The peacock hath fair feathers, but foul feet.
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The peacock hath fair feathers, but a foul voice.
For at least another hundred years we must pretend to ourselves and to every one that fair is foul and foul is fair; for foul is useful and fair is not. Avarice and usury and precaution must be our gods for a little longer still.
quote by John Maynard Keynes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dignity
as the peacock
struts its fan of feathers
like a rainbow
in the barnyard
the hen keeps its
own home
protecting its chicks
around its feathers
from the invasion of
the rat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I knew it was gonna go out. It was just a question of it being fair or foul. The wind must have carried it 15 feet toward the foul pole. I just stood there and watched. I didn't want to miss seeing it go out.
quote by Carlton Fisk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Proud Peacock
I am the Peacock,
the beautiful bride
of the bird kingdom.
I am in no doubt
fairer than the cock
for I dwarf its pride
with feathers that stand-out.
I am the Peacock
who desires serfdom
from the bird kingdom,
for I long to usurp
the title of king
from the strong Eagle
who soars atop
with its air-borne wings.
Though fit as fiddle
with an awesome strength,
gliding the sky’s length
at a blistering pace,
yet dreaded for a face
that is void of grace.
I am the Peacock,
the elegantly clad.
Humans would be mad
to contend with me,
for shame you would see
if unclad they be.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (19 January 2015)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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Sin (II)
O that I could a sin once see!
We paint the devil foul, yet he
Hath some good in him, all agree.
Sin is flat opposite to th' Almighty, seeing
It wants the good of virtue, and of being.
But God more care of us hath had:
If apparitions make us sad,
By sight of sin we should grow mad.
Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live:
So devils are our sins in perspective.
poem by George Herbert
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The Chief of the Yadavas
Just beyond us we see that purple luster - how glorious!
With His noble crown of peacock feathers stitched together.
As you look upon Him, fever and illusion vanish
Adore then the Prince of the Yadavas, the Lord of Yogis.
He who filled with passion the sixteen thousand royal damsels,
Fair Creatures, divine maidens.
He stands upon the river bank with the luster of one million moons.
It is fastened in jewels on His neck
And merges into the luster of His form.
This God who bears the wheel is the chief of the Yadavas.
Him the thirty three crores of demigods adore.
The demons tremble before Him.
His dark blue countenance destroys sin.
How fair are His feet with saffron stained!
How fortunate is the brick that is grasped by His feet!
The very thought of Him makes fire cool.
Therefore embrace Him with experience of your own.
The sages, as they see His face, contemplate Him in the spirit,
The Father of the World stands before them in bodily shape.
Tuka is frenzied after Him; His purple form ravages the mind.
poem by Sant Tukaram
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A Peacock
a peacock meets a peahen
on a grassy garden
'what the hell' says the peahen
to the peacock
the peacock asks
'why the hell? '
and the peahen
snobs the peacock
and says
'yours is just a peasize! '
and the peahen leaves
the peacock for good
and they know
they cannot live
happily ever after
for sure
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A peacock who rests on its feathers is just another turkey.
quote by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He kills the peacock for the beauty of its feathers.
Crazy Jane Talks With The Bishop
I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'
'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.
'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Fair Peacock
Flamboyantly clad,
Feathers arranged in an astonishing
array of colours,
distinctively seen,
brightest of all,
and uniquely adorned for
a century's wedlock in
a bird's haven.
That is I, the Peacock.
The angel with elegance that you
crave for.
An epitome of standards coveted by
models fair.
Endowed by nature with neither
mascara nor lipstick.
But having features elusive that
pageants in a lifetime ache for.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (19 March 2018)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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Krishna Returning With The Herd
Mohan comes herding the cows,
crown of peacock feathers on his head,
garland of forest flowers on his chest,
in his hand a wooden staff,
his body wrapped in cow-dust.
A band around his waist
and from his feet the sound of anklets
there amidst his cow-boy friends
Shyam comes. His yellow garments standing out
like lightning amidst the clouds.
poem by Sant Surdas
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I
Your eyes were red, I could see
But what you want, I can't be!
You expect too much
Your each desire does my heart touch....
But I'm helpless
Oh! Your predictions are meaningless
I'm not what to you it seems
And what I AM, you can never dream.
I'm not those elegant feathers
That makes your soul fly,
But me is that peacock's crappy feet
Thats the reason for its cry! !
Since I care, So I want you to
Understand that theres nothing good I can do.
I'm not pessimist, the fact I true
I can ever win, the chances very few...
Please stop expecting, it pricks
My hearts a heart, not some brick...
All I want you is to please not deny,
The girl who you value, that aint 'I'.
poem by Jaya Mishra
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Neatness In Apparel
In your garb and outward clothing
A reservëd plainness use;
By their neatness more distinguished
Than the brightness of their hues.
All the colours in the rainbow
Serve to spread the peacock's train;
Half the lustre of his feathers
Would turn twenty coxcombs vain.
Yet the swan that swims in rivers,
Pleases the judicious sight;
Who, of brighter colours heedless,
Trusts alone to simple white.
Yet all other hues, comparëd
With his whiteness, show amiss;
And the peacock's coat of colours
Like a fool's coat looks by his.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Their Own Myth
They swagger through the wastelands
of their own myth
believing the fantasy
they have built around themselves
of how great they are.
The shallow walls they built around themselves
with one stone could crumble away.
You see them in their peacock glory
prancing around everywhere.
Their heads stretched above the clouds
believing their own myth.
Their feet of clay can only erode
in the full flush of tidal waters.
Their peacock strut will become a limp
when their myth is broken
and things begin to challenge them.
For once, the tidal gate
is breached by leading questions
the clay feet and peacock strut
will be washed away,
and a new myth will absorb,
of bowing head and desperate look in eyes,
as their shallow walls crumble under tidal waters
and their own myth of self-greatness
loses momentum to sustain.
poem by David Harris
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The First Meeting Of Radha And Krishna
Krishna went playing in the lanes of Braj,
a yellow silk garment round his waist,
holding a top and a string to spin it with,
a crown of peacock-feathers adorning his head
his ears with charming ear-rings decked,
his teeth flashing brighter than the sun's rays,
his limbs anointed with sandalwood-paste.
On the Yamuna bank he chanced to see Radha;
a tika mark of turmeric on her brow,
dressed in a flowing skirt and blue blouse,
her lovely long wreathed hair dangling behind,
a stripling, fair, of beauty unsurpassed
with he a bevy of fair milkmaids:
Krishna's eyes met her's;
love woke in his heart,
says Suradasa, bewitched by her,
he gazed and gazed.
poem by Sant Surdas
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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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It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.
Aesop in The Jay and the Peacock
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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