Once they get their hooks into you, you're a dead pigeon.
quote by Bud Abbott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Pigeon
Tony just brought
a pigeon
in his house
put it in a cage and
feed it
some grains
beside a bowl of
water
Every night since then
i cannot sleep
hearing always the sound
of a sobbing woman
grieving
i keep telling myself
that it is just
a pigeon temporarily
adopting to a momentary loss
of her freedom
Horrible nights
lots of horrible nights
the sounds of groaning griefs
are penetrating the walls of my mind
until one day
the pigeon died and Tony buried it
beside his house
now the pebbles are giving me
the silence of the dead
the air is so quiet
looking at an empty cage
somehow i feel guilty
not about the pigeon but about Tony
well, the story is quite long
what business do i have there?
last night i was thinking
what if it was Tony who died
and the pigeon went out of that cage
and buried him there
beside that lonely house?
shall i not hear the grieving sounds of
that pigeon again?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After The Great Flood
after the great flood
it was the black crow which was first
allowed to fly,
Moses had confidence on its
aggression,
it did not come back you know that well,
it puked on dead flesh and
flew away
deciding on its own now
charting its own
destiny,
then it was the pigeon's turn to serve
coy and shy and yet obedient
it came back with a twig and a leaf
whether this is all symbolism or not
an interplay and contrast between black and white
crow and pigeon, good or evil
disobedience or impunity, i don't
go into a hairsplitting
or argument with you
but i have to admit, i like to be that black crow.
i never want to be the pigeon that you believe i am.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hooks In You
I got the keys to view at number 22
Behind my green door theres nothing to see
Stone cold sober and sitting in silence
Laid back and looking for sympathy
I like a girl who knows where shes bound
I dont like girls whove been hanging aroung
Hooks in you hooks in me hooks in the ceiling
For that well hung feeling
No big deal no big string strung up on love i
Got the hooks screwed in
Shes tied up she cant come to the phone
You must have got your wires crossed cos she aint home
Knock on wood - you know I like that sound
She never could keep her feet on the grou7nd
Right on the money got it wrapped up tight
New ideas for the decor tonight
Gonna make this house a peservation zone
Gonn set her in concrete set her up on her own
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Confused Birds
Sometimes things happen the way you don't want them to,
There was a Pigeon and a Dove to guide the life through,
Together they ate, Together they flew,
The pigeon was ready to wait a life long,
But the Dove had a rough stance that you move on,
The Dove always wanted the Pigeon to be comfortable,
But always thrash think that she didn't deserve such awesome individual,
The matter was closely watched by a gardener,
He called them...
The Confused Birds.
poem by Vikrant Jog
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The only difference between a pigeon and the American farmer today is that a pigeon can still make a deposit on a John Deere.
quote by Jim Hightower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hoks In You
Track 8 of _Season's End_
'I feel so strange what's wrong with me'
You've got a problem that you can't see
But I've got a feeling that the rumours are true
I see the girl's go a hook in you
You carry on believing
That you can take or leave it
Now who are you deceiving
Cause when it's own up time
She's in the back of you mind
She's got her hooks in you
You said you'd never let it happen again
You spend your money and you're deeper in
Your fairweather friends call two by two
To let you know what's wrong with you
But now your heartbeat's thumpin'
You watch you nerve ends jumpin'
Well I can tell yo somethin'
When it's own up time
You're gonna toe the line
She's got her hooks in you
She's got her hooks in me too.
[JOHN HELMER and STEVE HOGARTH
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hooks In You
(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
I feel so strange whats wrong with me?
Youve got a problem that you cant see
But Ive got a feeling that the rumours are true
I see the girls got a hook in you
You carry on believing
That you can take or leave it
Now who are you deceiving
Cause when its own up time
Shes in back of your mind
Shes got her hooks in you
You said youd never let it happen again
You spend your money and youre deeper in
Your fairweather friends call two by two
To let you know whats wrong with you
But now your heartbeats thumpin
You watch your nerve ends jumpin
Well I can tell you somethin
When its own up time
Youre gonna toe the line
Shes got her hooks in you
Shes got her hooks in you
Shes got her hooks in me too
I feel so strange whats wrong with me?
Youve got a problem that you cant see
But Ive got a feeling that the rumours are true
I see the girls, I see the girl got a hook in you
Shes got her hooks in you
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dilettante And The Critic
A BOY a pigeon once possess'd,
In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd;
He loved it well, and in boyish sport
Its food to take from his mouth he taught,
And in his pigeon he took such pride,
That his joy to others he needs must confide.
An aged fox near the place chanc'd to dwell,
Talkative, clever, and learned as well;
The boy his society used to prize,
Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies.
"My friend the fox my pigeon must see
He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he
"Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair!
His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!"
"Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad;
And yet, it is far from complete, I must add.
The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!"
So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird.
The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply,
Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."--
Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces.
The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases.
He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case,
Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Runny’s Heading Rabits
Runny lent to the wibrary
And there were bundreds of hooks—
Bistory hooks, beography gooks,
And lots of bory stooks.
He looked them over one by one
And guess which one he took—
A bience scook? A boetry pook?
Oh, no ---a bomic cook!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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A Canticle
Like darkness descends an old raven
A fog obscures both banks
of the girl's eyes
Ah what a prolonged sleep
A red-eyed pigeon on the cornice sits
September nineteenth a flimsy telegram
Ah what a prolonged sleep
The storm dies down
on the tired mast
The storm uncoils
its eight tentacles
And a huge dance-hall looms into sight
And a red-eyed pigeon on the cornice sits
what’s the news now
Ah what a prolonged sleep
The storm dies down
on the dream book of Jung
The storm drops dead
from anaemia
But who will make that girl understand but this
There’s little profit in searching for the one
That is by now wood-dead from fasting an Adam’s lifetime
Ah what a prolonged sleep
Ah what a prolonged sleep
(Translated from Bangla by the poet)
poem by Subrata Augustine Gomes
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By The Window
two men pass by
my window
talking about a
pigeon run-over
by a car
by all means
it is already dead
when
they finally
arrive at the
scene of the morning
crime
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sleight of Hand
I put my handkerchief into your holey pocket
And take out a Pigeon,
Again I put the Pigeon into your pocket
And take out my handkerchief.
A middle aged woman with a singsong
Winked at me among the crowd at the roundabout
And it says willing to come with me.
What a real gimmick?
She took my fragile heart
Through the broken ribs
Without my knowledge.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Advertising
Hooks in our psyche floating free
Waiting for our greed to grab them
Fishing for fools in the consumer pool
That's the job of the Ad-Men
If I could steal the bait off hooks
I would do it in every river
I'd tie the lines to crannies and nooks
And watch the baiters quiver
Let truth let out its barbed string
Keeping all greed at bay
Let the jingle singers sing
But
Let the facts have their say
poem by Kishore Asthana
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The revolution ode to gil scott heron
Edit
the revolution ode
by Daniel Hooks on Tuesday, May 17,2011 at 9: 29pm
the revolution will not be televised
it will be ionised into fusion
it will not be like hitler's final solution
it will not be black or white
yellow or grey
it won't be about being a hippy
or being straight or gay
the revoultion will be about acceptance
that we are all differnet but the same
playing this life game
the best way we know how
we pay homage
to god or the universe we all know
mother earth and brother sun
we were all born to be as one
poem by Daniel Hooks
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Japanese lullaby
Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,--
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging--
Swinging the nest where her little one lies.
Away out yonder I see a star,--
Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling--
Calling and tinkling the night along.
In through the window a moonbeam comes,--
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping--
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?"
Up from the sea there floats the sob
Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning--
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.
But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,--
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging--
Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
poem by Eugene Field
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0046 Jewel of Blood
A fine morning and the side-streets empty
then turning the corner,
in the middle of the road
a pigeon - grey-mauve, plump and feather-perfect,
one wing half-spread in flight,
sprawled sideways,
dead
and at that moment the sun shone
cruelly
on the blood that shone on the dusty road by its head,
a jewel, redder than any red,
that shone like a message
as if it were the blood of the world itself
so rich, so rich...
and I felt guilty
that I saw it so beautiful,
that jewel from the heart of a dead dove
of peace,
and thought I should suppress the thought...
and, now, that further thought which hovered in its train
that this whole world in such a jewel of blood,
more precious than a ruby, or than gold, or much fine gold,
a jewel beyond price
is what a devotee at communion or at Mass...
while cool reason
(what has reason to do with this?)
countered
well you value your own blood above most things
don't you? Why not a pigeon's?
but all words spent and poets silent and associations dropped
and thoughts at rest,
that pool of blood
in the winter sunlight that shone on the dusty street
was just so beautiful.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Pigeons
There are many pigeons in the Cascais evening park and
see one I remember, the one that trips stylishly around
looking for crumbs, it looks at me, to see if I´m eating.
In May it was a baby on my terrace trying out its wings,
one day it succeeded and flew off.
A pigeon doesn’t remember its childhood, so it doesn’t
has the burden of remembering infancy, blames no one
when things go wrong. Two women come and sit on my
bench, talk about offspring who will not listen; pity they
have not understood, like a pigeon mother, to let go.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dissident Aggressor
Grand canyons of space and time universal
My mind is subjected to all
Stab! bawl! punch! crawl!
Hooks to my brain are well in
Stab! bawl! punch! crawl!
I know what I am, Im berlin
Through cracked, blackened memories of unit dispersal
I face the impregnable wall
Stab! bawl! punch! crawl!
Hooks to my brain are well in
Stab! bawl! punch! crawl!
I know what I am, Im berlin
Exploding, reloading, this quest never ending
Until I give out my last breath
Im stabbing and bawling, Im punching and crawling
Hooks to my brain are well in
Im stabbing and bawling, Im punching and crawling
I know what I am, Im berlin
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pigeon's Plight
'(Craving from one place to another
For a false death with feathered life) '
Written in a paper-
A cushioned pigeon
Engrossed at my grimace ballad-
A dream finishing the final act to play-
The pigeon’s plight achieved the
Tensed past of beating waves...
“(Pigeons past, dream lasts
And the ballad still in turn....) ”
25/9/08
poem by Moushumi moushumi
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Too good to be true?
Sometimes it’s wise to hesitate
And choose to look before you leap.
There is no point in tempting fate.
You may just find the price too steep.
There’s no such thing as a free lunch
there never was nor will there be
So pay attention to your hunch.
Examine very carefully.
What lies behind the proffered deal
The hidden hooks to catch you out
What do the honeyed words conceal?
They will be hooks without a doubt.
You are far too wise to believe.
The scams which fool the more naïve.
Sunday,29 January 2012
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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