Long Cormorants Poems
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For those avid crossword groupies of which I are one,
I'm offering free of charge vital data to add to your fun.
So you're stuck on 15-down for the name of a barren of mules!
Groups of creatures you can now name if you use this set of rules!
A group of apes is a shrewdness and a gang of asses is a pace.
Tigers are a streak and you'd better streak should they give chase!
Can you believe that skittish plovers are called a congregation?
(I wonder, perhaps Baptist, Lutheran, Catholic or other denomination?)
You might see a cackle of hyenas or a tower of giraffes at zoos,
Or if on a Kenyan safari a bloat of hippos or a fleet herd of gnus.
The name for a prickle of porcupines is an appropriate moniker for sure!
A sleek bunch of ferrets is called a business, and, why, I'm unsure.
Pesky squirrels are called a scurry and a warren is for rabbits.
(There are many warrens of rabbits due to their promiscuous habits!)
Badgers are grouped as a cete and leopards are known as a leap;
Moles are known as a labor and a herd or drove identifies sheep.
Parliaments of owls meet in trees and eagles in convocations.
Jellyfish waft about in smacks and peacocks strut in ostentations!
Screeching cormorants are a gulp which sounds mighty weird.
Steer clear of a crash of rhinos since they are to be feared!
Charming finches are called a charm and larks an exaltation,
Turkeys a rafter, frogs an army and starlings a murmuration.
Locusts are known as a plague and cockroaches an intrusion.
An unkindness of ravens and their raucous caws just causes confusion!
Groups of humans are known as Republicans, Democrats or Nazarenes,
Jerks and morons but this barely includes all human species by any means!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
The morning seemed unreal,
too perfect in a way -
the waking river
where small boats ignited
like candles on being lit
by first light and where
a cormorant dived
into a blazing sun.
And here, where
a certain magic began
to find its way into
the great, glowing bulk
of a passing ship
towing its fiery wake
down river
towards a grand idea
that was forming
in a corner of the mind.
I should have left
it there in the unspoken
margins of the morning,
to gather and let
it warm, as cormorants do
by stretching out their wings
to catch the sun.
I was too impatient
and fell back
into where all things
are restrained within
their own space
and have a name.
Boated through the tantalizing Kerala backwater
in a pleasant summer morning;
Coconut groves were adorning
our way and perky fishes were chased by river otters
Cacophony of the swaying lofty coconut trees
and the nearby evergreen plants
produced a mesmerizing chant
that certainly consoled the chaotic minds and appease
Majestic banyan tree with its spiraled pillar branches
enthralled the endemic birds
and the migrating animal herds
on the river bank, renovated the place into the ranch
Suddenly the boat entered into the hollow way
where tangled trees made archways,
and fallen flowers filled our pathways
welcomed us, it was such an unforgettable day
Reflections of the slender palm trees on the waters,
painted a flawless picturesque picture
with the kaleidoscope of colors and mixtures
Which was untapped only in the perpetual back waters
Coots and cormorants swiftly plunged into water
When they heard the sound of the boat
Tranquility of the place calmed the hysteria
and it led to the apocalypse of worldly emotions
Sep-9-2017
POTD on Sep 11 2017
I was so happy and I felt so blessed as I received this honour on the death anniversary of my favorite poet Mahakavi Bharathiyar.
I've almost forgotten it.
It got too big -
holes appeared,
entire towns fell through
my memory.
The Forbidden City
is a convoluted red and gold ribbon,
my mind cannot now untangle.
Images float off the ink
of curling maps.
Snapshots flutter
like flags in a desert sky.
I recall in parts and pieces:
middle-aged couple’s street dancing,
no revolutionary strutting,
just Quickstep, Foxtrot,
and Bossa Nova.
The young watching,
taking notes, as if
studying for an exam.
A small one-armed boy,
riding a peddle bike,
weaving through traffic,
four black cormorants strapped to his back,
their necks craning out of their wicker cage,
like sight-seeing dogs.
A quick look at Mongolia
through a hole in the Wall.
China got loose,
it escaped the hotels,
the tour buses, the itinerary.
It went down a crowded alley,
draped with roast ducks,
and paper lanterns.
If I were now to follow it,
it might lead me,
to a restaurant in London,
San Francisco, or Toronto,
or like today
come together again,
in the eyes of a girl
who sells me a smart phone.
The bowel of the earth deepens with
Saturated blessings of the soil, and
Down, down, the forces burrow in its
Caverns —creviced
Between day and night, I cannot decipher,
Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the
Arcane values, where the eyes, though
Blind, see through the darkest chasm
Syncopations thrive —the mind and the
Soul of the hides, the metallic occupation,
The throbs from animal faculty in desuetude,
And hallowed cadences of chants.
Darkness and light, I do not know
But behold, in the strength of the day’s looming eyes,
Cormorants, in elixir, hover at the mouth of vigilant cliffs
Beneath the earth’s balcony, chattering loosely.
Chants, chants of midnight-hour Africa,
Feeble metaphor for the softness of leopard skin,
Innocent voices parched like no globule of water
Has streamed past their distressed throats in ages
From the riots of drums underneath the exhausted earth,
Skeletal frames of distinct horn-like sounds
Surround the warm rage of ceremonies in volcanic appeal,
Enough for us to grab and interpret
The rubbles of the crust, smelt in the heat of
Confused processions, charm my eyes
The earth rumbles, mirages occur so pronto, focusing their
Lens on the revelling clouds above.
Chants on time and chants on the spine of the hour . . . .
Seen through the heat-haze of the swelling day,
Beheld in the webs of the night as in the stately
Prowls of lurking, visiting silhouettes;
Chants of gestures, of initiations, of primitive
Religions, of the invocations of rain after a stifling drought,
Chants of accelerated tempos from drums and flutes in salutations
To the returning reincarnated souls.
Let the restlessness of the spirits begin now —but with supreme bliss
I could have borrowed steadfastness from the moon and the sun,
For perpetual energy and unending flow of unseen waves of clarity.
From the dark nights, I humbly request their star-studded witness.
I've almost forgotten it.
It got too big -
holes appeared,
entire towns fell through them.
The Forbidden City
is a convoluted red and gold ribbon
my mind cannot now untangle.
Images float off the ink
of curling maps.
Snapshots flutter
like flags in a desert sky.
I recall in parts and pieces:
middle-aged couple’s street dancing,
no revolutionary strutting,
just Quickstep, Foxtrot,
and Bossa Nova.
The young watching,
taking notes, as if
studying for an exam.
A small one-armed boy,
riding a peddle bike
weaving through traffic,
four black cormorants strapped to his back,
necks craning out of their wicker cage
like sight-seeing dogs.
A quick look at Mongolia
through a hole in the Wall.
China got loose,
it escaped the hotels,
the tour buses, the itinerary.
It went down a crowded alley,
draped with roast ducks
and paper lanterns.
If I were to follow it,
it might lead me
to a restaurant in London,
San Francisco, or Toronto,
or like today
come together again
in the face of a girl
who sells me a phone
at Radio Shack.
What is it why
So morbid
New war, Corvid
Who is this new alien
And is it from this world
Is he it totally from sin nature
Is it he man made scientifical spiritual political
Or All the Above who is it based on my choice opinion
I just don't know is it political scientifical from our enemy
Is it Red, shall we die
Will we all be dying and or dead
Genocide after me what is it
Why so morbid New World Corvid
You may be I'll be not free so what if I eat bats
What do you and me call it
That what's it about the delicacies
Should we go back to Leviticus
so we don't eat Eagles, Vultures, Kites
Why we don't eat Crows, Ravens, Cormorants Gulls, and Hawks
What is it
why so morbid
New World Corvid
a sometime some Christians restrictions
a Judaism Islamic decision
That thou shall not eat
But what of Jesus
The more you know
Death burial Resurrection had freed us
From these laws
Sin nature free choice
What is it why so morbid
New World Court
Just cause it may taste good doesn't make it right
And everything with all with fins and scales
Shall we not eat
The raw Mouse, Rat and Bats
Even if you cooked them??
Swarming flying insects unclean do not eat should we be Under the Leviticus laws again
Could you imagine
Your now a new Citizen in...
CORVID NEW WORLD ORDER
5/17/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
On the bay the wind is scurrying
along its flock of waves,
with white crests honey combed,
to flip over their edges,
on blue foreheads.
The bow of the yacht slices
through the waves driven by the wind
in the sails, rattling the rigging,
heeling the boat over,
relenting to force of wind,
tricking the wind to drive the yacht
forward wind into the wind.
On the bay the currents play with the tides.
The ferries ply their routes,
hurrying and streaming,
with passengers waving to passersby
for no good reason, for no one asks them why.
The ferries toot their horns to
sloops, ships, skiffs, tugs, tinnies, dinghies and row boats,
hoping they will get out of their way soon.
Dolphins, twist, glide and turn, riding the bow currents.
They pop up to say: "Gidday!", "How's it Going!"
Surfacing for a one-eyed glace up at
the bow-riders standing up front like a figurehead.
Gulls dip and squabble overhead, as terns dive for food,
Cormorants pop to the surface looking around,
before diving back down,
with syrupy smooth surge below.
Pelicans cruise by like flying boats, with folded bills.
For whatever we lose from ourselves on the land,
we'll find it again out there on the wide blue sea,
where life began, and it still sustains us.
For Planet Water is indeed our true home
where life began in water.
It's our matter and matrix,
mother and medium.
Truly our everlasting living sustainer.
I live in Arrubluc by the sea
much like the fabled Llareggub
made famous by Dylan Thomas
in the radio play 'Under Milk Wood'.
The land meets the sea here as well,
but it's a beachside town, beside the sea,
not a portside fishing village.
The sleepy town awakens, with a yawning sigh,
As the gentle kiss of dawn paints the sky.
Fiery orange and red, a sailor's warning cry,
Ignored by seagulls squabbling to fly on by.
The sun bursts up in the East through the ocean,
And the curved horizon rippled by waves in motion.
For the sea is seldom calm and exudes its emotion
Driven by wind and waves into pulsing commotion.
The waves and shore are coupled in embrace,
The sands are caressed lovingly with grace,
There's hiss and splash as waves surge through the flat space,
Leaving behind wedding veil trails of pure white lace.
At dawn, the sea birds gather in flocks on the lake,
To chat and squabble, to preen and feather shake.
The black swans cruise single file shoreward at daybreak
Grumbling and mumbling grunts, as they come in to take a break.
The gulls and terns, cormorants and stilts gather together
In groups of kin, returning like fishing boats to tether
Up on the shore for rest and relief from the weather.
They gather in a congregation, massing with friends of feather.
The surfers and fishers, come to worship the sea,
Paying homage to the beach and waves with heartfelt glee,
Frolicking in the swell, casting out their lines in a spree,
To catch the whooper waves on offer, and big fish all for free.
The surf club is alive with laughter and cheer,
Where mates gather for bawdy gossip and a beer
Every Friday afternoon as week's end draws near
Enjoying the ballads and shanties of the local balladeer
As twilight falls to night, and the moon ascends,
Darkness reveals its velvety somber blends,
The stars return to the sky, like eternal friends,
Amid the calm and peace as day's end descends.
Arrubluc beachside,
here beside by the sea,
says "Bye, Bye, Good Night"!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KIPWgFUFkI
Far away in the distance I see a light and suddenly
I want to follow
those inkling stars of beauty, in the gallow of my wishes
I hear a little voice inside that says,
Take me, take me, to unknown lands of mystery
fly me, fly me, o'er peaceful skies of every hue
Far away in the distance I see a light and suddenly
I'm missing you anew ;
Little rivulets accompany the quiet steps of sea
in pensive thought I tread, reflecting love anew
Why else would cormorants fly
if not for nigh and nigh
Far away in the distance I see you like before
a fading smile across your lips and suddenly,
you dissapear, behind the liquid stars,
away from me, away from me....
Words by: Pixie