We cannot bury cosmic birds
they land not where we are …
their feathers of colours unknown
we see them flitting by, their speed
of light outlined in gold upon pylons
greengrocers watch in awe
open parks will not entice them nor
sunflower seeds magnetise anisodactyls
waiting on cliffs so high (...)
we wander not there ~
in woods near farms of warriors
where they now plant apple trees —-
since knowing consciousness is One
we label their flight in Light Language
mystic like streams flowing peaceful ~
There lie our buried heroes at rest.
We hymn songs of freedom as they flap
our emblems long past buried —-
they descended from realms of seraphim
cores spin vortices from which we drink ~
__________________________
Placed : 7th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand
May ‘26
Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack
There is no corner to get stuck.
You may pause to get a snack,
But again you hear the Tick,
Soon followed by the Tack —
Like Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack.
Money clinks to this rhythm,
Bodies wet and dry.
Faces smile and wrinkle,
Tears drop and dry
By Ticks and Tacks.
Pain comes and goes.
Trees dry and rain falls.
Wings cease to flap while
Realities turn to distant memories.
Like Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack
Children become parents,
Parents become kids,
And hearts stop their beat.
Days and nights run back to back.
The rhythm turns them to weeks, months, and years,
Steadily turning our ages to gold —
Like Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack, Tick-Tack.
filigreed wings flap,
a stir, lift off on the cards
flight of fantasy
Mister Joe jangles
loose change deep in his pockets
jogging memories
he washes, tumbles and hangs
up to flap for passers by
a lover of words
incessant with their jingle
riddles, rhymes, clangs, songs—
they taunt him and his readers
to add new charms to bracelets
words stir still waters,
claw rogue paths through apathy—
sifting good from bad—
dispelling glitter and rust
to forge badges for reason
Joe can dance for you
in ragged clothes, worn out shoes
with the old soft shoe—
if you hear or read the words
flapping washing on the lines
A step too far, brings right of passage to a ledge
Fluttering at cliff walls, pushing life’s brittle edge
A sheer instinctive thrust, with no trust to pledge
Now or never moment, undermines fear’s wedge
A chick leaps off, flailing frail wings fail to fledge
Featherweight of hope meets a ten-pound sledge
Crashing straight down, no safety net to dredge
Next guy flaps like mad, landing softly in a hedge
what birds might think about planes
They obviously shave everywhere
Ehh you can see into it’s stomach
His farts stick the smell is everywhere
I talk to him not a peep from him
I might do one what sheep think of clouds
Are they scared to jump in case the never come down
Where the is it’s nest-sorry back to the bird one
His wings are on fire
She broke her nose
Pulling the cord on this con
That er nearly flew into me
He’s a noisy er when he takes off
You should see him trying to stop man I laughed so hard
He’s got family he meets regularly
I kinda like the word regularly it makes me roll it
like regurallly
Honest left wing up to bird God
it face planted after suddenly exploding my cousin Gus was there
Man this is gonna rub
Do German conspiracy
(see I wanted to be freaks after conspiracy but I consider all humanity freaks) there was nein eleven
They think they own the skies
It’s kink is to get boxes shoved in it’s rear I just don’t get it
This was fun
Let’s do it
It
Sum 01:35 A.D. 00:00 Best off
The bare branches were shaking,
twigs rattled like ill-fitting teeth.
I thought:
'any moment now
the coal black lumpiness of them
will break a bough,
and all tumble down or up,
creating sky-slides of avian tumult'.
They jousted at each other,
clattering their sharp quilled feathers
like angry Black Knights.
The very air shook as they bounced,
up and down
imitating hooligans on a drunken spree -
rowdy 'caws' assaulting all ears.
Then,
in a sudden spray of alarmed confusion
they scattered, wheeling away,
in every direction.
From behind a thick-glass window,
someone must have muttered:
Shoo!
Off she took her leathery cap
For an apparently sought nap
She had secured with a milky pap,
Her decided pillow Bob’s lap
But with her trousers’ flap
Open like Satan’s trap,
Thus, her sleep intentions making a crap
And she a target for Christian Mother’s slap,
On her head an upset father’s rap
And, sure, a child’s gossipy clap…
Between her and honesty of purpose, a gap
Bob as simple as a candy wrap
On the whole, a Jezebel’s seduction
By Anita, member by induction.
There are no ugly ducklings, only judgmental swans.
There once was a fellow named Todd
Who had a very strange habit, quite odd
When girlies came near
He would flap both his ears
To signal he was ready, yesireebob!
There once was a fellow named Todd
Who had a very strange habit, quite odd
When girlies came near
He would flap both his ears
To signal he was ready, yesireebob!
You act like you’re all that -
gaining green when you rap,
but I say lines of utter crap
come from your verbal flap.
You lack and I can back that.
My slapjack, whapping facts
would not be rinsed with tact
since odds are a massive stack
of my fly responses so snap
they’ll waste yours to scrap.
You’ll bleed a need for a map
just to sense our distance gap.
I could secure a win wrap
in the deep sleep of a nap
with word whirls of pure blur
punching, crushing your rap,
maiming your able so unstable
it’s incapable to react transact
any how to track your ego back.
My hit of truth would impact
and sack your rap so abstract
that my heard word redact
would squish lisp yours compact,
then subtract, detract, refract
and ransack precisely exact
the trash you call a talent act.
So, go! Sate-debate my rap trait.
Oooh look. Oh wow. Correlating jumping twists and combinations of bunnies,irons,toothbrushes and eye lash curlers. Turn then a stick. Rotational gravitation and melodically performed interludes. Such magnifications of a single note. Kissing a kindling to produce an even steady glow. Epitomising myth,fables and heavily guarded secrets. Yet seconds are counted by a tick tick tick. And if a lion says hello then one should not discuss crochet with a snooker cue. Balls then in many halls. Darkly dimming daring done. A persnickety perennial pineal gland. Hahahaha and the forts. Hahahaha and a day is one hour 9 minutes. Hahahaha cubes cantering. Xxxx zoologist zones. *** meteorological *** clapflap xx
.
The fly
On a bowl's rim
Fresh banana nut bread
Aroma floats as a fly dies
Sweet Death
There once was a fellow named Todd
Who had a very strange habit, quite odd
When girlies came near
He would flap both his ears
To signal he was ready, yesireebob!
© Jack Ellison 2015
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