It’s rare to hear a story
That you haven’t heard before,
Especially when memories
Seem locked behind a door.
But yesterday I heard about
A parrot who could talk
And when my dad came home from school,
It would begin to squawk,
“Georgie’s home!” repeatedly.
My aunt, who told the tale,
Said that’s the only name it yelled,
Each school day, without fail.
I don’t recall my father
Ever mentioning this bird.
Perhaps it was a memory
That somehow got deferred.
Yet as my aunt recalled this,
She laughed hard and so did we,
The image of a boyhood George
As clear as it could be.
Juliet asked, “What’s in a name?”
and, methinks I shall do the same.
What have; Bo-Peep, Boy Blue, Jack Horner,
Miss Muffet, Poll Parrot, Red Riding Hood,
Robin Redbreast and Tommy Tucker
in common, scale-wise, that's underststood?
As none of them are related,
the subject may seem brittle,
altho' not small, or what I call 'tall',
one and all, they are 'Little'.
A silent glance a squeaky beak
No understanding such a squeak
A simple touch of gentle grace
Separated wild to human race
No cure for some but others ate
The parrots spell a saving grace
Of love and respect a wondrous gift
Misunderstood a soulful shift
A cure for some misunderstood
Pills and psychological disorders not as good
I tell you this from the heart
A parrots love sets you apart
No drugs can treat as well as he
A parrots love set your soul so free
It’s not the pirate queen we fear
nor the father pirate king
but have you met their parrot?
He is the snarkiest, meanest thing
Scrappy and short, but ready to fight
He has torn up a cat or two, he has some might
One time they docked near another clipper ship
That pirate did not hesitate to use a bull whip
He is the meanest creature on the seven seas.
I would rather jump into a wolf den, breaking both my knees.
So, he is rather terrible? The listener asked, in one way or another.
Oh, yes, the speaker said. I know because he is my little brother.
If you're a parrot you repeat things,
You often shouldn't say.
Though you may find it fun and games,
To others it's not play.
It often causes worry,
Embarrassment and pain;
Not just for those you speak of,
You earn yourself a name.
Folks know you can't be trusted,
That you'll tell all you know;
For you've never known a secret,
You wouldn't share or show.
It matters not who you may hurt,
Or how much they suffer.
True or not you'll tell the world.
You'd cut down your own mother,
Mindlessly repeating,
Everything you hear,
You spread your seeds of discontent,
'Bout family, friends and peers.
Soon you'll find yourself alone.
You'll have no one left,
Because you run off at the mouth,
You'll find yourself bereft,
Of all who once did love you,
Of all who once had cared,
because of hurtful things you said,
And secrets that you shared.
A parrot is a pretty bird,
And smart as he can be,
But innocent of what he says,
He's not like you and me.
When birds repeat the things they hear,
It's just not the same.
For people it's just different,
You evil little bird brain.
Grannie Fannie is bold but blind
Sometimes her words not so kind
Her parrot name Pete
Mocking would repeat
Kiss me where the sun don’t shine
Gus the parrot blasted into the treetops
like a feathered firecracker
with zero impulse control,
one eyebrow-feather lifted
with a you-have-got-to-be-kidding attitude.
He clicked his beak in judgment,
ruffled plumage with a flair,
then leaned in like a critic
who’s unimpressed with the air.
A twig snapped.
“!Dios mio… SAY WHAT?!”
A cloud moved.
“!Dios mio… SAY WHAT?!”
His eyes bulged, his crest shot up,
his whole body vibrating
like a tiny, outraged disco ball.
No one knew what he was reacting to.
Possibly nothing.
Possibly everything.
But there he was~
a neon blur of disbelief
shouting “!Dios mio… SAY WHAT?!”
at the entire universe.
Once there was a colorful bird
A parrot repeating what’s heard
Really was all fun
Till it heard a gun
Mimicking sounds so disturbed
the parrot was an amazing surprise in the middle of our trip
He dove down from some trees, his head did a major whip
He stared through us with those beady black eyes
His mate swooped to join him, an extra surprise.
What's up doc repeats Bugs Bunny
thinking he's being cute and funny
sounding like a wily parrot
while posing chewing on his carrot
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on August 14, 2025 for contest CARTOON CHARACTER CLERIHEW sponsored by TANIA KITCHIN - RANKED 2ND
what kind of parrot is he? We wondered, Chickasaw, Wyandotte or Crow?
His war paints of turquoise, pink, and yellow had been applied just so.
He was talking nonstop, but in tweets, whistles, and noises from a beak.
Possibly an Apache or one of those odd tribes south of east Chesapeake.
In an old-time real-book-with-pages feel in his day,
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote 'Treasure Island',
in his own inimitable way,
and tho' I know I may be wrong,
he could not have been pulling Long John Silver's leg,
as John would not have had a leg to stand on,
for, with his crutch (plus parrot), and I quote,
'He had still a foot in either camp.'
is that which, in 1883, Stevenson of Silver wrote.
Was it black (spot) humour to write of Long John so,
as I dearly need to know,
and it clearly goes to show,
we need much more input,
with that said, putting my best one forward,
it begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Aristotle, doth he opine,
That parrots grow saucy with wine.
I can't help but think
He drove it to drink,
The source of its moral decline.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these ‘it might have been’—John Greenleaf Whittier
without deep regret
apologetic parrot ~
squawks m
i n d racked a
n
g
u i s h
I forgot to add tomatoes to
the beef.
And I was told to put a 1/2
Of white grape juice in the
Broth with an additional
3 T of crown royal
and to omit the horseradish.
We added one teaspoon of
Anchovies oil to the mayo
and crumbled in some sun
dried tomatoes.
That should be the show!
Sweet banana peppers to
do the thang!
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