The seagulls circle me
They’re swallowed by their own greed;
I can’t trust them
They’ve been picking away at my appetite,
I’m starved.
I haven’t wanted to eat in days.
They’ve taken everything from me.
My lungs hold air no more,
The seagulls have punctured them
All I can do is lie here
Skin on bone
They picked at my heart.
It aches
All it does is ache
It hasn't stopped
Every beat pumps me with dread
I feel sick
I feel like throwing up every word I've written about you.
It's your fault I'm here
You gave me the bird seed
And I trusted you enough to listen when you told me where to stand
Now I'm lying on the ground.
The surface of my flesh is uneven.
There are pieces missing
I tried to stand
I tried,
I really did
Swaying,
Unbalanced,
I fell back to the ground
I give up
I'll die looking at the sky
Full of seagulls.
Down at the quayside
Heading to a pier
Surges of ongoing tide
Bob the fishing gear
Seagulls flying low, descend
On the rails of pier
This road has come to an end
So the end came near
What about the next step
Is the font too small?
Or a bit too wide the gap
To forget it all?
Don’t know how to answer that
So I better stay
Wait until the light turns flat
Shadowing my way.
on a morning stroll...
a pair of noisy seagulls
stop for a quick chat
coastal bird-seagull
with keen eyesight they live free
scavenging ocean
seagulls fly low looking for unexpected victims
White seagulls
strut across grass
looking for crumbs
Save the earth. Obliterate your world.
Begin by ending.
Let the sky-ceiling buckle and split.
You are the first to go.
Scrape the crusted-hard scabs from your skin.
Shred the nerves where the winter enters.
For the earth—which needs no saving—
your worldly heart must stop.
Your flesh feeds the gulls.
White wings. Red beaks.
Stripped clean.
(A child on the pier lowers her hand,
the splintered stick held mid-air.)
The gulls do not look up.
They finish what they started
and leave the bones to the tide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawn cracks the sky~
rust-edged wings carve silence
into salt and cry.
Hunger sharp as tide-smoothed glass,
they stalk the shivering surf.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wings dip through peach light~
their cries scrape the salt-stained air.
Tide rolls in, restless,
carrying fish-bone promises
to the hunger of the dawn.
The smell of fresh Japanese linden tea
Brings recollection that seems imprinted
Two seagulls fly over the granite sea
The beach is empty cause it’s midwinter
A taste of the past revives the scent
Returns and stays for a while so near
A young man, that looks at the wet sand
What was the reason that brought you here?
The crying seagulls spoon midair —
Their December tongues slow to moor;
On wings in sky like a white tear.
The crying seagulls spoon midair —
Within their chase, coming to spare
A dirge for ice's front on shore —
The crying seagulls spoon midair,
Their December tongues slow to moor.
Seashore Haiku
waves waltz on the sand
seagulls sing their sweet songs~
sea breeze softly sighs
Lost within the haunting howls
of a wild west wind
I savor the island’s isolation
its barren, rocky crags
its undulating seas below.
The ocean expands outward
as whitecaps whip frantically
while the beady eyes of seabirds
peer out from their stony perches.
Stoic sentries of the sea
pelicans and seagulls flock
along the rugged shoreline
purposefully perched in rows
or drafting wind currents in flight.
Still other seabirds skim silently
above the silky waves
great hunters of fish
their feathery wings spread wide
as if to capture the ocean itself.
A timeless rhythm prevails
as effortless as breathing pure salt air
in a place where land and sea convene
a place where seabirds reign
as vigilant watchers
within the endless cycle of life.
They say the willow weeps for me
They play the willow song
What if the willow laughs and we
Perceive its rustle wrong
The willow dies of laughter though
We still believe it weeps
I’ve seen two seagulls flying low
Beneath the willow’s sleeves
One of the seagulls turned its head
Another seagull grinned
The leaves were falling on my bed
Spinning in the wind.
The raindrops fall into the paper cup of tea
The teabag shrinks as if it could be my remark
Unlatch the green door to the childlike mystery
It’s possible again to enter that old park
The busts and statues of the gods and greats
And shaded benches in the niches of the trees
There in the memory another alley waits
I haven’t walked on it to see where to it leads
Oh no! Those wobbly slabs I’ve walked before
The seagulls cry, the wind blows up the sand
Then comes the sound of the muted piano chords
I’ve no idea why I hear this again.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.