Partridges Poems | Examples

Ducks For Breakfast

Have you ever seen a duck come in to land… on land
It’s an eventuality that nature never planned
For ducks that land on water such a graceful splashdown make 
But should they land on terra firma… it sure ain’t Swan Lake

Each one does a belly flop, a cartwheel and a stagger
They get up and compose themselves, but ducks weren’t made to swagger
They have no shame so simply waddle with ungainly gait
Toward the back door of my house where they all stand and wait

This morning there were six of them, I watched them all crash down
“They’ll need a pint or two of seed,” I muttered with a frown
Their heads were first to hit the deck, their rumps stuck in the air
I went out with a jug of seed to find them gathered there 

As I stepped outside I felt like Moses on the shore
The ducks made space for me to walk and not a hair’s breadth more
Two partridges were standing by and I also fed those 
And when the pecking finished, well, I almost checked my toes.

Bird seed by the quarter-gallon gobbled up each time
I wouldn’t mind but it ain’t half a kilo for a dime
But it gives me pleasure and as I stood there this morn 
Two more kamikaze ducks crash landed on my lawn.

Christmas

"Christmas"

I’ll stay with you 
towards Christmas
those 12 days 
and beyond

a strange few days
we meet in the nether
and hold on ...
like there’s no tomorrow

while the gryphons
try to work out 
which side their
mind and body is on

12 days 
gifting partridges 
their pairs in trees
hidden in the myst

Christmas is 
as Christmas does
its extremes and sublimities,
its oh so ... immaculate mess

I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days 
and beyond

rocky road 
devoured
and trifles 
expunged

cherry ripened
cheery 
hearts
are us

I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days 
and beyond

‘cause,
Poetry 
is 
Us

isn't it 
magic?

'cause 
Poetry 
is 
Us?

Love
to you 
wherever you are
never alone 

my beautiful one,
there is no ugly
here today in my 
heart - 

for you
at Christmas, 
alone
Love to you, 

'cause
Poetry is Us

I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days 
and beyond ...

'cause
Poetry is Us

(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
at Christmas, 2023

Ptarmigan

Snow chickens dust the high moors.
White partridges grounded by rain
crouch and huddle
burrow into the gorse

then as if forgetting the storm
they heave up into the wet air 
just a little way
just enough to
cluck, bluster, and rattle,

then to settle back
scolding and flustered
as only termagant ptarmigan
can.

Binoculars tight to eyes,
soaked, ankle deep in mud -
chilled to the bone.

Highland cattle 
stare back blankly
as if I were just another 
silent P.

Ptarmigan

Snow chickens dust the high moors.
White partridges grounded by rain
crouch and huddle
burrow into the gorse

then as if forgetting the storm
heave up into the wet air 
just a little way
cluck, bluster, and rattle,

only then to settle back
scolding and flustered
as only termagant ptarmigan
can.

Binoculars tight to eyes,
soaked, ankle deep in mud -
chilled to the bone.

Highland cattle 
stare back blankly
as if I were another 
silent P.

Merry Midnight Delight

Silver bells charm young listeners,
As scintillating trinkets are admired,
Golden baubles reflect the smiles,
Delighted squeals escape from ecstatic lips as,
Unending wreaths of love and faith eye,
Mistletoe hung up so high,
To watch over as mysterious figures,
Hurry to pack up surprise delights,
In beaten sheets of silver,
Red ribbons to ensure,
That hope finds each child,
As fountains sing a song their own,
Partridges sing in pear trees,
As swans swim in crystal lakes,
And four calling birds all cry,
We declare to all hereby,
The Twelve Days of Christmas are best to fare,
Wishing you a Merry Christmas this year.

Inhabiting My Space

Cue music,
I’m sitting on my childhood bed,
Flowers emanating off the spread.
Osmonds, Partridges, “Me and Mrs. Jones,”
Stewart’s “Do you think I’m sexy?”

Magazine posters, boy bands, smiling large
Donny cheeks. Records dropping, spinning.
Scratching. Little sister inhabiting my space.
So what if it’s her room too.  Mosquito.

11/14/2020

I Hear You Call

Africa, 

Upon this vantage pedestal I see you, 

i gaze from this hollow quest, 

away from the home of my ancestors, 

a sojourner for a time, 

I yearn, 

to tread again the beautiful climate of my origin,

where no strange stares forbids my freedom, 

Africa, 

Did I hear the enthralling songs?

The chirping sounds of the birds,

The brilliant coruscations, 

the evening tales by moonlight,

Oh! Nature, never saw you tainted.

it is different here,

Africa, A vast exotics land of combination, 

with lush emerald jungles 

vistas of burning stars, 

and torrential white river,

the mountains unharvested, 

the hills uncrowded,

Africa, 

we smile without suspicion 

not hunted "like partridges upon the mountain" 

We breathe though poor

Yet rich in morals 

I am a prisoned  sojourner here, 

men speed away uncaring. 

locked in debts called homes,  

bills buries friendship, 

and for wood hay and stubble, 

nature becomes  a nullity,   

in motions like robots, 

we wake, we work, and wear our frame 

Africa i hear you call

Quis, Ego

Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson

So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins' tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere

© Gail Foster 24th July 2019

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

The Weather Outside is Frightful


Christmas in Miami is a difficult sell
When the outside temp is hotter than Hell
St. Nick tries his best in the humid air
But soon sweats right through his underwear

Partridges tend to avoid palm trees
And geese hardly ever lay by warm seas
Mocking birds ignore their instinct to tease
And French hens never appear in threes

Christmas carols just don’t seem quite right
With nary a snowflake anywhere in sight
And how does one keep his sled on course
When the winds are blowing at hurricane force?

Those poor reindeer, ‘specially Cupid and Comet
Suffer from heatstroke and projectile vomit
And landing on rooftops still radiating heat
Raises painful blisters on their feet

The snowmen and wreaths are all baloney
And most of the trees are actually phony
The words: “Sleigh bells ring; are you listenin’”
Ring kind of hollow, ‘cause nothing is glistenin’

Now I’m not suggesting we give up the spirit
That’s not my message; I don’t want to hear it
Besides, much of the same could be said about Hanukkah
Especially if one lives near Santa Monica

Waving Wars Weary Wearing Wraps Partridges

A fat grassland is neither a wasteland nor a heather mountain. It is wise to twirl a large ink dotted feather flock to the sky uniformed but not adhering to dress codes of societal norm. When norms are very nautical nowadays and can disappear and disparate under a cotton candy dream boat on a cruise to the sands. It is nevertheless an unforgettable view constructed by fashioning cheese on one slice of bread. This will surely ensure that bean is comfortable. But bringing banging blackness is not wise in front of a large herd of officialdom as curriculum based language leaving is a learning leaning laugh. And now it is time mr lobster face to vacate these premises. For there are no vacancies for tide is not moving and there is now no waves. Due to incorrect malnutrition placed by curtailing cartwheeling faces that drawl out words akin to a squeaky rifle that is being polished to a tune. No ha ha no x and no z either. That was the p y q reporting from an earwig tantrum zone with lots of earwigs dressed in attire more suited to a war. Bmnbmnbmn. |

Christmas

As snows gently coat the land
Breezes softly brush it into peaks.
Candles glitter and flutter in windows
Deep shadows flicker in their light.
Enchanting dazzling gems sparkling
Frosty branches dress the clearing
Garnishing the white landscape
Hark! hear the sleigh bells tinkering
It's Santa delivering the presents
Jolly Ho-Ho's ring out as he passes
Kicking the reindeer speed onwards
Leaving a sparkling trail behind them
Maples trees majestically line the path
Nightingale's sweet tones ring out
Over the snowy valley echoing  
Partridges plump and fat basting
Quail are turning on the spit
Roast potatoes crisp and golden brown
Simmering vegetables steaming
Toasted marshmallows all gooey
Utterly delicious as they melt on tongue
Victoriously the bells peel out
With great Joy announcing the birth 
Xylophones cheerfully join in
Yearning hearts beating in tandem
Zeal fully they meet and mingle

Random Ten

Pickling peanuts is never that wise. Who would pour horseradish on a shoe of development. Christmas cards in April must be ****. Unadministered weaponary forces of shrews in igloos never swarm in a flock. So when the large birds that hum akin to sky operas it is then time for the tune of the mashed gherkin to rise and sing dressed in a flowing gown. No crown in a portly view of a partridge as partridges are great feathered wise ones that can punch well on a hedgerow boxing circus. Always be aware that a clapping clown of clam can spin at left angles in a global bake. And when triangles float no pea will sing again. Ink is obliterated. And chanting once dormant shall begin in earnest to bring forth change. Tailors. Tailored. Talismanic. Truth. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx sea birds. Xxxxxxxxx

After the Twelve Days of Christmas the Grand Total Was -

12 drummers drumming
22 pipers piping
30 lords a leaping
36 ladies dancing
40 maids a milking
42 swans a swimming
42 geese a laying
40 gold-en rings...
36 calling birds
30 french hens
22 turtle doves
And 12 partridges in a pear tree

...Frankly, it was a difficult two weeks
It quickly became stuffy and cramped
For example: Where you gonna put 40 cows?
All parties (including me) got VERY grouchy
And the UPS driver was NOT amused
I'm thinking a pair of socks would be nice next year...

Timothy (Scrooge) Ryerson
12/17/2012
For PD's contest

The Twelve Days of Happy Holidays

THE TWELVE  DAYS  OF HAPPY HOLIDAYS


In days gone by when the wordld was much younger
Kids played football in the streets
And for celebration had very simple treats.
People had a more limited possessions-hunger.


Gifts were graceful with beauty.
Now they are plastic and practical :
Their appeal is less spiritual, more electrical  -
With batteries included  (heavy duty).


No more partridges in a pear tree.
What about  five golden rings?
Forget them . . . . . bring me bling !
And printer cartridges  (buy the pair, one free).

Singing the sectarian “Merry Christmas” is out these days.
The “endangered-species” people would find absurd
The former   four-calling-birds  being heard.
So we have a song-free  politically-correct “Happy Holidays”.

Partridge Space

Two plain partridges,
Scared and confident,
Scared like they always used to be,
Confident like never before,
Urban partridges,
Plain, bland and shy birds,
Who dwelled on branches,
Corners near and around our homes,
Partridges who flew away,
On approach of even human shadow,
A pair of such partridges couple,
Had nested outside my door,
Strangely now they saw me,
Perhaps even made an eye contact,
But did not even show a flutter,
Not to talk of flight,
They jostled necks in jitters,
But stood their seats,
Their blood eyes darted,
But did not seek path of flight,
On a careful look,
I saw that female was laden with eggs,
She was cosy and warm,
And the hubby snuggled along,
On such an occasion,
They were seeking space in locality,
From their human cousins.

• Short Partridges Poems
• Famous Partridges Poems
• Best Partridges Poems
• Read Partridges Poems
• Long Partridges Poems
• Partridges Quotes