What birds can have their bills more peculiarly formed than the ibis, the spoonbill, and the heron?
quote by Alfred Russel Wallace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ibis Lives In Tragedy
Job 38: 36
the ibis
lives in tragedy
but trickster
spider knows
all along
what rooster's saying.
tails or heads?
call it!
ooooopppppsssss!
you lose.
guess you're extinct ibis
*Posting 'shape of wings to come' mar.25
***Special Post 'grain' apr.1
poem by Doug Bentley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stay still like a heron
Stay still like a heron in an unfavorable situation,
Later act swiftly in appropriate time and get things done
As if the heron waits patiently with one leg,
Picks fast and seizes the fish.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballads on Mr. Heron's Election - Ballad First
Whom will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?
Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Thro' Galloway and a' that,
Where is the Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves to fa' that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
(And wha is't never saw that?)
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met,
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent patriot,
The honest man, and a' that.
Tho' wit and worth, in either sex,
Saint Mary's Isle can shaw that,
Wi' Dukes and Lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.
But why should we to Nobles jouk,
And is't against the law, that?
For why, a Lord may be a gowk,
Wi' ribband, star and a' that,
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A Lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribband, star and a' that.
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse and a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae mang oursels,
A man we ken, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
For we're not to be bought and sold,
Like naigs, and nowt, and a' that.
Then let us drink-The Stewartry,
Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They wad be blest that saw that.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hum You Have to Get Up
You have to get up;
I don't want to get up.
Why don't you want to get up?
I'm very comfortable where I am, thank you.
You have to go to work;
I don't want to go to work.
Why don't you want to go to work?
Because there's too much work at work, that's why.
You have to go to work to pay the bills;
I don't want to go to work to pay the bills.
Why don't you want to go to work to pay the bills?
If I pay bills this month I shan't have any money to pay next month's bills.
You have to get up;
I know, I'm getting up.
Where are you going?
I'm going to see an astrologer.
You're back, what did the astrologer say?
He said:
Today don't get up;
Today don't go to work;
Today don't pay the bills;
Have a nice day,
Today is Sunday!
poem by Mill Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Over Sir John's Hill
Over Sir John's hill,
The hawk on fire hangs still;
In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dusk, he pulls to his claws
And gallows, up the rays of his eyes the small birds of the bay
And the shrill child's play
Wars
Of the sparrows and such who swansing, dusk, in wrangling hedges.
And blithely they squawk
To fiery tyburn over the wrestle of elms until
The flash the noosed hawk
Crashes, and slowly the fishing holy stalking heron
In the river Towy below bows his tilted headstone.
Flash, and the plumes crack,
And a black cap of jack-
Daws Sir John's just hill dons, and again the gulled birds hare
To the hawk on fire, the halter height, over Towy's fins,
In a whack of wind.
There
Where the elegiac fisherbird stabs and paddles
In the pebbly dab-filled
Shallow and sedge, and 'dilly dilly,' calls the loft hawk,
'Come and be killed,'
I open the leaves of the water at a passage
Of psalms and shadows among the pincered sandcrabs prancing
And read, in a shell
Death clear as a bouy's bell:
All praise of the hawk on fire in hawk-eyed dusk be sung,
When his viperish fuse hangs looped with flames under the brand
Wing, and blest shall
Young
Green chickens of the bay and bushes cluck, 'dilly dilly,
Come let us die.'
We grieve as the blithe birds, never again, leave shingle and elm,
The heron and I,
I young Aesop fabling to the near night by the dingle
Of eels, saint heron hymning in the shell-hung distant
Crystal harbour vale
Where the sea cobbles sail,
And wharves of water where the walls dance and the white cranes stilt.
It is the heron and I, under judging Sir John's elmed
Hill, tell-tale the knelled
Guilt
Of the led-astray birds whom God, for their breast of whistles,
Have Mercy on,
God in his whirlwind silence save, who marks the sparrows hail,
For their souls' song.
Now the heron grieves in the weeded verge. Through windows
Of dusk and water I see the tilting whispering
Heron, mirrored, go,
As the snapt feathers snow,
Fishing in the tear of the Towy. Only a hoot owl
Hollows, a grassblade blown in cupped hands, in the looted elms
And no green cocks or hens
Shout
Now on Sir John's hill. The heron, ankling the scaly
Lowlands of the waves,
Makes all the music; and I who hear the tune of the slow,
Wear-willow river, grave,
Before the lunge of the night, the notes on this time-shaken
Stone for the sake of the souls of the slain birds sailing.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Bird Sanctuary (Vedanthangal-TamilNadu, India)
The calls of birds
Of hues varied
lull all to sleep.
Vedanthangal(Shelter of the Hunters) ,
the rain fed tank,
is the haven for
Cormorants,
the Night Herons,
the Darters, Ducks
Grey Pelicans
and the Moor Hens….
Birds from continents diverse
nest on the Kadamba Trees,
feed, breed and fly around,
dip in water, catch fish
and hop to the trees in glee.
O, that sadist hurls a fish above
and takes it back within its bills!
The world of birds has a lot to teach.
The black, white and grey birds perch side by side.
Birds, plants and animals
give man his essential needs.
But he cuts their throats to fill his bellies.
---
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of the five House Calendars, the Private Calendar is the one to which all Private Bills are referred. Private Bills deal with specific individuals, corporations, institutions, and so forth, as distinguished from public bills which deal with classes only.
quote by Howard Coble
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Delta Rain
Soft rain
on dark oaks
Clustered green
curving canyons rise
to velvet crease.
Thick mists consume
stoic cattle,
slowly climbing
verdant slopes.
Meadows gather
new-born lakes.
Delta birds -
grebe and pensive loon,
goldeneye and pintail,
ibis and snowy egret
slowly wade.
With flashing beak
they break
black waters.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vanity Kills
Have you heard the latest? (you love you)
Have you seen who just walked in (vain vain vain vain)
(uh huh, you love you) right over there
Shes so vain vain vain vain
Vain vain vain vain
Im glad youve found someone who loves you
But sad to say that someone is you
And now perhaps youll both be happy
Guess that makes two just you and you
Someone who cares so much about you
But does that someone have to be you
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, it kills
So glad I found you glancing in the mirror
Gazing deeply at loves patron saint
Admire the frame, survey the scenery
Or are you just inspecting the paint
Temptations strong modestys so weak
High on yourself humble you aint
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Bom bom bom bom bom bom bom bom yeah
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills (no way)
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, it kills
So vain, vain vain vain
You love you (yeah)
Give it, give it us, give it us
So vain, so vain, so vain
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, it dont pay bills
Vanity kills, you love you
Vanity kills, if the blast dont get you
Then the fallout will
You love you
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gradually, It Happens
gradually we like how dead things rise from their ashes
managing to take a shape like the neck of the heron
the white long neck of the heron
amidst the green rice fields just below a crumple of blue clouds
and then the sun slowly rises from the hills that look like
breasts of a woman just awaking from a very deep sleep
beside her lover who is too drunk from the many jugs
of happy moments which he drank....
last night, it was raining so hard
but they never noticed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Or The Mail Man
Builders for these castles get their hands wet
And then sculpt the necks of parapets and heron:
They burn around the shoulders
Growing freckles like periwinkles as they step
Over the jelly-fish—
Their mother leaving them to be watched over by
The sea so she could go
Shopping with another man or the mail man—
In its innuendo the sun will burn,
The cloud with disappear—and the birds will turn.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Forsaken Heron
In the grey dusk...
soaring...
the wounded bird
Inscribing on the air
a tale of agonies
aer agonising flight
composing an elegy
among the lush-green leaves
The congregation of glow-worms
-the herds of some innocent souls...
opening their beaks
They're all the reflections of my multicolored thristy dreams
The assault of those reminiscences
as if the wounds carved by beaks
on a juicy fruit
I-the prisoner of my memories-
with pinions bound
amidst the sunlight getting paler
looking with yearnings
at the golden birds
flying over a river
(the golden birds-
the ambassadords of the seasons) -
and beseeching the ambassador birds:
Comrades!
If you happen to meet her
by any chance
Tell her that her abandoned heron
Is still in search
of the sweet, melodious tunes of his shepherd.
Written and translated by Shujaat Ali Rahi
(Kohat; Feb 22,2008)
poem by Shujaat Rahi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yellow Billed Spoonbill
By the lake shore in the shallows where the waters are still
He walks in water to his knees the white bird with yellow legs and long yellow spoon like bill
With his bill in the water as he walk moving from side to side
His prey water insects, crustaceans and tiny fish in the water weed hide.
He and his partner build their nest on a high branch of a tree
On her nest of sticks she lays four white eggs though sometimes two or three
They both take care of their young a bird devoted to fatherhood as well as to his mate
Food from their stomachs to their nestlings they do regurgitate.
On river rapids never seen the still waters they need
Birds of the inland lakes and dams in the shallows they feed
Of humans 'twould be fair to say they have a healthy fear
To a human standing on the shore they never venture near.
Yellow billed or yellow legged spoonbill are names they are known by
On the lake I see one yesterday he did seem rather shy
With his long yellow bill moving from side to side in the shallows he shuffled up and down
The shiest of the water birds in the big park by the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Romans, we are told, were by nature a peculiarly warlike race.
quote by Goldwin Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let us consider that swearing is a sin of all others peculiarly clamorous, and provocative of Divine judgment.
quote by Isaac Barrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life Kills
When you fall into your seat, you know you feel you might be dying
As the breath rasps in and out, of your burning throat
You cant control your lungs because youre so tired
Youre half awake with one arm in your coat
Well thank God that there is someone there to drive you
You know you couldnt make it on your own
He helps you through the door
You sit down on the floor
And youre asleep before you are alone
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
For a while it seems exhaustion has subsided
The day is over and the moon is high
But your period of work is predecided
Funny how the hours of freedom seem to fly
Well thank God that there is someone there to drive you
You know you couldnt make it on your own
He helps you in the door
You sit down as before
Another shift to pay another loan
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
Your life is like a schedule
You run to meet the bills
No ones awake to tell you
Life kills
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sacred Ibis
the sacred ibis
flocking on the parapet
she used to live there
I still hear my daughter's laugh
emigrated to other climes
poem by Suzette Crous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I believe that I understand gangs better than others. Because they're formed out of necessity. They're formed by people to keep from being suppressed.
quote by Jack Bowman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neurotica
Good morning, its 3am in this great roaring
City full of garbage eaters ravaging parking
Spots beneath my plaza window I see cheetah in their
Tight skins and tired heels all-night hippo in
The diner crossing the street swarthy heards of young
Impala flambastic gibbon even a struggling monza
And over there that brilliant head ornament on that
Japanese macaque but look closely at the hammerhead hand
In hand with the mandrill, its a sight youre
Unlikely to see anywhere else on the planet...
The stench and noise, yes, yes, the howlers
Resonating repertoire is not too bad when mixed with
The more musical twern of the tropical warbler but the
Impatient taxi blare the squawking elderly ibis and
The glass-eye snapper hawking papers I can certainly
Live without also be cautious of the poisonous
Boomslang laughter social droppings of the fruit bat
And purple queen fish and whos that babbler conversing
With a magazine stand? evidently hes getting a good
Reply...
Arrive in neurotica
Through neon heat disease
I swear at the swarming heards
I sweat the foul terrain
I rove the moving scenery
I have no fin
No wing no stinger
No claw no camouflage
I have no more to say...
Say...isnt that an elephant fish on the corner over
There look at that blush baby mud puppy noolbenger
Rhinoderma marmoset spring peeper shingleback skink
Siren skate starling sun-gazer spoonbill and suckers,
They seem to be everywhere, well its a live revue
Random animal parts now playing nightly right here in neurotica...
So long...
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words of Consolation on a Wet Day in the Lake District
I dreamt I flew as ibis fly
o'er sand and palm and sunny Nile
when all at once, there caught my eye
a host of grinning crocodile
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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