When they wish to eat a vulture, they call it a guinea fowl.
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The hunting party
One weekend a hunting party
comes together on Serfaas Lourens’s farm
and they consist out of family, friends
and town folk:
two teachers, the school principal,
a lawyer, a visiting advocate and magistrate.
The group is dressed in hunting clothes
and with four by four pickups they drive
through the open veldt
past the stream with the blue gum trees.
Guinea fowl and pheasants fly up into the air,
the vehicles brake in a cloud of dust
while hunter after hunter jumps down
with shotgun upon shotgun blasting into the air.
The son of Serfaas Lourens
is shooting with a ELG-12 bore
with red LG cartridges, as if
he wants to teach the older men something
but they find only pieces
of his guinea fowl
and with the trip back
Serfaas Lourens reprimands him
all the way to the homestead
to use the right ammunition.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Early In The Morning When The Sun Just Appears
Early in the morning
when the sun just appears over the hillocks,
when the guinea fowl call from the field,
then I see him
with his crooked walking stick chewing biltong
and the morning is dumb,
pure like an angel is his company;
before he disappears between the green maize stalks.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Twice As Much
Red-red-red-wine!
Red-red-red-wine on my lips and,
I am about to say something;
But the sweet of the meat is in the eater.
Does not the rain has a father?
Does not the rain has a mother?
For my ears have heard of you but now,
My own eyes have seen you too.
Twice as much,
As beautiful as the daughters of Iyyob;
For the stone which the builders rejected had become the head.
Today, i am the stone and you are my lover;
For i am the headstone of the corner.
Come and work in my vineyard,
And come and quench my heart with love;
Like a roasted turkey and cranbery source from Turkey.
Today you are mine and,
Like a roasted guinea-fowl from Guinea!
Come and make love tom me my sweet one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Early I Viewed The Morning's New Birth (Cavatina)
Early I viewed the morning's new birth,
the eastern sky
was aflame while I walked on a path
that wounded by
a small copse, some hillocks and a field,
up birds did fly,
pheasants and guinea-fowl screeched protest
while in nature I was extremely blest.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Vulture Culture
Lenny zakatek - lead vocal
Somehow you made it in the big wide world
And youre absolutely home and dry
You got away from a one horse town
And the only way out was to fly
You heard a lot about an easy street
And it seems like the place to be
You heard some talk about a slippery slope
But you think it cant happen to me
Vulture culture
Use it or you lose it
Vulture culture
Choose it or refuse it
Hollywood is calling wont you join the dance
Moving onto wall street why not take a chance
Its a vulture culture
Never lend a loser a hand
Just a vulture culture
Living off the fat of the land
Nowhere to turn around and catch your breath
Its all relatively trouble free
No need to bother with the bottom line
Or a money back guarantee
You sign a deal thats been etched in stone
Its absolutely cut and dry
Thats when they got you in the danger zone
And the only way out is to die
Vulture culture
Use it or you lose it
Vulture culture
Choose it or refuse it
Hollywood is waiting striking up the band
Everyone on wall street shakes you by the hand
Such a vulture culture
Never lend a loser a hand
Just a vulture culture
Living off the fat of the land
Use it or you lose it
Choose it or refuse it
Hollywoods a no go not a second chance
Nobody on wall street gives a second glance
Its a vulture culture
Moving to the beat of the band
Its a vulture culture
Never lend a loser a hand
Its just a vulture culture
Living off the fat of the land
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snare
Where guinea fowl
nest against the cornfields
and I sometimes saw pheasants,
just on the other side of the tributary,
day after day I found
snares made from fishing gut,
or wire
that was destroying constantly
and I was very angry
when one morning
I found a small duiker there,
with a leg
into which the wire were wringing
and I liberated that small antelope.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When The Cape Winter Rain Comes
When the Cape winter rain comes and falls softly
mushrooms rise up everywhere,
everywhere in the plantations and the dale
with the mud flowing around like brown soup
while fog that draws close over the hilltop,
and suddenly a rainbow appears over the pine tops,
while guinea fowl wander around in a large group
but nowhere any thunder bolt resounds
and this world sparkles like a small universe.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When it is in an unlucky phase, the vulture below, shits on the vulture above.
We're going to be focusing our science on things that will take us farther and longer into space. For many of those experiments, the crew members are human guinea pigs, which is fine; that's part of my job. I don't mind being a human guinea pig.
quote by John L. Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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.
Oops
“oh, it was an accident
i didn’t mean to hurt you”
how many times have i heard that…
i can’t count
too many
and i think
yeah, right
you’re not sorry
and never will be
you’ll always leave me hanging
on that single thread
hanging onto one hope
you’re not sorry
and never will be
screaming through my window
you’re not sorry
and now my words pay you back…
oops, it was an accident
i didn’t mean to hurt you
and laughing out into the darkness
send a dove-
no, you’re not worthy of a dove-
a pigeon?
a crow?
a vulture?
perfect, a vulture
send a vulture
to take a whisper to you
of how much i’m hurting
maybe that will teach you
give you a taste of yourself
and i’m disgusted
again and again
again and again and again
again and again and again and again…
oops
Vultures
Say boys and girls dont you want to have fun
Why bother to walk when youd rather run
Why bother with books when youve got a gun
Come fly with me right into the sun
In another world, in another time
I can picture you and me together
If I close my eyes tight and think real hard
I can float lighter than a feather
If I try even harder who knows what I might find
Why maybe a pearl of wisdom
I would trade these pearls for a parcel of flesh
In flesh we were all invented
Is it time to play? said the ratboy to the ratgirl
Can we fly today, can we look here for some fresh kill
In concentric circles well carve up the sky
Looking for a big surprise
Fly like a vulture, fly like a vulture....
In another world, in another time
I can picture us a happy family
With our happy kids all flying all around
And leaving far behind the rat-race
Is it time to play? said the tortoise to the rabbit
Can we fly today, are we creatures all of habit
In concentric circles well carve up the sky
Waiting for a big surprise
Fly like a vulture, fly like a vulture...
Say boys and girls dont you want to have fun
Why bother to crawl when youd rather run
Why bother to walk when youd rather fly
Come join the party way up in the sky
Is it time to play? said the ratboy to the ratgirl
Can we fly today, can we look here for some fresh kill
In concentric circles well carve up the sky
Looking for a big surprise
Fly like a vulture, fly like a vulture...
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad days ahead
Bad days go, go ahead of time
Vulture devours the world of poem
Clever fox takes shelter behind the culture.
My fertile land is bitten by poisonous teeth
of black cobra
She becomes pregnant again again
but bears only vulture, fox and swine.
Bad days go, go ahead of time.
poem by Shikdar Waliuzzaman
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The Wind Blows Rustling Through The Bush
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and only it and God knows where it is going,
when it disappears and nothing move in the veldt
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
An ibises raises gleaming copper into the sky
while God finds some answers for His earth,
and it chatters while big wings slam against the wind,
as it flies high over a small wooded hillock.
Guinea fowl peck along in the red grass,
after the rain some small bulbs are growing,
some lovely flowers astonish the veldt
but still this world is wounded by man.
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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The Vulture and the Husbandman
By Louisa CarolineN.B. -- A Vulture is a rapacious and obscene bird, whichdestroys its prey by plucking it limb from limb with its powerfulbeak and talons.A Husbandman is a man in a low position of life, who supportshimself by the use of the plough. -- (Johnson's Dictionary).
The rain was raining cheerfully,
As if it had been May;
The Senate-House appeared inside
Unusually gay;
And this was strange, because it was
A Viva-voce day.
The men were sitting sulkily,
Their paper work was done;
They wanted much to go away
To ride or row or run;
"It's very rude," they said, "to keep
Us here, and spoil our fun."
The papers they had finished lay
In piles of blue and white.
They answered every thing they could,
And wrote with all their might,
But, though they wrote it all by rote,
They did not write it right.
The Vulture and the Husbandman
Beside these piles did stand,
They wept like anything to see
The work they had in hand.
"If this were only finished up,"
Said they, "it would be grand!"
"If seven D's or seven C's
We give to all the crowd,
Do you suppose," the Vulture said,
"That we could get them ploughed?"
"I think so," said the Husbandman,
"But pray don't talk so loud."
"O undergraduates, come up,"
The Vulture did beseech,
"And let us see if you can learn
As well as we can teach;
We cannot do with more than two
To have a word with each."
Two Undergraduates came up,
And slowly took a seat,
They knit their brows, and bit their thumbs,
As if they found them sweet,
And this was odd, because you know
Thumbs are not good to eat.
"The time has come," the Vulture said,
"To talk of many things,
Of Accidence and Adjectives,
And names of Jewish kings,
How many notes a sackbut has,
And whether shawms have strings."
"Please, Sir," the Undergraduates said,
Turning a little blue,
"We did not know that was the sort
Of thing we had to do."
"We thank you much," the Vulture said,
"Send up another two."
Two more came up, and then two more,
And more, and more and more;
And some looked upwards at the roof,
Some down upon the floor,
But none were any wiser than
The pair that went before.
"I weep for you," the Vulture said,
"I deeply sympathise!"
With sobs and tears he gave them all
D's of the largest size,
While at the Husbandman he winked
One of his streaming eyes.
"I think," observed the Husbandman,
"We're getting on too quick.
Are we not putting down the D's
A little bit too thick?"
The Vulture said with much disgust
"Their answers make me sick."
"Now, Undergraduates," he cried,
Our fun is nearly done,
"Will anybody else come up?"
But answer came there none;
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd ploughed them every one!
poem by Arthur Clement Hilton
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 19
I never lamented about the vicissitudes of time or complained of the turns of fortune except on the occasion when I was barefooted and unable to procure slippers. But when I entered the great mosque of Kufah with a sore heart and beheld a man without feet I offered thanks to the bounty of God, consoled myself for my want of shoes and recited:
‘A roast fowl is to the sight of a satiated man
Less valuable than a blade of fresh grass on the table
And to him who has no means nor power
A burnt turnip is a roasted fowl.’
Subbacultcha
This is a song about something there
There is something about this song
We did the clubs what ass
I was hoping to have her in the sack
I was looking handsome
She was looking like an erotic vulture
I was all dressed in black
She was all dressed up in black
Every thing was fine down here
What you call it here
Call it what you will here
Way down down down in this subbacultcha
Her warm white belly in the life Id lived had seen nothing
Finer she shakes and she moves me or something
Shes like jellyroll like sculpture
I was wearing eyeliner
She was wearing eyeliner
It was so good down here
Saving for my scrapbook here
Way down down down in this subbacultcha
Now we live on the sea and relax and ride the tack
Drug running on this panamanian schooner
She walks the deck in a black dress
And me I dress up in black
And we listen to the sea
And look at the sky in a poetic kind of way
What you call it
When you look at the sky in a poetic kind of way
You know when you grope for luna.
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Call You Friend
I call You kindness
I call You gentleness
I call You Truth.
I call You beauty
I call You wisdom
I call You Beloved.
I call You light
I call You trust
I call You father, mother,
daughter, son
I love You because I must
I call You Friend.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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suICEide
Suicide is like ICE
It cuts like a fice
It is not a vice
But an awful bice
Suicide is like FIRE
Not a person searching for HIRE
Dont dare call me a liar
Or you'll be a deny-er
Suicide is my SOUL
And like an innocent fowl
It eats the heart it stole
And so I say LOL
poem by Davidia Kartina
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