Long Peck at Poems
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Written: April 14, 2025 for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
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The subject matter of this poem explores themes of transience, intersection of life and death, and the fragile coexistence of human and natural worlds.
a loaf of discounted bread
stale & crumbly
resides in a brown paper bag
teetering
on a park bench
a finger of cool breath
_____nudges
____________the
________________bag
___________________towards
ground
pile of used cigarettes
gathered by
a trash
can
&
an
array
of greasy
fast food, styrofoam cups
a souring banana milkshake
punctured through
---a rotting apple
core
&
an
assemblage
of stale and wizened
McDonald's medium fries
family of pigeons
peck at brown paper
bag--
it topples over &
spills its guts
across
grass
a swan watches from a pond
--eyes peer--
from its snowy face
water cushions every ounce
of its body
caresses every single
feather
sky is a petri-dish
c r a m m e d
with scarlet c l o u d s
a young girl falls
as her size four sneaker
is caught
on a hidden tree root
swan chuckles
to itself
a college student bites
into a decorated
hot dog
condiments slip
his button-down
shirt &
a swan extends its wings
a platform for sun
as droplets of
crystalline water
sparkle off surface
of each
feather
Birdman
Bold Dewi Jones would leave his home
first thing every morning,
and trot him down to Towy Wood
just as day was dawning,
and there he filled his Tesco bag,
five pence from any store,
with chickweed celandine and seed
and other weeds galore.
Then he fed them to his finches
to peck at in the cage,
while he ate his Kellog Cornflakes
and read the sporting page.
When Dewi was a kid at school
he hadn’t many toys,
and on the farm out in the sticks
there were no other boys,
so the woods became his playground,
a bird his childhood friend,
and he played a game with finches
he prayed would never end.
Their songs were short machinegun bursts
that echoed through the wood,
and Dewi, in green camouflage,
would stalk like Robin Hood.
A grown-up now, he made a frame
that lay beneath a net,
and then with trails of wild bird seed
a crafty trap he set.
That’s how he caught his lovely birds,
cunning if not clever,
and neighbours came along to praise
Dewi-boys endeavour.
Yet we all Knew that in the wood,
birds sang like heaven’s choir,
while, in the confines of the cage,
finches were much shyer.
Now Dewi’s wife, religious was,
chapel every morning,
in Aberystwyth born and bred,
should have been a warning.
Though pleasant to the roving eye,
pretty as a flower,
like milk upon a summer’s day
she curdled and went sour.
“It’s wings God gave,” his wife would scream,
“so birds can rise and fly;
and nature gave them songs to praise
the wonders of the sky.”
One day while on his morning rounds
bold-Dewi had a stroke.
“An awful thing,” the village said,
“for such a lovely bloke.”
No muscle could the birdman move,
eyelids would not flutter.
The voice that once trilled, “Sosban Fach,”
not a word could utter.
We don’t know why God struck him down,
spite – or was it pleasure?
What e’er the Lord was dishing out,
Dewi got full measure.
Now Dewi’s sitting in a chair,
just staring into space,
and carers who come twice a day,
pour soup into his face.
His wife just up and left him,
no fuss or angry words,
just said, “I hate to see you there,
caged up like your birds.”
the field is given a name
battles are about where they disappear
the ones that walk away
don't know where the hell they are
after the mayhem
peace continues destroying barns
birds peck at exploded eye sockets
take what they see to feather nests in hollow trees
insignia and belt buckles
are hunted to extinction
sold into usury
mists shuffle a daze of time
the rattling roll calls of magpies and jackdaws
echo the click-clacking of jawbones
executing orders and counter orders
the officers that stumbled forward or away
go quietly mad or marry well
later
shell stumped foot foragers tell their slogging tales
then find newly cracked rockers
to slip away on
between the hour before dawn and midday
the violence died away in smoke
muddle and disorder
no land was lost or won nothing ended or begun
only this smoldering
cannon blasted field surrendering its nowhere acres
eventually milk cows and goats are purchased
to he hell into butter
dead horses are brought back
as glue and sacks of fertilizer
the stubborn ghosts of mules bray
on the night before remembrance day
thus now in the kilter and unwinding of years
the unnamed are plowed in or out
framed in visitor centers
the long hauled about laid to primal grist
the fallen slain recalled again
to quicken vintage tractors
the bearded and beardless site-marked and told
by the grave tongued rangers
who speak for the listening gone
and the whole much pounded shebang
grid referenced
as the muzzled earth still heaves up
its lead riddled bones
service roads are built over tufts of d-n-a
spent shells and frayed lapels catalogued
filed away
then the blue and grey left to fight
their own way home
while another day breaks its promise
A little sparrow flew down to a bush and said, "Please, can you give me a little swing on thee, and the bush angrily said no!
So the sparrow went to a goat, to nibble the bush, but the goat said no!
So the sparrow went to a wolf, to eat the goat, but the wolf said no!
So the sparrow went to the people, to kill the wolf, but the people said no!
So the sparrow went to the Mongols, to slay the people, but the Mongols said no!
So the sparrow went to the fire, to burn the Mongols, but the fire said no!
So the sparrow went to the water, to quench the fire, but the water said no!
So the sparrow went to the ox, to drink up the water, but the ox said no!
So the sparrow went to the poled ax, to chop up the ox, but the poled ax said no!
So the sparrow went to the worm, to eat up the poled ax, but the worm said no!
So the sparrow went to the hen, to peck up the worm, but the hen said no!
But then the hen dared the little sparrow, to go to that bird over there to do what you asked, the little sparrow didn't know that that bird was a sparrow hawk.
So the sparrow went to the sparrow hawk, to peck up the worm, but the sparrow hawk was surprised by this tender morsel and said, you are quite brass and brave, but I do not peck at worms, but I'll have a go at that hen.
The hen saw the sparrow hawk and quickly pecked at the worms.
The worms saw the hen and quickly devoured the poled ax.
The poled ax felt the worms and quickly went to chop up the ox.
The ox saw the poled ax and quickly lapped up the water.
The water felt the licks and quickly went to put out the fire.
The fire saw what the water planned to do and started to burn the Mongols.
The mongols was badly scorched that they began to slay the people.
The people began to hunt down the wolf to kill it.
The wolf who was been hunted went after the goat.
The goat feared the wolf attack and began to nibble the bush.
The bush felt the nibbling and cried out to the sparrow.
The sparrow flew down to the bush and was given swings to its heart content.
Date: 06/16/2019
This morning, my yard was hopping
with squirrels and rabbits busily shopping
for pine needles, berries, and cones,
perfumes, oils, and sweet colognes,
to entice partners for this evening's bebopping.
The fox said to the wolf in a huff.
"We're making this problem way too tough.
You take that goat, Sandie,
and I'll take that lamb, Randy.
And we'll split Porks, if that ain't enough."
There was some tumultuous to do
in the pouch of mommy kangaroo.
The twins were jumping and springing,
doing summersaults and singing,
making mommy kangaroo ~ so blue.
Tiny birds scooting across the street,
hopping on their three-toed, little feet.
A car misses them by inches ~
they'd be dead if they were finches!
Tiny birds! Get off the street! Tout sweet!
I chanced on a cat as big as a bear
who was all covered in grizzly, brown hair.
He was cornered by a mouse
as big as a house!
And guess who there was trembling in fear.
"You look like a million bucks
in your elegant white tux,"
said the ravenous wolf to a lamb.
"But though you look pretty in it,
don't think for a minute
I'm not gonna eat you, cuz I am."
Two smart crows peck at a road-kill cat,
plucking bits of liver, lungs, and fat.
Crow one inquires of crow two:
"How's this feline tasting to you?"
"Much finer than last week's sewer rat."
A third of the ducklings is three,
waddling behind Mama Shérie.
If a duck is a bird,
and three is a third,
how many birds do you see?
Life in this big old fishbowl
was never quite completely whole,
till Wally the walrus
came to dwell among us,
and gave this fishbowl some soul.
Oh, kiddies, please be alert!
Here live dangerous dragons that squirt
all manner of green ire
and orangy hell fire,
and if you get hit, you’ll be hurt.
This is a story of an old couple who had no children of their own.
One day while the old woman was washing clothes at a nearby river, she saw a large rosy peach floating downstream.
She got ahold of it to give to the old man.
Yet, before he had a bite of it, the rosy peach burst open.
It had no large seed in it, but a baby boy.
The baby ate the peach and became very strong and healthy.
The old couple took care of him as he grew to be the strongest and healthiest baby in the whole countryside.
The old couple named him 'Momotaro', the Peach Boy, a secret kept only to themselves.
One day, Momotaro asked his mother, the old woman, to make him a bagful of 'kimi-dango', a Japanese millet dumpling, for him to take on a journey to Ogre's Island and take their treasure from them.
He left the couple with the kimi-dango bag tied to his waist.
He came upon a monkey who says to him, "Kia, Kia!" Momotaro tells him of his task, whereto, the monkey said he'll tag along for a kimi-dango.
Momotaro agreed and off they went until they came upon a pheasant who says, "Ken, Ken!" Momotaro tells him of his task, whereto, the pheasant said he'll tag along for a kimi-dango.
Momotaro agreed and off they went until they came upon a dog who says, "Bow, Wow, Wow!" Momotaro tells him of his task, whereto, the dog said he'll tag along for a kimi-dango.
Momotaro agreed and off they went until they came upon Ogre Island where Momotaro reveals his plan.
The pheasant must flu over the castle gate and peck at the Ogre's, and the monkey must climb over the castle wall and pinch the Ogre's and the dog and I will break the bolt and the dog will bite the Ogre's and I will fight with the Ogre's.
A great battle then ensued.
"Kia, Kia!", "Ken, Ken!", "Bow Wow Wow!", was heard from sun to sun, ending with all the ogre's tied and the treasure was shared between the four.
Date: 06/16/2019
(This is a sequel to my poem- Within the Cage. Part 1. and a true story.)
I saw the Earth and its happy brood
And everything around in a sunny mood
But in my cage sat a single bird
So lonely without a companion of her own breed
Though the sky and its expanse to her, long denied
In her narrow cage, she was never annoyed
She had a partner to share her joy and woe
With him, all else she was ready to forego
There they made a haven unknown to pain
Shut the door to wind and rain
Sat together rubbing shoulders and preening feathers
Never did they mind their freedom bound by tethers
Now she feels she has lost her way
With her mate absent to cheer her day
With the break of dawn, once as she rose from sleep
Lay her ‘man’ motionless like a feathered heap
With her beak, she pecked and prodded him
Went on nudging and poking, sitting on the cage’s rim
But Alas! He didn’t stir or move
She tried in vain but finally got the painful clue
Sitting close to him, making a strange sound
She made it known that her man would no more be around
Never expected her life would suddenly take a turn this way
And never ever thought her companion would thus slip away
When his body from the cage was removed
She beat her wings as if in sorrow drowned
Thereafter she didn’t peck at the grains served
And for days opted out to remain starved
I thought her sorrow would soon end
And his separation wouldn’t leave a deep dent
But each day, gloom overcast the teary-eyed widow
And she sat blubbering looking through her window
Her lonesome state left me so agitated
I didn’t want to see her any more isolated
I let her fly into the freedom of the sky
With new companions, hoping to see her soar high!
Dec.24.2022
Memories like a Chinese dragon
fluid~~~multihued~~~rattling.
I wrestle my brain,
p i
i t
n
n d
i o
n w
g n
until I find the origin
of its negative thought.
A hall of mirrors
w a n
r n e
i d b
n u
k l
l o
e u
d s
scuttling toward Winter’s age.
Underscore of pinings
thought to be important
…….and they are…….
sculpted scores of Octoberfest.
I Spring’s zephyr
s )
( )
w )
( o
i )
( n
n )
( )
g )
======
releasing endorphins
from my carefree childhood.
Warmth under my mother’s coddles,
my shell well cared for,
!
( )
( )
( )
( )
*************
as I care for her now,
as her casing fills with chemo drips.
I ponder the seasons of life,
snaking inwards ~ ~ ~ ~
peck at the visceral shell.
Summerhouse warmth, waterborne-eyes
closed in hibernaculum-chrysalis.
0
0 0
0
I shall not ponder my death!
Nor shall I write a sonnetbituary.
10/26/2020
Inward Reflections Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Cooke
the field is given a name
battles are about where they disappear
the ones that walk away
don't know where the hell they are
after the mayhem
peace continues destroying barns
birds peck at exploded eye sockets
insignia and belt buckles
are hunted to extinction
mists shuffle a daze of time
the rattling roll calls of magpies and jackdaws
echo the click-clacking of jawbones
executing orders and counter orders
the officers that stumbled forward or away
go quietly mad or marry well
shell stumped foot foragers tell their slogging tales
then find newly cracked rockers
to slip away on
between the hour before dawn and midday
the violence died away in smoke
muddle and disorder
no land was lost or won nothing ended or begun
only this smoldering
cannon blasted field surrendering its nowhere acres
eventually milk cows and goats are purchased
to he hell into butter
dead horses are brought back
as glue and sacks of fertilizer
the stubborn ghosts of mules bray on
the unnamed are plowed in or out
framed in visitor centers
the bearded and beardless site-marked and told
by the grave tongued rangers
who speak for the listening gone
and the whole much pounded shebang
grid referenced
as the muzzled earth still heaves up
its lead riddled bones
the blue and grey leave to fight
their own way home
while another day breaks its promise
The traffic was strident, lanes straight
the cars lined the street and froze rigid.
The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed
a line of gate crashers cutting.
The sidewalks segmented in rows, false
lure more tourists into a queue.
Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued
a ménage which was quite far from straight,
all had come for a peck at the Bard, false.
even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid,
and scowls on their lined brows like cuts
their critiques would be most direct.
Teens kiss in a clutch most directly
their faces make braces of queues
Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff,
the elite meet and greet heading straight
for the red road with a rigid
line of bull filled with falsities.
Inside the antiquated theatre under false
the foot lights lining the aisles direct
Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid
alleys to velvet seats also queued.
The stare of critic and patron glared straight
64 toward the author so pinned and cutting.
A bright white light cut
the chill air so false
and focused on drape lined straight
each fell open as artist directed
and orchestra swells filled their queue
and the author he sat stark and rigid.
His fate would he find in lines rigid
on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut
make or they’d break his heart’s queue
these piranhas with smiles so false.
No fate could be more direct
this tonic he must imbibe straight.
So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts
Filleted be he by queues false,
in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.