On April 8th, the cuckoo's call must be heard. If it isn't, either the cuckoo is dead or is going to die.
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Cuckoo in the Pear-Tree
The Cuckoo sat in the old pear-tree,
Cuckoo!
Raining or snowing, nought cared he.
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, nought cared he.
The Cuckoo flew over a housetop high.
Cuckoo!
"Dear, are you at home, for here am I?
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, here am I."
"I dare not open the door to you.
Cuckoo!
Perhaps you are not the right cuckoo?
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cukoo, the right Cuckoo!"
"I am the right Cuckoo, the proper one.
Cuckoo!
For I am my father's only son,
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, his only son."
"If you are your father's only son -
Cuckoo!
The bobbin pull tightly,
Come through the door lightly -
Cuckoo!
"If you are your father's only son -
Cuckoo!
It must be you, the only one -
Cuckoo, cuckoo, my own Cuckoo!
Cuckoo!"
poem by William Brighty Rands
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cuckoo Clock
We knew it must have been late
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We had no time to wait
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I went to light the fireplace
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I planned it all this way, and
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I snuggled close to her
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Her heart began to purr
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I held my breath inside, and then
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I put my arms around her
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
I put that birdie away
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
His cuckoo was gone to stay
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We both apologized for why
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Forgave that doggone cuckoo
I went back to her side
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I had to swallow my pride
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
The fire had almost died away
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We just got situated
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
I took that clock apart
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I broke the cuckoos heart
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Hell never bother us again
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We just forgot about him
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cuckoo Song
(Spring begins in southern England on the 14th April, on which date the Old Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair -- locally known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.)
Tell it to the locked-up trees,
Cuckoo, bring your song here!
Warrant, Act and Summons, please,
For Spring to pass along here!
Tell old Winder, if he doubt,
Tell him squat and square -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
March has searched and April tried --
'Tisn't long to Mary now.
Not so far to Whitsuntide
And Cuckoo's come to stay now!
Hear the valiant fellow shout
Down the orchard bare -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
When your heart is young and gay
And the season rules it --
Work your works and play your play
'Fore the Autumn cools it!
Kiss you turn and turn-about,
But my lad, beware -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Cuckoo Clock
I bought a cuckoo clock
And glad was I
To hear its tick and tock,
Its dulcet cry.
But Jones, whose wife is young
And pretty too,
Winced when that bird gave tongue:
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
I have a lady friend
Whom I would wed,
For dalliance should end
In bridal bed.
Until the thought occurred:
Can she be true?
And then I heard that bird:
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Though ignorance is bliss
And love be blind,
Faithless may be the kiss
Of womankind.
So now sweet echoes mock
My wish to woo:
Confound that cursed clock!
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cuckoo
That's the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it.
When last I heard it I cannot recall; but I know
Too well the year when first I failed to hear it -
It was drowned by my man groaning out to his sheep 'Ho! Ho!'
Ten times with an angry voice he shouted
'Ho! Ho!' but not in anger, for that was his way.
He died that Summer, and that is how I remember
The cuckoo calling, the children listening, and me saying 'Nay'.
And now, as you said, 'There it is', I was hearing
Not the cuckoo at all, but my man's 'Ho! Ho!' instead.
And I think that even if I could lose my deafness
The cuckoo's note would be drowned by the voice of my dead.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Nughtingale And Cuckoo
Yes, nightingale and cuckoo! it was meet
That you should come together; for ye twain
Are emblems of the rapture and the pain
That in the April of our life compete,
Until we know not which is the more sweet,
Nor yet have learned that both of them are vain!
Yet wherefore, nightingale! break off thy strain,
While yet the cuckoo doth his call repeat?
Not so with me. To sweet woe did I cling
Long after echoing happiness was dead,
And so found solace. Now, alas! the sting!
Cuckoo and nightingale alike have fled;
Neither for joy nor sorrow do I sing,
And autumn silence gathers in their stead.
poem by Alfred Austin
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The Cuckoo Clock
The cuckoo flew out of the clock
and landed on the arm chair.
It looked me in the eye and said,
“I’m not going back in there!
People expect too much of me,
going back and forth all day.
I’m not going back inside.
No! Never! No way.
The clock’s none stop ticking
has made my head feel sore
Calling ‘cuckoo’ 24-7 it’s too much,
I’m not doing it any more.
I want to breathe the fresh air,
and feel the rain and sun.
I want to be able to fly around
and enjoy proper cuckoo fun.
I should be leaving my eggs
here, there, and everywhere.
Eating lots of juicy worms,
and being free without a care.
What do you mean I’m not real
and I’m only made of wood?
Of course I am; I call out ‘cuckoo’
like every cuckoo should.
Just put me on the windowsill
and I’ll show you how I can fly.
Why..? I can’t move my wings,
no matter how much I try.
And I can’t call out ‘cuckoo’,
my ‘cuckoo’ cry has gone.
My head and body won’t move,
and my wings won’t open.
Oh dear, what am I to do?
I’m just a piece of wood.
I’ve been shaped like a bird
and my paint job’s not so good.
I’ve a spring sticking out my bottom
and my feathers aren’t feathers at all.
I haven’t a sound to call my own,
and when I try to fly I fall…
Will you please put me back in the clock?
It’s the only place I can call my home.
I’ll be happy to remind you of the time,
and I promise never again to moan.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare
Cuckoo!
Up and in the wood, I know not where
Two notes fall.
Yet I do not envy him at all
His phantasy.
Cuckoo!
I too,
Somewhere,
I have sung as merrily as he
Who can dare,
Small and careless love, so to laugh at care,
And who
Can call
Cuckoo!
In woods of winter weary,
In scented woods, of winter weary, call
Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Say It Bait It And Run
You can say it and run.
Say it and run.
About what's been done.
You can say it and berate it.
You can say it and run.
Say it and run.
About what's been done.
You can say it,
Leave and run.
How we slid to the bottom from the top.
Say it bait it and run.
Who did what to start this problem.
Say it bait it and run.
Corruption done under dirty rugs.
Say it bait it and run.
What thugs brought this to fisticuffs.
Say it bait it and run.
What party pooped their rule.
Say it bait it and run.
Who's too cool and cuckoo too!
Say it bait it and run.
You can say it and run.
Say it and run.
About what's been done.
You can say it and berate it.
You can say it and run.
Say it and run.
About what's been done.
You can say it,
Leave and run.
Who's too cool and cuckoo too!
Say it bait it and run.
Who's too cuckoo and too cool.
Say it bait it and run.
Who's too cool and cuckoo too!
Say it bait it and run.
Who's too cuckoo and too cool.
Say it bait it and run.
But that cool cuckoo's no fool.
To cause what has been done!
You can say it and run.
Say it and run.
About what's been done.
You can say it and berate it.
You can say it and run.
Say it and run.
About what's been done.
You can say it,
Leave it and run.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cuckoo
You stand like a rock, on top of the mountain
Run like a river, fall like a fountain
The grass still is growing, the wind still is blowing, about you
Reels like a strain, drinks like a scholar
Drown in this town, you can feel for one dollar
Since when were you bitten, where were you smitten
Cuckoo X4
Looks like a date, but seems like your brother
Seems like your father, your sister, your mother
Threw out in chains, wildhood and childhood, cuckoo
Drinks like a rogue, looks like no other
Looks like a dream, one you'll discover
Seems like its bitten, whence were you smitten, cuckoo
Cuckoo X4
Looks like a saint, drinks like a scholar
Dreams in this town you can buy for one dollar
Whence were you smitten, where were you bitten, cuckoo
Wrench like a chain(?), looks like no other
Your father, your mother, your sister, your brother
Have all since long gone, all since long gone
Cuckoo X4
Stand like a rock
You stand like a rock
Cuckoo, Cuckoo
song performed by by I Am Kloot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cuckoo
No lyric line I ever penned
The praise this parasitic bird;
And what is more, I don't intend
To write a laudatory word,
Since in my garden robins made
A nest with eggs of dainty spot,
And then a callous cuckoo laid
A lone on on the lot.
Of course the sillies hatched it out
Along with their two tiny chicks,
And there it threw its weight about,
But with the others would not mix.
In fact, it seemed their guts to hate,
And crossly kicked them to the ground,
So that next morning, sorry fate!
Two babes stone dead I found.
These stupid robins, how they strove
To gluttonize that young cuckoo!
And like a prodigy it throve,
And daily greedier it grew.
How it would snap and glup and spit!
Till finally it came to pass,
Growing too big the nest to fit,
It fell out on the grass.
So for a week they fed it there,
As in a nook of turf it lay;
But it was scornful of their care,
for it was twice as big as they.
When lo! one afternoon I heard
A flutelike call: Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Then suddenly that foulsome bird
Flapped to its feet and flew.
I'm sure it never said goodbye
To its fond foster Pa and Ma,
Though to their desolated sigh
It might have chirruped: "Au revoir."
But no, it went in wanton mood,
Flying the coop for climates new
And so I say: "Ingratitude,
They name's Cuckoo."
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Allurement
FROM yonder hedge, from yonder spray,
He calls me onward and away.
Broad lies the world and fair to see;
The cuckoo calls—is calling me.
I have not seen or heard of Care,
Who used my very bed to share,
Since that first morn, when airily
The cuckoo, calling, called to me.
My sweetheart's face? I have forgot.
My mother? But she calls me not.
From the sweet bank, from the dim lea,
The cuckoo calls—is calling me.
And I must go—I may not choose;
No gain there is, nor aught to lose;
And soon—say, now—on some wild tree,
The bird sits long and waits for me.
poem by Margaret Steele Anderson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Coo-coo
Oh, the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird, and she warbles when she flies
But she never hollers cuckoo till the fourth day of july.
I'm a rambler, i'm a gambler and i lay my money down
But i never start gamblin' when the cuckoo bird's around, round.
Oh the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird, and she warbles when she flies
But she never hollers cuckoo till the fourth day of july.
Said jack o'diamonds, well jack o'diamonds, lord, i know you of old,
Honey you robbed me of my silver and out of my gold.
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Between Sleep and Waking
SOFTLY in a dream I heard,
Ere the day was breaking,
Softly call a cuckoo bird
Between sleep and waking.
Calling through the rippling rain
And red orchard blossom;
Calling up old love again,
Buried in my bosom;
Calling till he brought you too
From some magic region;
And the whole spring followed you,
Birds on birds in legion.
Youth was in your beaming glance,
Love a rainbow round you;
Blushing trees began to dance,
Wreaths of roses crowned you.
And I called your name, and woke
To the cuckoo's calling;
And you waned in waning smoke,
As the rain was falling.
Had the cuckoo called 'Adieu,'
Ere the day was breaking?
All the old wounds bled anew
Between sleep and waking.
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bitter Cage
Now who wants to open my bitter cage?
And see me get a little bit cuckoo.
Now who wants to open my bitter cage?
And see me get a little bit cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Please don't open,
Up...
My bitter cage.
And I wont go cuckoo.
And I wont go cuckoo.
Please don't open,
Up...
My bitter cage.
And I wont go cuckoo.
And I wont go cuckoo.
Now who wants to open my bitter cage?
And see me get a little bit cuckoo.
Now who wants to open my bitter cage?
And see me get a little bit cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Now who wants to see me go cuckoo.
Please don't open,
Up...
My bitter cage.
And I wont go cuckoo.
And I wont go cuckoo.
Please don't open,
Up...
My bitter cage.
And I wont go cuckoo.
And I wont go cuckoo.
Now who wants to open my bitter cage?
And see me get a little bit cuckoo.
Now who wants to open my bitter cage?
And see me get a little bit cuckoo.
Don't do it and I wont go cuckoo.
Don't do it and I wont go cuckoo.
Don't do it and I wont go cuckoo.
Don't do it and I wont go cuckoo.
Please don't open,
Up...
My bitter cage.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of the Cuckoo
Thou booby, say'st thou nothing but cuckoo?
The robin and the wren can thee outdo.
They to us play thoróugh their little throats,
Not one, but sundry pretty tuneful notes.
But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do
Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.
Thy notes do not first welcome in our spring,
Not dost thou its first tokens to us bring.
Birds less than thee by far, like prophets, do
Tell us 'tis coming, though not by cuckoo.
Nor dost thou summer have away with thee,
Though thou a yawling, bawling cuckoo be.
When thou dost cease among us to appear,
Then doth our harvest bravely crown our year.
But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do
Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.
Since cuckoos forward not our early spring,
Nor help with notes to bring our harvest in:
And since while here she only makes a noise,
So pleasing unto none as girls and boys,
The formalist we may compare her to,
For he doth suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.
poem by John Bunyan
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Two Birds Wished To Be Friendly
1 Two birds wished to be friendly
I was the messenger winged
Hither thither cuckoo and magpie
Two birds wished to be friendly
'Come here, o' dear, come here'
coo~~coo~~coo~~~in rising notes
Two birds wished to be friendly
I was the messenger winged
2 Hither thither cuckoo and magpie
Two birds wished to be friendly
I was the messenger winged
Hither thither cuckoo and magpie
Warbling, whistling, fluty trilling
Magpie just couldn't let me read
Hither thither cuckoo and magpie
Two birds wished to be friendly
3 Two birds wished to be friendly
I was the messenger plucked punished
Gloomed cuckoo, confused magpie
Two birds wished to be friendly
Reading failing, messaging failing
Loamy homey cuckoo angry with me
Two birds wished to be friendly
I was the messenger plucked punished
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Pot And Kettle
Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot.
A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot.
The pot was stalwart iron and the kettle trusty tin,
And though their sides were black with smoke they bubbled love within.
Forget that kettle, Jamie, and that pot of boiling broth,
I know a dismal story of a candle and a moth.
For while your pot is boiling and while your kettle sings
My moth makes love to candle flame and burns away his wings.
Your moth, I envy, Annie, that died by candle flame,
But here are two more lovers, unto no damage came.
There was a cuckoo loved a clock and found her always true.
For every hour they told their hearts, 'Ring! ting! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
As the pot boiled for the kettle, as the kettle for the pot,
So boils my love within me till my breast is glowing hot.
As the moth died for the candle, so could I die for you.
And my fond heart beats time with yours and cries, 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
poem by Robert Graves
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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In The Month When Sings The Cuckoo
Hark! Spring is coming. Her herald sings,
Cuckoo!
The air resounds and the woodland rings,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Leave the milking pail and the mantling cream,
And down by the meadow, and up by the stream,
Where movement is music and life a dream,
In the month when sings the cuckoo.
Away with old Winter's frowns and fears,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Now May with a smile dries April's tears.
Cuckoo!
When the bees are humming in bloom and bud,
And the kine sit chewing the moist green cud,
Shall the snow not melt in a maiden's blood,
In the month when sings the cuckoo?
The popinjay mates and the lapwing woos;
Cuckoo!
In the lane is a footstep. I wonder whose?
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
How sweet are low whispers! and sweet, so sweet,
When the warm hands touch and the shy lips meet,
And sorrel and woodruff are round our feet,
In the month when sings the cuckoo.
Your face is as fragrant as moist musk-rose;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
All the year in your cheek the windflower blows;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
You flit as blithely as bird on wing;
And when you answer, and when they sing,
I know not if they, or You, be Spring,
In the month when pairs the cuckoo.
Will you love me still when the blossom droops?
Cuckoo!
When the cracked husk falls and the fieldfare troops?
Cuckoo!
Let sere leaf or snowdrift shade your brow,
By the soul of the Spring, sweet-heart, I vow,
I will love you then as I love you now,
In the month when sings the cuckoo.
Smooth, smooth is the sward where the loosestrife grows,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
As we lie and hear in a dreamy doze,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
And smooth is the curve of a maiden's cheek,
When she loves to listen but fears to speak,
And we yearn but we know not what we seek,
In the month when sings the cuckoo.
But in warm mid summer we hear no more,
Cuckoo!
And August brings not, with all its store,
Cuckoo!
When Autumn shivers on Winter's brink,
And the wet wind wails through crevice and chink,
We gaze at the logs, and sadly think
Of the month when called the cuckoo.
But the cuckoo comes back and shouts once more,
Cuckoo!
And the world is as young as it was before;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
It grows not older for mortal tears,
For the falsehood of men or for women's fears;
'Tis as young as it was in the bygone years,
When first was heard the cuckoo.
I will love you then as I love you now.
Cuckoo!
What cares the Spring for a broken vow?
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The broods of last year are pairing, this;
And there never will lack, while love is bliss,
Fresh ears to cozen, fresh lips to kiss,
In the month when sings the cuckoo.
O cruel bird! will you never have done?
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
You sing for the cloud, as you sang for the sun;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
You mock me now as you mocked me then,
When I knew not yet that the loves of men
Are as brief as the glamour of glade and glen,
And the glee of the fleeting cuckoo.
O, to lie once more in the long fresh grass,
Cuckoo!
And dream of the sounds and scents that pass;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
To savour the woodbine, surmise the dove,
With no roof save the far-off sky above,
And a curtain of kisses round couch of love,
While distantly called the cuckoo.
But if now I slept, I should sleep to wake
To the sleepless pang and the dreamless ache,
To the wild babe blossom within my heart,
To the darkening terror and swelling smart,
To the searching look and the words apart,
And the hint of the tell-tale cuckoo.
The meadow grows thick, and the stream runs deep,
Cuckoo!
Where the aspens quake and the willows weep;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The dew of the night and the morning heat
Will close up the track of my farewell feet:-
So good-bye to the life that once was sweet,
When so sweetly called the cuckoo.
The kine are unmilked, and the cream unchurned,
Cuckoo!
The pillow unpressed, and the quilt unturned,
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
'Twas easy to gibe at a beldame's fear
For the quick brief blush and the sidelong tear;
But if maids will gad in the youth of the year,
They should heed what says the cuckoo.
There are marks in the meadow laid up for hay,
Cuckoo!
And the tread of a foot where no foot should stray:
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The banks of the pool are broken down,
Where the water is quiet and deep and brown;-
The very spot, if one longed to drown,
And no more to hear the cuckoo.
'Tis a full taut net and a heavy haul.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Look! her auburn hair and her trim new shawl!
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Draw a bit this way where 'tis not so steep;
There, cover her face! She but seems asleep;
While the swallows skim and the graylings leap,
And joyously sings the cuckoo.
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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