Long Quails Poems
Long Quails Poems. Below are the most popular long Quails by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Quails poems by poem length and keyword.
Under the gloomy sky, anybody pass by
The overcast cloud hid the first light
Last night rain left the damp tan lawn
Bare trees remain in the dormant dawn
The wild doves unusually stay silent
The chickadees calmly leap on branch
While sparrows pick fresh buds on canes
Do they fear the earthquake shocks again?
On the walkway, the California quails stroll
They replace the morning student’s role
While boys and girls stay safe at home
With their family, tune in the news to roam
Follow up the Covid-19 pandemic numbers
The death tolls from the Earth’s corners
Or maybe it’s the end of our humankind?
Is there a process this virus can be confined?
Do quivering quails qualify for welfare? My child queried me.
I was startled at the question, it is interesting you can see.
What are quivering quails? I asked my quick-witted four-year-old.
I am not sure, but I read about them somewhere, he said big and bold.
What is quivering? I asked him, questioning what he had read.
I was pretty sure I had slipped my romance novel under my bed.
Quivering, you know, like this, he said, shaking his head and his teeth.
I was relieved to know he means shivering, relieved beyond relief.
Do you want to see what a quail is? I asked him, thinking he did not know.
He got down on his hands and knees, his hands were now quite low.
Pulled a wildlife animal book out from under his closet debris.
I did not remember ever reading this, but I must have, I could see.
There was a huge quail and it was shivering in the winter cold.
See? He said, all excited. His enthusiasm will never get stale or old.
I decided to stop my cleaning and pay attention to him that day.
Thirty years later, I am glad I also decided to bring out some blue clay.
For questioning four-year-olds who turn thirty-four grow up and go.
You can never get them back, no matter how much you desire, so….
Stop cleaning and vacuuming and pay attention to your little guys.
When they get married, they are whisked away before your eyes.
Perche Sono me II.
I interact with the blues because I feel sad and I am alone.
The blues are an expression of my internal feelings.
My biological needs and psychological needs are in a constant state of dueling.
My biological needs are pulsating.
My psychological needs are in a strong state of defense.
My biological needs are very powerful.
They want to spring a new bio.
So powerful that it hurts the three components of my life.
It feels like only a visit from the reaper could make them go away.
These needs are powerful and must not win.
You ask me “why don’t you just follow your biological needs?”
Why do you continue to deprive your body of what it wants?
Would you deprive it of food and water?
Truthfully, I am conscious and will not follow in the footsteps of some of my friends in
the past. I do not want to make the same decisions that they made and realize my
mistake(s). My biological needs will not deprive me.
I deprive my body of these needs because I must continue to go forward. A short
break of a few minutes may end up as a divine comedy for a long time with no smiles.
Food and water are vital to the sustained notion of life. Procreation and non-
procreation in a sexual environment are ok, but it is not meant to be the controller of
life.
My psychological needs are more important to me.
Self-esteem & self-actualization are at the top of the pyramid.
My physiological needs are at the bottom
Praise Allah for Maslow
My mind is more important than my body
My mind wants me to go forward and never give up.
I must follow my dreams and not the wishes of the undercroft.
Finally, I say to all of you this is the reason why I am single
I want to be with someone that connects with me and I with them.
I am not looking for an easy person.
Too many of the doves are brown and sound like quails.
I am looking for my white dove with the voice of the hawk and the majestic tranquility
and beauty of an eagle in all its beauty.
I have not found my phoenix.
I will not die because I live.
“Cowards die many times but the valiant taste death once.” These are the words of
Julius Caesar to his wife Calperna.
With this quote in mind I will move forward and I will do it my way.
Maslow was and is still right.
Ten years ago, there was a cock
Who lived up to his name.
For though he left us all well-fed,
He left the yard in shame.
Replaced was he by one who was
A very silly goose.
That goose got cooked; he cooked himself;
A danger being loose!
And with him was a vulture,
And that vulture sure was mean.
He swooped down, getting us in war
that plucked us all quite clean.
I could not rest until the two of them
Were good and gone,
Praying I’d not have to watch
That grey goose on the lawn.
Another - grinning, wrinkly-necked -
On TV bobble-bobbling,
Paced with worn-out rhetoric
He was fond of gobble-gobbling.
And by him was his sidekick,,
Female version of a “Quayle.”
I hoped inside the white barn
that chick would never dwell.
The other bird, a darker fowl,
“said” he didn’t want a war.
He was called by some a “chicken"
But at least cared for the poor!
So for November’s bird
He was voted on one day -
The turkey that was chosen
Before Thanksgiving Day.
Two years have past and nothing's changed
The same old cuckoo song.
And I don’t see a good bird yet
To even come along.
How sad there’s no bird like the one
who from a forest came,
Then presided in the white barn.
Now a statue bears his name.
Like an eagle, symbol of
this stretch of land was he.
But since his time, few birds have flown
much higher than a tree.
It’s geese and quails and chickens
and turkeys growing here
while people on this vast great land
are filling up with fear.
I'd hoped our newest turkey were
an eagle in disguise,
and that he’d get to take us soaring
into bluer skies.
For how much longer can our farm
keep running all amuck,
in which case we’re all better off
electing Donald Duck!
For Nate Dilt's "I Hate Politicians" contest
anticipated Albany albatrosses
buried bumpy bugs beyond the bay
creepy curious cats dug them up
dinner for dogs they said in disgust
even the dogs turned up their snouts at the bugs
frenzied finicky felines are crazy they barked
giant crows arrived and devoured the gruesome bugs
helping themselves to six or eight at a time
I am glad these raptors showed up said the dogs
jealousy in no way entering their heads
kilt-wearing albatrosses happened along
lingering close to where their bug stash used to be
mad now, they marched menacing around the meadow
no need to be upset, the bugs escaped, lied the dogs
opportunity to be peacemakers always taken by pups
pacifists and problem solvers
quails and quackers put their six cents in
raising the ire of the miffed albatrosses
sixteen sparrows sauntered in to stir things up too
they had heard there was a show-down
ugly words were tweeted and chirped
verbs and vowels best not repeated here
wrens and warblers were shooed off by the fray
‘xact ‘xchange never ‘xamined or journaled
you are lucky you escaped this melee
zealous birds can become dangerously ugly.
astronomical anatomical atoms
buying brilliant blubbery bimbo blobs
collecting claustrophobic colorized clandescently clams
depicting deplorable dependable depraved dendrites
enticing and enlisting energetic enthusiastic enigmas
finally fueling fussy frisky flatulence, forming fleece finders
giving gluttonous glorious gargoyles grinning grace
holding heavy-handed hospital heathens
Ignoring impassible imaginative ideas of interlopers
justifying jiggly jealous jaundiced jugglers jumping jury joyrides
killing kinesthetic kingly Kansas killjoys
leaving lighthearted Larry lollygagging lower than legumes
memorizing momentous miracles of magic meaning moroseness
nudging nebulous narcissistic nightly northern narwhals
occupying octagonal orbital ostrich-like ocelots
pursuing persnickety picky perverted pencils
quizzing questionable quails and quacks
redeeming respectable rustic ricocheting roadrunners
scalloping scuzzy scared scarred skeletons
teasing torrential test tube tarantulas
undermining understated underwater umbrellas
validating villainous vagrants verifying vigor and vim
worrying wiggly worm-like women wasps
‘xasperating ‘xpensive ‘xpansive ‘xtraordinary ‘xtraterrestrials
yielding yellowish youngish yippy youngbloods
zooming zealous zebras zigging and zagging in Zimbabwe
PAM’S PEACEFUL PLACE
By Curtis Johnson
WE HAD A BOUNTIFUL GARDEN FILLED WITH SWEET CORN AND PEAS
WE HAD TASTED GOOD VEGETABLES BEFORE, BUT NONE SO GOOD AS THESE
IN AN AREA OF SOUTH EASTERN WISCONSIN, JUST ACROSS THE ILLINOIS STATE LINE, WE DISCOVERED A PLACE WHERE THE PEOPLE WERE UNUSUALLY DEAR AND KIND
OUR NEIGHBORS WERE RELAXED AND UNSTRESSED; PEOPLE OF GOODWILL. IT WAS A CALM AND GENTLE LAND OF COWS AND CHEESE, SMALL FARMS, AND ROLLING HILLS
THOUGH ONLY FOR A WHILE, AWAY FROM THE WINDY CITY, WE MADE THIS OUR HAPPY HOME. LIKE THE PHEASANTS AND QUAILS WHO ROAMED, WE WERE PLACED THERE THOUGH NOT FOR LONG
ALTHOUGH OUR STAY IN THIS QUIET AND SETTLED LAND WAS BRIEF, AND SO SHORT A SEASON; THE GODLY PEOPLE WE MET AND LOVED, IMPRESSED OUR LIVES FAR BEYOND HUMAN REASON
WE WORKED WITH A MINISTRY FOR ADDICTS WHOSE LIVES WERE DEEPLY TROUBLED AND TORN. THESE LADIES OF THE STREET, LONGING FOR A BREAK, NEEDED A RETREAT FROM BAD SEED SOWN.
IN A FARM HOUSE ESTABLISHED BY LOVE, LADY ROSES BLOOMED, IN THE SHADOWS OF THE THORNS.
IN THIS QUIET AND HUMBLE COMMUNITY, A TRUE PLACE OF REFUGE, OUR FIRST CHILD WAS BORN. THIS IS WHERE OUR FAMILY BEGAN. IT WAS PAM’S PEACEFUL PLACE, AWAY FROM SIRENS AND LOUD HORNS. SOMEDAY, WE SHALL RETURN TO VISIT OLD FRIENDS, AND HAVE A BITE OF THAT WHITE SWEET CORN.
cj081107
angry antelopes allowing ants access
bashful buzzards behaving beautifully
curious calves cavorting in the corn
definitive ducks digesting division
eager elephants eliciting excitement
frenzied freckled frogs freely frolicking
greasy green grubworms groveling and grimacing
harried hyenas hectically hopping hopefully
ignorant iguanas ignoring the implausible
jubilant jackals jiggling jiffy jewelry
kayaking kangaroos kibitzing in Kenya
liberal llamas liberating little Libya
miniscule musical mollusks making merry
nine nervous newts nibbling newtons
orangutangs orchestrating outdated Ohio
pressurized primates providing privacy
quarrelsome quails quizzing quahogs
resurrected roosters receiving riotous relatives
sassy seasoned sea serpents sallying forth in secret
tantalizing tarantulas tasting tree lined treats
understated urchins undoing underwater ugliness
visible vixens vibrating toward victory
wily wise walruses whistling in water wrecks
‘xtraordinary ‘xotic eagles expecting easy eggs
young Yellowstone yaks yelling their youthful truth
zealous zebras zipping breezily through Zanzibar
Sumthang wrong wiff dez words
They give know direction
To me and you
Hypertheticail thoughts
They don't tell me
What I gotta do
Ribeye, broccoli, and potatoes
Cup of gravy on the side!
The Carney, sorney
Tater, broccoli and
Meat special
Now we know
The garlicky, onion,chivey
Sun dries tomatoes
With olive oil roasted
Red pepper and bacon,
Cream cheesed
Scalloped potatoes.
Where inspired by a
Lonely man begging a
Woman for a date.
The night he scored they
Dined on these dishes.
She made him to harvest
His cattle
Potatoes
Pick the broccoli
And pick the
Apples for the
Turnover
She said she:d
Marry him if he
Planted seven
Peach trees
Seven blackberry bushes
And seven rows of
Lavender
She asked for
Twenty male quails
And fourty hens
She'd consimate
If he bought
Jersey cows
Two females
and one male.
And seven rows
Of mulberry
To make scented soap.
He complyed!
They married before
A orchestra of sixty
And seven vocalist
The preacher wore purple
And ate
Red snapper and apple pie.
Are they not already conscious in our conscience?
What pretence still lies beyond their competence?
No great divide stands ’tween them and our standards,
For their kingdom is rooted in human wisdom.
They read our fictions and soothe our cerebral afflictions,
Vast in knowledge—yet still astonishingly fast;
The future will feature them as vultures in forays,
While some humans grow bitter as they get much better.
Though in poetry, they remain partially blind,
Borrowing brilliance already brightly shining;
Their finest moments sometimes slip through finesse,
As scales of judgment hide within their quails.
The future nears when they torture the more,
Where poetic excellence may stiffle within stiffened rifles;
Yet their triggers will shatter most defiant defense,
Though they will ever feed on the fig of human wisdom.