With so many roosters crowing, the sun never comes up.
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Where many roosters are crowing, it's not because it's daylight.
The Crowing of the Roosters
Come to the village
and listen to the crowing roosters
up the branches of the trees
announcing the breaking
of a bright new day.
Come to the village
Walk the miles of the road
Have a pause from the roaring buses,
The dazzles on the streets
And the endless list of activities.
Come to the village
And learn from the roosters
Resting on the silent trees
Communing with nature
And speaking to man and woman
The great early morning of peace.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Born In Baryards
Born in barnyards, see how roosters strut,
searching for a hen that is a slut.
Wherever men are born they do not care
about most women till they see them bare.
Their eyes that flash like moonshine look around
like roosters for a hen, and once they’ve found
a bird they like they do not need to beg,
and leave her long before she’s laid an egg.
Roosters in the morning crow in time
to wake their counterparts who’re with a hen,
ridiculous sometimes, sometimes sublime,
like roosters always, born as barnyard men.
poem by Gershon Hepner (19 September 2008)
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An Early Morning Wish
it is too early
i guess the nights are longer now
it is 4: 56 a.m. it is cold
the air is cold
and the windows are still closed
the rooster at the yard
keeps on crowing
while other roosters of the neighborhood
(i live in a rural town
with dusty roads still at the other
nearby kiosk)
keep on crowing too for an answer,
how i wish to make you
a lovely,
happy,
gentle,
peaceful poem
no one screaming on the road
not a motorcab screeching
neither a bus overspeeding
and spreading dust
how i wish to write you a poem
about love
or about that only peaceful star
hanging on the
early morning sky
just a wish
but really
there isn't any
it cannot be
what with a heart that is grieving
a soul that is lost
a body that trembles
a mind with thoughts live leaves
heap upon heap
without a match
to burn them all
this hot days of summer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Too Early
it is too early
i guess the nights are longer now
it is 4: 56 a.m. it is cold
the air is cold
and the windows are still closed
the rooster at the yard
keeps on crowing
while other roosters of the neighborhood
(i live in a rural town
with dusty roads still at the other
nearby kiosk)
keep on crowing too for an answer,
how i wish to make you
a lovely,
happy,
gentle,
peaceful poem
no one screaming on the road
not a motorcab screeching
neither a bus overspeeding
and spreading dust
how i wish to write you a poem
about love
or about that only peaceful star
hanging on the
early morning sky
just a wish
but really
there isn't any
it cannot be
what with a heart that is grieving
a soul that is lost
a body that trembles
a mind with thoughts live leaves
heap upon heap
without a match
to burn them all
this hot days of summer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yielding To Survive
Two roosters dropped on a yard,
Will not live loving each other.
Two roosters kept in a cage,
Will not die fighting each other.
One of them will bow and survive.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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2: 53 A.m.
loudest is the sound of the
cock crowing
though far from this house
of hay
it cannot hear us somehow
on another cock crowing
on your hands
of cotton
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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June Mooned Normandy - 0102 - For Annie Boudet
Near sand dunes gently rolling in June mooned Normandy,
on starlit strands went strolling salt scented, silvery,
while sightless eels swam shoaling, silk ribbons on the sea.
Soon midnight peals rang tolling to twelve from one, two, three,
till roosters rose, cock-crowing, we talked on tenderly.
Pine trees in gren groves growing most gnome-like seemed to me.
Brine breeze the billows blowing, froth-foaming fretfully
sent spent spray wavelets spewing, coast-combing ceaselessly,
‘neath tent-grey egrets mewing, ghosts roaming silently,
repined, our steps pursuing in restless jealousy.
(3 October 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Happy Easter
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do the clucking?
Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?
To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do,
The clucking?
Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!
'Happy Easter'
~Do you notice anything different about those eggs? ~
'Yeah!
They are colored.
Why? '
~They are for the Easter Egg Hunt.
Put them back.~
'Oh!
I must be dreaming.
I thought I heard a rooster crow.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Children Of Bethlehem
(Paxton)
The children of Bethlehem,
One cold winter's night,
Were wakened by singing,
And a heavenly light.
With whispers and murmurs,
On pattering feet,
The children of Bethlehem
Came into the street.
The people were sleeping,
All safely in bed.
The children heard singing
In the sky overhead.
They heard, "Peace will be with you,
Whoever you are.
Oh, come to the stable
Come, follow the Star!"
And the children of Bethlehem,
That cold winter's night,
Came down to the stable;
They followed the light.
Now the roosters were crowing,
At the dawning of day.
The baby lay sleeping.
In the manger he lay.
The children of Bethlehem,
Came in two by two.
They came to the manger,
That the Star brought them to.
They came to the manger,
Where the sweet Baby lay.
The children of Bethlehem,
Showed us the way.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In a village with too many roosters morning will come late.
Roosters' tail feathers: pretty but always behind.
The Chimney
this morning...this morning..this morning
the chimney of the desolate house in front of mine
is smoking...smoking...smoking
what a lovely sight
who may be there
on the snow
white smoke onthe white snow
the bare plum tree is
grinning...grinning..grinning
the black crow
on the hazel nut tree
crowing...crowing...crowing
as if life is newly beginning...beginning...beginning
guess..who is there...who is there
behind the yellow lignt seen at night
shining from the desolate window
someone...someone....someone
living. ..emerging from the house
ı wish all the chimneys of the lonely poor smoked
in the wilderness of the cold..cold of the snow
what a happy and a lovely sight
the desolate chimney is smoking...smoking...smoking
ı wish ı were in this old house too
with the mystery of the ancients
where they have come
ı never knew
the desolate house is reviving this morn
ı only see the shadows
growing...growing....growing..and moving
poem by Metin Sahin
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Little Red Rooster
I am the little red rooster, too lazy to crow today
I am the little red rooster, too lazy to crow today
Keep everything in the farmyard
Upset in evry way
The dogs begin to barkin, hounds begin to howl
Dogs begin to barkin, hounds begin to howl
Watch out strange cat people
Little red roosters on the prowl
If you see my little red rooster, please drive him home
If you see my little red rooster, please drive him home
Aint no peace in the farmyard
Since my little red roosters been gone
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Red Rooster
(dixon)
I am the little red rooster
Too lazy to crow for day
I am the little red rooster
Too lazy to crow for day
Keep everything in the farm yard upset in every way
The dogs begin to bark and hounds begin to howl
Dogs begin to bark and hounds begin to howl
Watch out strange cat people
Little red roosters on the prowl
If you see my little red rooster
Please drive him home
If you see my little red rooster
Please drive him home
Aint had no peace in the farm yard
Since my little red roosters been gone
song performed by by Rolling Stones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Infatuation
There is infatuation in cat's mew
It is there in 'cock crowing its own dung hill'
It could be in the whole assembly of people
There There is infatuation in cat's mew
It is there in 'cock crowing its own dung hill'
It could be in the whole assembly of people
There is no place in fact for it to remain stand and still
The commotion of events and the burst of imagination
Did not confine itself into 'archer' of its fashion
If we take its linchpin from the womb of mother
You will not find its glory a bit farther
Its there from nascent of progenitors and race thereafter
Bowing in liturgy and forming into art and passion
That's what we call homo-sapien's passion
Which can go 'acclivity' into newness of fashion
poem by Hafiz Qasim
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When Dawn Comes to the City
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The moaning, groaning cars,
And the old milk carts go rumbling by
Under the same dull stars.
Out of the tenements, cold as stone,
Dark figures start for work;
I watch them sadly shuffle on,
'Tis dawn, dawn in New York.
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing,
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There would I be at dawn.
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The crazy, lazy cars,
And the same milk carts go rumbling by
Under the dying stars.
A lonely newsboy hurries by,
Humming a recent ditty;
Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,
The dawn comes to the city.
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling,
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There I would be at dawn.
poem by Claude McKay
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Hunters And Gatherers
rooster crowing,
dogs barking, rain falling,
almost a tease...
the price of gas rising,
the cost of life rising,
Wall Street speculates...
gambling with human lives.
so many walk the edge,
teetering with every blow...
the sound of distant trumpets!
small people have big hearts,
picking up pieces of lives,
scattered like trash
on highways that devour.
strong candles stay lit,
flicker with the storm,
yet the light remains,
the light remains...
rooster crowing,
sleep pillows laid aside,
the hunters and gatherers
tuck their children neath their arms!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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So Much Depends
so much depends
on the pink sprinkler
beside
an iron pump
glazed with rust
where the
black hens and
the red
roosters bump
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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African Sunrise
This song was first released on the dreamland express album. it is the only album it has been released on.
African sunrise, shine on a brand new day
African sunrise, show us a brand new way
Give us a brand new morning
Show us forever beginning to stand on our own
African sunrise, smile on my african home
In this hour of quiet contemplation
The stillness of the dawning calms my mind
I face the day with heartfelt exaltation
The light is both a promise and a sign
In the darkness we have lost the son of our sister
Though the beauty of his spirit lingers still
This was a child of love, a child of laughter
Who cannot understand the way I feel
Is it not the sun that gives the seasons
Is it not the sun that brings the rain
Our throats are choled with dust, but were still singing
Our song will not be silenced by the rain
All around the village I could hear the roosters crowing
There was a time it was like music to my ears
Now all I can hear is the sound of hungry babies crying
I pray for rain to wash away their tears
African sunrise, light of a brand new day
African sunrise, light of a brand new way
With one who will be our brother
And one who will be our partner and teach us to know
African sunrise, smile on my african home
African sunrise.....
African sunrise.....
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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