Never mock a fowl with raffled feathers it might have won a fight.
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Whosover loveth wisdom is righteous, but he that keepeth company with fowl is weird.
Woody Allen in Without Feathers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Feathers!
feathers on me
again and again
first to fly and now to earth rest
enable me to get ready
and carried me through you
anywhere there are feathers
like you said!
in me in you!
a very strange and intoxicating feeling
afterwards, that you traced my body
maybe i have gasp, of some lack of air!
in high feather, full feathers
you will be writhing with ecstacy
Very pleasurable for me
I feel extremely good
you make me a path a invisible way
eagle feathers very powerful
sound bird feathers very delicate
for tight places or open places
make his sound so soft
Ah! My God! ! !
give me the name of that medicine!
Feathers on me!
Feathers on you!
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Snowball Is Back With His Hens
Poor snowball the white silky bantam cock not feeling well of late
His son big red has thrashed him he is in a sorry state
Dried blood on his neck feathers from the comb he has bled
He has really copped a hiding from his oldest offspring red.
Red and his half sibling cock white silky bantams by Steve and Annie to be sold
Around the yard with their parent hens they won't grow tired and old
In the fowl pen they are obliged to wait tomorrow at the break of day
Steve will take them in a box to the fowl dealing woman in the house across the way.
Snowball is back with his hens his aggressive son now behind lettuce wire
Will never have another chance of attacking his snow white sire
Snowball is Steve and Annie's favourite rooster and they decide who stay
And violence as big red will find out it does not always pay.
Snowball the silky bantam cock he crows in the backyard
With dried blood on his neck feathers and his comb from warring scarred
And tomorrow big red will be gone and snowball again will reign supreme
And he will recover from his wounds and regain his self esteem.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The bush fowl saw the chicken being carved up and laughed. The chicken told the bush fowl to stop laughing. For the same hands now carving up the chicken would be used to carve up the bush fowl.
Teardrop
Liz fraser
(love)love is a verb
Love is a doing word
Feathers on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me makes me lighter
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath
In the night of matter
Black flowers blossom
Feathers on my breath
Black flowers blossom
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath
Water is my eye
Most faithful my love
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire of a confession
Feathers on my breath
Most faithful my love
Feathers on my breath
Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath
Stumbling a little (x2)
song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In painting feathers, you want to create the look of feathers, but if you try to paint all the feathers, you have nothing but disaster.
quote by John O'Neill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fight
Sometimes there's nothing to feel
Sometimes there's nothing to hold
Sometimes there's no time to run away
Sometimes you just feel so old
The times it hurts when you cry
The times it hurts just to breathe
And then it all seems like there's no-one left
And all you want is to sleep
Fight fight fight
Just push it away
Fight fight fight
Just push until it breaks
Fight fight fight
Don't cry at the pain
Fight fight fight
Or watch yourself burn again
Fight fight fight
Don't howl like a dog
Fight fight
Just fill up the sky
Fight fight fight
Fight til you drop
Fight fight fight
And never never
Never stop
Fight fight fight
Fight fight fight
So when the hurting starts
And when the nightmares begin
Remember you can fill up the sky
You don't have to give in
You don't have to give in
Never give in
Never give in
Never give in
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau
Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, mock on; 'tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
And every sand becomes a gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back they blind the mocking eye,
But still in Israel's paths they shine.
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newton's Particles of Light
Are sands upon the Red Sea shore,
Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.
poem by William Blake
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Trouvée
Oh, why should a hen
have been run over
on West 4th Street
in the middle of summer?
She was a white hen
--red-and-white now, of course.
How did she get there?
Where was she going?
Her wing feathers spread
flat, flat in the tar,
all dirtied, and thin
as tissue paper.
A pigeon, yes,
or an English sparrow,
might meet such a fate,
but not that poor fowl.
Just now I went back
to look again.
I hadn't dreamed it:
there is a hen
turned into a quaint
old country saying
scribbled in chalk
(except for the beak).
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Mock on Mock on Voltaire Rousseau
Mock on Mock on Voltaire Rousseau
Mock on Mock on! tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind
And the wind blows it back againt
And every sand becomes a Gem
Reflected in the beams divine
Blown back they blind the mocking Eyet
But still in Israels paths they shine
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newtons Particles of light
Are sands upon the Red sea shore
Where Israels tents do shine so bright
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love Is Winged For Two
Love is winged for two,
In the worst he weathers,
When their hearts are tied;
But if they divide,
O too true!
Cracks a globe, and feathers, feathers,
Feathers all the ground bestrew.
I was breast of morning sea,
Rosy plume on forest dun,
I the laugh in rainy fleeces,
While with me
She made one.
Now must we pick up our pieces,
For that then so winged were we.
poem by George Meredith
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No Mocking
Man does not mock a cow or a dog
For it lacks the sixth sense that he’s got.
Man must not mock an idiot likewise
For he hasn’t as much brain as he’s got.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Christmas Carol
It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve,
I went sighing past the church across the moorland dreary-
'Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave,
And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery.
How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again?
Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary
The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain,
Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christmas bells be cheery.'
Then arose a joyous clamour from the wild-fowl on the mere,
Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing,
And a voice within cried-'Listen!-Christmas carols even here!
Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the stars and snows are singing.
Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through
With the thunder of my judgments even now are ringing.
Do thou fulfil thy work but as yon wild-fowl do,
Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear through it angels singing.'
Eversley, 1849.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Lost Angel
As it was before shall it ever ever be
Hear it on the crying wind
Heart it weeping on the sea
Through the winder valley wild and through the darkest night
Here comes the evil news of the coming fight
So love bring your birds bring your feathers of peace
All through the storm let the tides release
Love bring your birds bring your feathers of peace
All through the storm let the tides release
(chorus)
Come on down lost angel find us now
From the clouds above right down to the ground
Come on down lost angel find us now
From the clouds above right down to the ground
Lost Angels come on down
Stardust yeah we are and the river is pushed to bend
Too much too much of man
And stardust we will someday be again
Oh love bring your birds bring your feathers of peace
All through the storm let the tide release
Love bring your birds bring your feathers of peace
All through the storm let the tide release
(chorus)
song performed by by Heart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trees are more like FOWLS,
Trees are more like FOWL'S,
Trees are more like FOWL'S,
The Birds that EMERGED is greater than 40's and 80's,
This Historic moment is like a TIGER,
Taking this THOUGHT,
There is the NEW EMERGING of FOWLS,
Imagine of another New Composure maybe another MISSION completed for these BIRDS,
The Birds will flow in all COLOUR'S since the love of God hast no STATUS.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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At The Abbey Theatre
DEAR Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case.
When we are high and airy hundreds say
That if we hold that flight they'll leave the place,
While those same hundreds mock another day
Because we have made our art of common things,
So bitterly, you'd dream they longed to look
All their lives through into some drift of wings.
You've dandled them and fed them from the book
And know them to the bone; impart to us --
We'll keep the secret -- a new trick to please.
Is there a bridle for this Proteus
That turns and changes like his draughty seas?
Or is there none, most popular of men,
But when they mock us, that we mock again?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The New Duckling
'I want to be new,' said the duckling.
'O, ho!' said the wise old owl,
While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling
To tell all the rest of the fowl.
'I should like a more elegant figure,'
That child of a duck went on.
'I should like to grow bigger and bigger,
Until I could swallow a swan.
'I _won't_ be the bond slave of habit,
I _won't_ have these webs on my toes.
I want to run round like a rabbit,
A rabbit as red as a rose.
'I _don't_ want to waddle like mother,
Or quack like my silly old dad.
I want to be utterly other,
And _frightfully_ modern and mad.'
'Do you know,' said the turkey, 'you're quacking!
There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;
And, if you're not utterly lacking,
You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!'
'I won't,' said the duckling. 'I'll lift him
A beautiful song, like a sheep;
And when I have--as it were--biffed him,
I'll give him my feathers to keep.'
Now the curious end of this fable,
So far as the rest ascertained,
Though they searched from the barn to the stable,
Was that _only his feathers remained_.
So he _wasn't_ the bond slave of habit,
And he _didn't_ have webs on his toes;
And _perhaps_ he runs round like a rabbit,
A rabbit as red as a rose.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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I'm one of those people who was taught not to ruffle any feathers. Of course, I have no problem ruffling feathers.
quote by Anne Heche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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