Tuxiwoo
and Cheriboo
kissed pink noses
amid the posies
of magic dreams
cast by moonbeams.
On the prowl
for guinea fowl
stalked a mate
matted and late.
His name was Mouser
a Bond cat Scouser.
On the first day of Christmas
my true love gifted me
an ostrich in a baobab tree.
On the second day of Christmas
my true love gifted me
two pink flamingos
and an ostrich in a baobab tree.
On the third day of Christmas
my true love gifted me
three guinea fowl,
two pink flamingos
and an ostrich in a baobab tree.
On the fourth day of Christmas
no more did I receive
it's a crime and a sin
there's yet room in the tree
but too many poachers at the inn.
WOMB WORDS
Womb ! Mother of All, what sayeth you
knowing activation before birth
births through girths, a Q ?
~ ‘I see rainmakers smoking pipes
drink from ostrich eggs fresh
then hike wearing silver Nikes
embryo cells magically multiply
hearing guinea fowl cackle on high
kicking sensations, baby legs sigh
atoms alight travel from mom to babe
life witnesses itself languidly lacing
almost due, a beautiful hue
womanhood elastic expands happy rosy
she is cow peace or yappy puppy cosy
who will give sweet milk, play with baby gay
while father on maroon
patterned mat prays every day’ ~
I birth in agony and ecstasy entwined
welcoming a caramel soul
divine !
As I was looking through the window
Something caught my eye...
A small group of Guinea Fowl
Went running by!
Their nature is quite humorous.
The speed they move is great!
I watch with fascination
As their next move I anticipate...
When I try to take a photograph,
Their backs they quickly turn!
But with patience and determination
A capture I will earn.
Oh Father
Please help us
For we have done wrong
That day in Bole
When we let stones fly
The dead guinea fowl
We roasted & ate
On the way to Kananto
the cripple we mocked
We won’t let up
Till he had cried
On the street in Bolga
We caught a thief
We lashed & slashed
Till he was dead
Oh Father
Won’t you help us
We have done wrong
What of the day
Bright and sunny
On a beach in Saltpond
The drowned we didn’t help
And as for you
Our foe Kookoko
We can hear your cry
In our torture chamber
Your sister gave us
Diamonds
But we still took
your life
Oh Father
Please help us
For we have done wrong
Springtime put a spring in my step
Bluebird brought bright bars of music next
I saw her sip at the faithful fountain; sing soulfully
As I prayed: wishing the world was well, more certain
About the value of various voices: bird, boy, girl, gadfly ...
I threw something out the window, absent-mindedly
What happened next is sad, sadder still, all birds are hurting ...
For you see, what I threw out so absent-mindedly
Was a careless word: "Shush, shush, you sing the same old song!"
Bluebird looked and looked, a long minute without a note -
And as silently as she had surrendered her songs at my abode
She flew off in a fluttery flummox. She has not been seen
Near me. I have been so sorry since, prayed in between -
But my vicinity may welcome the Trinity, but not birds this season
A word - my careless words - have wounded wren and robin
Bluejay and finch, Baltimore Oriole and Barn Owl ...
They stay away ... And the Mockingbird sent word with Guinea Fowl
That I am a moody man, melodramatic, even erratic
(Birds have forgiven; they have fathomed I'm a fettered hummingbird).
They have command on me
my posture has been so
since birth and even now
a grown up, no change
The back has followed
the legs are going there
why can’t a guinea fowl
produce penguins, swans?
Why is choice in nature
so elusive, so limited?
Why can’t I become really
what I admire in nature?
I want to be free to be happy
but I’m condemned to be
a bent bow without arrows!
In many colours I come and many places inhabit
when in South America crabs are my favourite
I chase them with great glee and delicately
Their flesh pick out of their shells and pincers
Come to Africa, when I reside here I have bat ears
that swivel around as I listen for my prey
a tasty rabbit, a guinea fowl even just a mouse
I hide any excess and return to dine in leisure
When living in Russia I am silver in colour
a thick pelt and bushy tail which I display
with such great pride to attract the vixens
then in a matter of weeks new cubs join me
England not quite so cool here the hunt
dogs baying for my blood as I am chased
uphill and down dale, cunningly I head downstream
then hide up in some trees, yes I can climb them
Arctic is where I the Alopex live with my tiny ears
to help me not to lose too much heat in the snowy Tundras
here I eat whatever I can even a fish when it's salmon run
with my vixen we share the raising of four to eleven cubs
Known world wide as cunning and sly, I am a survivor
overcoming different adversities as they arise
Reynard is the name most men know and curse me by
especially if I have raided their chicken coops
a guinea fowl
molting polka dot feathers—
handmade earrings
© February 21, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Juxtaposition Haiku
Sponsored by: Charles Henderson
http://www.honoluluzoo.org/guineafowl.htm
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