inspired by Jan Allisons poem Cluck Off
the rising sun walks quietly in sky
then lowers her lips down
whispers to birds; “wake up”
tells cockerels; “crow loudly”
and intimates the lazy; “sleep on,
time is unfair, sleep on”
then the world bursts into noise
sounds, cries and singing echoes
in every quarter there is activity
with the sun watching and wondering
“I woke up a few creatures but
the whole world has responded!”
then wise sun smiles and vanishes
The widow
What about the first rays of each dawn,
Does recall her from the land of slumber?
What does announce that the night’s gone
To release her from each night’s cumber?
Owning no cockerels to herald the morning,
With shrill. anticipatory predawn crows
Is there then, a scent that’s adorning
Of dawn, only discernible by her nose?
Awake, she never does lumber about,
As one in the daze of insufficient sleep,
Her chores, efficiently she does carry out;
Her progeny, she must slave for their keep.
Her aching palms, withered and abrasive,
Are blistered in testament to years of toil,
But never a deterrent into being dismissive
Of a menial job, even the carter of night soil.
She’d sworn to never use as the egress-
Her body, from a poverty that’s truly abject;
The goatish rich feeding off her distress
And making her the village gossip’s subject
Her children’s dreams she’d rather marry;
Never by tradition, her late husband’s brother
Forsaken by most, her suffering may tarry,
But this shameful custom, she’d help smother!
among hens
among cockerels
even if hens rebel
I'm a Wood Cockerel
a Metal Tiger's my mate,
which meant for her birthday
five years I did wait.
Then twenty four years
had passed on their way
till joining of species
on that happy day.
Tiger and Cockerel
fur and feather and fun,
in crowing and growling
they can't be outdone.
But nesting together,
at home in their lair,
this cock and his pussy
combine as a pair.
They’re totally manic
mammal and bird,
strutting together
the pictures absurd!
Now that forty five years
has passed this pair by,
their children surround them
and non can deny,
that Cockerels and Tigers
though a different breed
found that love found a way
to propagate seed.
Together forever
under Chinese Moon,
there’s non now are saying
they’ll separate soon.
For a lifetime of living
they’ve shared with each other…
A Cockerel as Father
and Tigress as Mother.
Ivor G Davies
I have seen them
strutting like cockerels on podiums
sweating like pigs in their ill-fitting suits
words bubbling out of their snake forked tongues
-democracy!- development!- unity!
I have seen them
lock themselves up in their posh grave tomblike cars,
is it to avoid the dust of the potholed roads
or the sight of poverty ridden comrades
who crawl along the streets like sprayed bedbugs
I have seen them
prancing along the corridors of power
thirsty for more, more and more
always more while their comrades get less
-Salaries – Allowances—Terms
I have seen them
preach peace but sow strife
scream democracy while muffling fundamental rights
promise development while worshiping corruption
I have seen them
torch the nation with careless words
fanning the flames of hatred amongst comrades
destroying – always destroying!
I have seen them
stamped like buffalo herds
on the foundation of the nation
till it stands on shattered and battered grounds
constitution amendments – always amending!
I have seen them
do all these and more – always more
but like a man condemned
I stand on the sidelines
watching—only watching!
inside the banana suckers is our temple
at dawn we dance round the tombs
in the dusk, we crow as cockerels
then we
creep into the creeks with the crickets
a confluence of the strange
in holy matrimony with the strange
waiting for the next residence
in her residence
i sleep tonight
in the pain of her delivery , i emerge
defying the predictions of the bush doctor
by noon i shall be gone
with scars on my skin
lacerations on my index thumb
my face smeared with hot iron
my toes crush with anger
they wept, i laughed
i died, i died, i died,
i shall return the fourth time
awoh kingsley awoh
inside the banana suckers is our temple
at dawn we dance round the tombs
in the dusk, we crow as cockerels
then we
creep into the creeks with the crickets
a confluence of the strange
in holy matrimony with the strange
waiting for the next residence
in her residence
i sleep tonight
in the pain of her delivery , i emerge
defying the predictions of the bush doctor
by noon i shall be gone
with scars on my skin
lacerations on my index thumb
my face smeared with hot iron
my toes crush with anger
they wept, i laughed
i died, i died, i died,
i shall return the fourth time
awoh kingsley awoh
The clouds are turning blue;
the grass awaken to the first heat.
flowers smile at each other:
daffodils, sunflowers and the like.
Morning glories awake, stretch their petals lazily
swaying to the morning breeze playfully.
The cocks are already crowing accolades
to the ONE who made all things.
The mooing of cows, among the cattle
clashing their horns, sounding like spears in battle.
The chatter of sparrows, the cawing of crows;
the crowing of cockerels, the twittering of swallows
all cry for the heavens to awaken.
Then the sky becomes tingly bright red,
orange; and the sun bursts out in dazzling yellow,
spraying the world with rays of hope, joy and laughter.
The birds burst forth, and then,
it sounds like morning in the Garden of Eden.
Dew sparkles like diamonds on the blades of grass
all creation rings with songs round about
to the God of all flesh, Creator of all things;
without whom nothing would have been possible.
And then, just as the morning deepens,
Moving caps are seen above the tall grass, going towards the fields.
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