Oink Oink
1
oink oink the pig goes forth
he desides to raise a toast
with his little shoe lace tale he swats away some flies
which hower above his pig stye
2
oink oink the pig goes forth
he is gready for his meal
oinking away as if it was'nt such a big deal
he float all over his own fices to keep him cool
looking like the king of fools
3
oink oink the pig goes forth
his stout is round and his nostrils flare
he run's arond the farm as if he was the only one their
teh insects stck to his pink fur
maknign his vision a bit blurr
4
oink oink the pig goes forth
running around in circles in search of food
oh theirs so much litter for him to feed
his eyes pop out with joy, and say what a feast
5
oink oink the pig goes forth
his hoves make foot prints on the wet soil
as he floats over the mud
and comes crashing down with a thud
6
oink oink the pig goes forth
he stinks of litter and of a ditch
life for him is such a bitch
soon he will be cut up and packed into a sausage
eaten in resturants before the caramel pudding
7
oink oink the pig goes forth
he has flees stuck on to his skin
as he cries out and makes a din
stories are written on his wisdom too
animal farm and many more
8
oink oink the pig goes forth
he is an animal always rebuked
he will float on his own puke
severd as a sausage and a salami
you can have him as a roast
he makes a great meal for any host
10
oink oink the pig goes forth
he featues in hollywood films too
a the talking pig in a film called babe
a sheep herder the taking pig
he will with his hoves big craters dig
oink oink the pig goes forth..........................................
poem by Anuj Tikku
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Old Macdonald
(words & music by randy starr)
Old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some chicks, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
Well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some cows, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
Ohh, well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some pigs, ee-i-ee-i-o
With an oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
Pigs everywhere in sight
And when those pigs got out of line
Pork and beans at night
With an oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
Pigs everywhere in sight
And when those pigs got out of line
Pork and beans at night
Well Im goona have a farm one day, ee-i-e-i-o
And Ill do things mcdonalds way, ee-i-e-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
A moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
An oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
And I can promise you
If those animals ever get out of line
Well have a mulligan stew
How about you?
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ruby Baby (Party LP Outtake)
No, Rock and Roll, this is how you do rock n' roll
Rockin' Ruby
Here's how you sing it
Well now I gotta girl now and Ruby is her name
Let's see I need some beat boys
Well this girl don't love me, but I love her just the same
Pick it up boys
Woah oh oh Ruby Ruby
How I want you
Like a ghost I'm a gonna haunt you
Ruby Ruby, Ruby will you be mine
Ruby Ruby Ruby Baby
Well now each time I see you, baby my heart cries
Ruby Ruby Ruby Baby
Ah it does Ruby
Well now I'm gonna steal you away from all those guys
Ruby Ruby Ruby Baby
Whoa oh oh oh oh oh
From the happy day I met you
I made a bet that I was gonna get you
Umm?
Ruby will you be mine
Let's oink awhile
oink oink
oink oink
bow
oink oink bow
Whoa oh oh oh oh
bow
oink oink
woof woof
Well I gotta girl I said Ruby is her name
What's her name?
Ruby
Carol
When this girl looks at me she just sets my soul aflame
Ruby Ruby Ruby Baby
Whoa oh oh oh oh
Forgot it
What are you gonna do now?
Aba zaba aba zaba zaba doo
Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby Ruby Baby
You always forget the words, every time
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fireball Xl5
Ive saved a little bit of money from christmas gone,
What with my birthday nearly due,
Im dressing up as guy in the shopping arcade,
Have you a penny for a boy named blue ?
Ive seen it advertised on tv shows,
Flashed up on the evening news,
My local m.p. said I should grin and bear it,
But Id rather go and blow her fuse,
Right on, right off!
Right off, right on.
Right on, right off!
Right off, right on.
Let me tell you a little tale of naughtys,
On the estate I used to loathe,
I aimed 30 rockets at a shilling each,
You should have seen their front doors go,
Right on, right off!
Right off, right on.
Right on, right off!
Right off, right on.
Let it talk cb
Fireball xl sitting in the window,
Just waiting for a match to come,
Youre looking so so sad in your pretty coloured frock,
Dont let that make up on your eye balls run.
I got my little lot of money from a cherished friend,
His name was piggy but he wasnt to know,
He hit my god-damn hammer like a wall of bricks,
You should have seen his pig tail go,
Right on, right off!
Right off, right on.
Right on, right off!
Right off, right on.
Fireball xl propped up at my window,
Wondering what on earth its to do!
Now that its gone from the window of the shopping arcade,
Everybodys looking for a boy named blue.
Blue who
Blue who
Blue who
Blue who
Quack, quack, quack, quack.
Oink, oink, oink, oink.
Woof, woof, woof, woof.
Bridit, bridit, bridit, bridit.
Albert, albert.
Dont call us well call you.
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Are Desperate Times For You, Aren't They?
If,
I were fed pigeon...
Would I then have pigeon vision?
If I were a duck,
After being plucked...
Would I then run out of luck?
And if I had an oink,
But a sheep I thought myself to be.
Would I want my pork chops fried...
Knowing a pig was meant to be my destiny.
And if I sneezed by a bee...
Will that bee that buzzed believe,
What I did was dumb...
To deserve a stinging,
Stung done that comes.
And if I had an oink,
But a sheep I thought myself to be...
Ooo ooo weeee.
Would that bee that did the stinging,
Wish it had hooves...
And,
Kicked me in the knee!
'These are desperate times for you,
Aren't they? '
Why do you say that?
'Your stimulus package,
Seems to lack stimuli.
And...
I am concerned for your well being.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Toy Master
ah, sweet little children
and their loving parents
all rolling merrily
into the fair
from happy homes
near and far
come, see my toys
my colorful toys
and dolls made
in various countries
for all good little children
of our bright world
there are toy soldiers
and there are ballerinas;
there are ducks
and pigeons
and this little pig goes:
Oink! Oink! Oink!
and this donkey replies:
Hee-haw! Hee-haw!
see this train
with its green lights;
and you’ll all
love this dancing girl
who comes alive
with just three turns
of the silver key
and with a flick of the switch
this joyous fat grandpa
laughs and raises his hands in glee;
and you can -
dearest children
and most generous parents -
make me joyous too
if you just buy a toy
and dropp the coins
in my toy bank
just before you
ah, sweet little children
and their loving parents
all rolling merrily
into the fair
from happy homes
near and far
come, see my toys
my colorful toys
and dolls made
in various countries
for all good little children
of our bright world
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Logout
oink!
toink!
the pig is gone
and the mocking bird
flies away
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz------------------>
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hog Which, Something, Is A Beginning - For Tom Gone Awandering, Somewhat Shakespherical
.
1
Haven't heard of, from you.
Are you OK or mighty fine?
Perhaps in love merely which
is why one escapes mortal time,
friends, especially such as I?
Or is it 'me'?
No matter the matter.
Wondering how, where.
And how fare you, farther flung.
Or me, the further sending these
unasked, unsought. Few to send
to who might care or at least be
bothered yet not required just
a basket to catch my froth enough
at this stage.
Sired upon rock and thus know
stones for suck, I am more that
one, not to inflate, in parable,
who sows seed upon rock.
Some roots may come but come
high wind or burning heat, well,
one gathers what can, what's
left, sees if something be woven
from strands perhaps become the
better farmer more patient the
more resigned by far for attempts
and fated reaping life's own rock.
But, not complaining.
Gonna, rather, go hog wild,
burst open, try make sense
of messes/mezzes,
pinky raised effetely to offend.
2
One can arrive at such a place
where one's no longer 'scaped
all this - those who consent -
who becomes arrives but willing
participant in inexorable awake
which as yet does not totality ken;
always the upended flames are
rushing, vortices assumed progress
an assumption only a wish but
sweetness, but tenderness for
some few beloved
things may steer,
may guide some,
stir us, even me,
oink oink,
forward, ahead.
One cannot be
sweet toward all
except in mind
alone.
Alone,
the hog loves
lowly,
loves slowly,
but it loves
thing by
thing which,
something,
is a beginning.
I am for something.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Homomatopoia
Hiss,
Grunt,
roar
Gibber
growl
screech
Humm
drone
buzz
chirp
whistle
tweet
boom
yelp
cry
Bell
bark
squawk
woof
howl
quack
croak
cackle
cluck
hum
scream
chatter
pipe
sing
roar
oink
coo
moo
groan
trill
whinny
pansy
fop
shush
Roark!
poem by Jerome Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Neck Romancey
I once fell for a girl
But I fell on her neck
it was such a lovely neck
So white and smooth
Why did she lie so still
She could have lied while running
when she died she clutched my neck
Like a hen setting her nest
I cried but loved her anyway
Right before she died she sang
'Oink three times to the Selig 4 you boink me
Twice on the pipes if you want me to blow'
Then she was gone...annihilated....killed like a bottle o cheap rum
poem by Boink Boink
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Onomatopoeic
Don't you just love Onomatopoeic words
ones like Crash, Bang, Wallop, and Zoom?
in Batman and Robin you saw them a lot
across the screen would shoot POW, ZAP, KABOOM!
In horror movies you'd hear a thunder Crack
and things that Creak, and go Bump in the night,
noises going Click, Clunk, and Clank,
your heart Thumps as your having a fright.
Snakes Hiss, birds Tweet, Cows Moo,
Cats Purr, Pigs Oink, and Ducks Quack,
Owls Hoot, while the Sheep just Baah,
but if a dog Growls beware it could attack.
Your cereal goes Snap, Crackle, and Pop,
in the frying pan the bacon does Sizzle,
but you've answered a Tap and Knock at the door
when you return your rashers are burnt to a Frizzle.
Yes it's a strange word is Onomatopoeic
but for poetry it doesn't really matter
because you can use words like Zing, Ping, Splat,
Plunk, Plop, Swoosh, Squelch, Splutter and Clatter!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Shall Always Wear Pink
Petronella the Pig, quickly tried on her wig.
‘What a picture, I look’, she exclaimed, and partook,
of a large glass of wine, which tasted quite divine.
Her friend, Loretta Lamb, who could always dress glam,
was offered a wee taste, but being in no haste,
to drink before lunch, said she’d later sip punch.
With bold make-up and smiles, the two pals in smart styles,
paraded through the day, up and down the walkway,
and caused lots of weird frowns in their rich satin gowns.
‘I shall always wear pink’ Pig said, giving a wink.
And Lamb’s lovely in white, well more cream, not white, quite.
And my hair must be blonde when I meet the beau monde.
With an Oink and a Baa, they both then travelled far.
Famous without a doubt, and the people would shout,
waving madly their hands, far from Pig's home farm lands.
They very soon became bored, for they’d toured and they’d toured.
Now home was enticing, fame’s worth sacrificing.
Bold decisions were made, they’ll forget the brocade.
Back now both are content, accolades were not meant
to be. A pig’s a pig, rosy, cuddly and big,
and a Lamb’s is just cute, in her warm woollen suit.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If He Were Alive Today, Mayhap, Mr. Morgan Would Sit on the Midget's Lap
"Beep-beep.
BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN
You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust"
Advertisement in N.Y. Times
When comes my second childhood,
As to all men it must,
I want to be a banker
Like the banker at Bankers Trust.
I wouldn't ask to be president
Or even assistant veep,
I'd only ask for a kiddie car
And permission to go beep-beep.
The banker at Chase Manhattan,
He bids a polite Good-day;
The banker at Immigrant Savings
Cries Scusi! and Olé!
But I'd be a sleek Ferrari
Or perhaps a joggly jeep,
And scooting around at Bankers Trust,
Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep.
The trolley car used to say clang-clang
And the choo-choo said toot-toot,
But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust
Is every bit as cute.
Miaow, says the cuddly kitten,
Baa, says the woolly sheep,
Oink, says the piggy-wiggy,
And the banker says beep-beep.
So I want to play at Bankers Trust
Like a hippety-hoppety bunny,
And best of all, oh best of all,
With really truly money.
Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night
Until my dream comes true,
And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop
And a big beep-beep adieu.
poem by Ogden Nash
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Like Girls
I bought a Porsche
And I'm leavin' Grand Rapids
Quit my job, quit my school,
Quit this place
My mother cried
My father was fried
Hey, I've got no time, man
I wanna say goodbye to my babes
I like girls
I dumped Sheila on Thursday
I'll drop Melissa today
I'll kiss some tears off of Donna
Ask if she'll call on Shauna
Amanda, and Sandra and Kay
I like girls, I love 'em to death
Hey Valentino! You goin' somewhere?
You wouldn't sneak out on me, would you?
What's that a blond hair?
He must visualize himself an Errol Flynn
I see myself a suave sophisticated lover
I'll meet a rich hot old Hollywood dame
You see, my ultimate goal
Will be my life bein' told
In a penthouse letter that I can frame
And keep at home.
I like girls, I love 'em, oh yeah
New luggage? Did you say you were going
Somewhere? Oh, just out for some fresh air.
Does she have a nice pair?
He was swallowed alive by the freeway
Turned into an ant on parade
He bravely drove off that beast
Aimed his car back to the east
Why be a snack at home?
I'm a feast, for the girls
I like girls, I really like 'em
Well, well, well. Look who's back. Run out of gas?
Patty, I was just gonna call you. Look...
I left Donna and Shauna
And Katy and Carrie
Melissa and Dena
I just didn't have any use for 'em
I just want you
Really, no really, honest!
Oink off
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Generation Landslide '81 (live)
Please clean your plate dear the Lord above can see ya
Don't you know people are starving in Korea
Alcohol and razor blades and poison and needles,
Kindergarten people, they used 'em they need 'em
The over indulgent machines were their children
And there wasn't a way down on earth here to cool 'em
Cos they look just like humans at Kresge's and Woolworths
But decadent brains were at work to destroy
Brats in batallions were ruling the streets and
Generation landslide, close the gap between them
And I laughed to myself at the men and the ladies
Who never conceived those billion dollar babies
La da da da daa
Militant mothers hiding in the basement
Using pots and pans as their shields and their helmets
Molotov milk bottles heaved from pink highchairs
While mothers' lib burns birth certificate papers
And dad gets his allowance from his sonny the dealer
Who's pubic to the world but involved in high finance
Sister's out til 5, doing banker son's hours
But she owns a Mazarotti that's a gift from his father
Stop at full speed, at 100 miles per hour
The Colgate invisible shield finally got 'em
And I laughed to myself at the men and the ladies
Who never conceived those billion dollar babies
La da da da daa
No one gives an oink about prom night or football
Cos just getting home from school safe is a gamble and a blessing
Girlsies play with girlsies and boysies with boysies
Bored with one another, like old broken Christmas toysies
Kids are all hot and their parents so are noisy
And I laughed to myself at the men and the ladies
Who never conceived those billion dollar babies
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Caged
His dream was disturbed on this trembling ground
because he was chained and left alone to stare around
He screamed for help, freedom, but every word floated in vain
He tasted the pain of the never ending rain
He wanted to discover the beauty of the earth
He never thought of being chained after his birth
He cherished his moment when he was a little pup
But now, he could feel himself being caged up
He tried and tried to cross the front door
But he is chained, so it pains him more and more
He looked above and stared the sky
He wanted freedom, he yelled and cry
He wanted to smell the fragrance of rose
and beauty of sunlight
But he found no one to fight for his Living right
Each night he was left chained in the cold.
This way, all of his life was sold.
He still begged for freedom in his deep voice
But, he knew that being chained is his only choice
He had loads of secret feelings inside
but everything seemed buried just like his freedom pride
he deserves to have his cries heard.
shouldn't someone lend his hand and word?
He also has a beating heart and a faithful soul
But he was being slaved in his masters control
One day he fell ill with no intentions to stay
And his masters lied the world saying he ran away
but the truth was he was buried half alive
That's how he ended his painful life~
No one was there to share his grief
His life ended just like an autumn leaf
His life ended just like an autumn leaf
' His emotions was being played for a huge span of time
his pain and his suffering was being considered fine
Don't you think it is the worst of crime? ? '
the animals those moo, oink or woof,
Should never be caged beneath a roof.
poem by Nikhil Chandwani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Air
I
At the Poem Society a black-haired man stands up to say
“You make me sick with all your talk about restraint and mature talent!
Haven’t you ever looked out the window at a painting by Matisse,
Or did you always stay in hotels where there were too many spiders crawling on your visages?
Did you ever glance inside a bottle of sparkling pop,
Or see a citizen split in two by the lightning?
I am afraid you have never smiled at the hibernation
Of bear cubs except that you saw in it some deep relation
To human suffering and wishes, oh what a bunch of crackpots!”
The black-haired man sits down, and the others shoot arrows at him.
A blond man stands up and says,
“He is right! Why should we be organized to defend the kingdom
Of dullness? There are so many slimy people connected with poetry,
Too, and people who know nothing about it!
I am not recommending that poets like each other and organize to fight them,
But simply that lightning should strike them.”
Then the assembled mediocrities shot arrows at the blond-haired man.
The chairman stood up on the platform, oh he was physically ugly!
He was small-limbed and –boned and thought he was quite seductive,
But he was bald with certain hideous black hairs,
And his voice had the sound of water leaving a vaseline bathtub,
And he said, “The subject for this evening’s discussion is poetry
On the subject of love between swans.” And everyone threw candy hearts
At the disgusting man, and they stuck to his bib and tucker,
And he danced up and down on the platform in terrific glee
And recited the poetry of his little friends—but the blond man stuck his head
Out of a cloud and recited poems about the east and thunder,
And the black-haired man moved through the stratosphere chanting
Poems of the relationships between terrific prehistoric charcoal whales,
And the slimy man with candy hearts sticking all over him
Wilted away like a cigarette paper on which the bumblebees have urinated,
And all the professors left the room to go back to their duty,
And all that were left in the room were five or six poets
And together they sang the new poem of the twentieth century
Which, though influenced by Mallarmé, Shelley, Byron, and Whitman,
Plus a million other poets, is still entirely original
And is so exciting that it cannot be here repeated.
You must go to the Poem Society and wait for it to happen.
Once you have heard this poem you will not love any other,
Once you have dreamed this dream you will be inconsolable,
Once you have loved this dream you will be as one dead,
Once you have visited the passages of this time’s great art!
2
“Oh to be seventeen years old
Once again,” sang the red-haired man, “and not know that poetry
Is ruled with the sceptre of the dumb, the deaf, and the creepy!”
And the shouting persons battered his immortal body with stones
And threw his primitive comedy into the sea
From which it sang forth poems irrevocably blue.
Who are the great poets of our time, and what are their names?
Yeats of the baleful influence, Auden of the baleful influence, Eliot of the baleful influence
(Is Eliot a great poet? no one knows), Hardy, Stevens, Williams (is Hardy of our time?),
Hopkins (is Hopkins of our time?), Rilke (is Rilke of our time?), Lorca (is Lorca of our time?), who is still of our time?
Mallarmé, Valéry, Apollinaire, Éluard, Reverdy, French poets are still of our time,
Pasternak and Mayakovsky, is Jouve of our time?
Where are young poets in America, they are trembling in publishing houses and universities,
Above all they are trembling in universities, they are bathing the library steps with their spit,
They are gargling out innocuous (to whom?) poems about maple trees and their children,
Sometimes they brave a subject like the Villa d’Este or a lighthouse in Rhode Island,
Oh what worms they are! they wish to perfect their form.
Yet could not these young men, put in another profession,
Succeed admirably, say at sailing a ship? I do not doubt it, Sir, and I wish we could try them.
(A plane flies over the ship holding a bomb but perhaps it will not drop the bomb,
The young poets from the universities are staring anxiously at the skies,
Oh they are remembering their days on the campus when they looked up to watch birds excrete,
They are remembering the days they spent making their elegant poems.)
Is there no voice to cry out from the wind and say what it is like to be the wind,
To be roughed up by the trees and to bring music from the scattered houses
And the stones, and to be in such intimate relationship with the sea
That you cannot understand it? Is there no one who feels like a pair of pants?
3
Summer in the trees! “It is time to strangle several bad poets.”
The yellow hobbyhorse rocks to and fro, and from the chimney
Drops the Strangler! The white and pink roses are slightly agitated by the struggle,
But afterwards beside the dead “poet” they cuddle up comfortingly against their vase. They are safer now, no one will compare them to the sea.
Here on the railroad train, one more time, is the Strangler.
He is going to get that one there, who is on his way to a poetry reading.
Agh! Biff! A body falls to the moving floor.
In the football stadium I also see him,
He leaps through the frosty air at the maker of comparisons
Between football and life and silently, silently strangles him!
Here is the Strangler dressed in a cowboy suit
Leaping from his horse to annihilate the students of myth!
The Strangler’s ear is alert for the names of Orpheus,
Cuchulain, Gawain, and Odysseus,
And for poems addressed to Jane Austen, F. Scott Fitzgerald,
To Ezra Pound, and to personages no longer living
Even in anyone’s thoughts—O Strangler the Strangler!
He lies on his back in the waves of the Pacific Ocean.
4
Supposing that one walks out into the air
On a fresh spring day and has the misfortune
To encounter an article on modern poetry
In New World Writing, or has the misfortune
To see some examples of some of the poetry
Written by the men with their eyes on the myth
And the Missus and the midterms, in the Hudson Review,
Or, if one is abroad, in Botteghe Oscure,
Or indeed in Encounter, what is one to do
With the rest of one’s day that lies blasted to ruins
All bluely about one, what is one to do?
O surely one cannot complain to the President,
Nor even to the deans of Columbia College,
Nor to T. S. Eliot, nor to Ezra Pound,
And supposing one writes to the Princess Caetani,
“Your poets are awful!” what good would it do?
And supposing one goes to the Hudson Review
With a package of matches and sets fire to the building?
One ends up in prison with trial subscriptions
To the Partisan, Sewanee, and Kenyon Review!
5
Sun out! perhaps there is a reason for the lack of poetry
In these ill-contented souls, perhaps they need air!
Blue air, fresh air, come in, I welcome you, you are an art student,
Take off your cap and gown and sit down on the chair.
Together we shall paint the poets—but no, air! perhaps you should go to them, quickly,
Give them a little inspiration, they need it, perhaps they are out of breath,
Give them a little inhuman company before they freeze the English language to death!
(And rust their typewriters a little, be sea air! be noxious! kill them, if you must, but stop their poetry!
I remember I saw you dancing on the surf on the Côte d’Azur,
And I stopped, taking my hat off, but you did not remember me,
Then afterwards you came to my room bearing a handful of orange flowers
And we were together all through the summer night!)
That we might go away together, it is so beautiful on the sea, there are a few white clouds in the sky!
But no, air! you must go . . . Ah, stay!
But she has departed and . . . Ugh! what poisonous fumes and clouds! what a suffocating atmosphere!
Cough! whose are these hideous faces I see, what is this rigor
Infecting the mind? where are the green Azores,
Fond memories of childhood, and the pleasant orange trolleys,
A girl’s face, red-white, and her breasts and calves, blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, fahrenheit
Temperatures, dandelions, and trains, O blue?!
Wind, wind, what is happening? Wind! I can’t see any bird but the gull, and I feel it should symbolize . . .
Oh, pardon me, there’s a swan, one two three swans, a great white swan, hahaha how pretty they are! Smack!
Oh! stop! help! yes, I see—disrespect for my superiors—forgive me, dear Zeus, nice Zeus, parabolic bird, O feathered excellence! white!
There is Achilles too, and there’s Ulysses, I’ve always wanted to see them,
And there is Helen of Troy, I suppose she is Zeus too, she’s so terribly pretty—hello, Zeus, my you are beautiful, Bang!
One more mistake and I get thrown out of the Modern Poetry Association, help! Why aren’t there any adjectives around?
Oh there are, there’s practically nothing else—look, here’s grey, utter, agonized, total, phenomenal, gracile, invidious, sundered, and fused,
Elegant, absolute, pyramidal, and . . . Scream! but what can I describe with these words? States!
States symbolized and divided by two, complex states, magic states, states of consciousness governed by an aroused sincerity, cockadoodle doo!
Another bird! is it morning? Help! where am I? am I in the barnyard? oink oink, scratch, moo! Splash!
My first lesson. “Look around you. What do you think and feel?” Uhhh . . . “Quickly!” This Connecticut landscape would have pleased Vermeer. Wham! A-Plus. “Congratulations!” I am promoted.
OOOhhhhh I wish I were dead, what a headache! My second lesson: “Rewrite your first lesson line six hundred times. Try to make it into a magnetic field.” I can do it too. But my poor line! What a nightmare! Here comes a tremendous horse,
Trojan, I presume. No, it’s my third lesson. “Look, look! Watch him, see what he’s doing? That’s what we want you to do. Of course it won’t be the same as his at first, but . . .” I demur. Is there no other way to fertilize minds?
Bang! I give in . . . Already I see my name in two or three anthologies, a serving girl comes into the barn bringing me the anthologies,
She is very pretty and I smile at her a little sadly, perhaps it is my last smile! Perhaps she will hit me! But no, she smiles in return, and she takes my hand.
My hand, my hand! what is this strange thing I feel in my hand, on my arm, on my chest, my face—can it be . . . ? it is! AIR!
Air, air, you’ve come back! Did you have any success? “What do you think?” I don’t know, air. You are so strong, air.
And she breaks my chains of straw, and we walk down the road, behind us the hideous fumes!
Soon we reach the seaside, she is a young art student who places her head on my shoulder,
I kiss her warm red lips, and here is the Strangler, reading the Kenyon Review! Good luck to you, Strangler!
Goodbye, Helen! goodbye, fumes! goodbye, abstracted dried-up boys! goodbye, dead trees! goodbye, skunks!
Goodbye, manure! goodbye, critical manicure! goodbye, you big fat men standing on the east coast as well as the west giving poems the test! farewell, Valéry’s stern dictum!
Until tomorrow, then, scum floating on the surface of poetry! goodbye for a moment, refuse that happens to land in poetry’s boundaries! adieu, stale eggs teaching imbeciles poetry to bolster up your egos! adios, boring anomalies of these same stale eggs!
Ah, but the scum is deep! Come, let me help you! and soon we pass into the clear blue water. Oh GOODBYE, castrati of poetry! farewell, stale pale skunky pentameters (the only honest English meter, gloop gloop!) until tomorrow, horrors! oh, farewell!
Hello, sea! good morning, sea! hello, clarity and excitement, you great expanse of green—
O green, beneath which all of them shall drown!
“Fresh Air” from The Collected Poems of Kenneth Koch, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 2006 by Kenneth Koch.
poem by Kenneth Koch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Animal Farm
This world is big and wild and half insane
Take me where real animals are playing
Just a dirty old shack
Where the hound dogs bark
That we called our home
I want to be back there
Among the cats and dogs
And the pigs and the goats
On animal farm
My animal home
On animal farm
My animal home
While I lay my head upon my pillow
Little girl, come play beneath my window
Though shes far from home
She is free from harm
And she need not fear
She is by my side
And the sky is wide
So let the sun shine bright
On animal farm
My animal home
On animal farm
My animal home
Girl, its a hard, hard world, if it gets you down
Dreams often fade and die in a bad, bad world
Ill take you where real animals are playing
And people are real people not just playing
Its a quiet, quiet life
By a dirty old shack
That we called our home
I want to be back there
Among the cats and dogs
And the pigs and the goats
On animal farm
My animal home
On animal farm
My animal home
On animal farm
Animal farm
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Horse with No Name
He was a horse with no name
But he sure did have style
Strong and handsome he was
I visited him once in awhile
I was captivated with him
His eyes were bright and clear
Intelligence was obvious
Packed his head from ear to ear
No other animal is like the horse
They are so magnificent to me
Whether in a fence ‘round a farm
Or on the range and running free
Stories are written about them
Many quotes from famous men
They are truly part of nature
Will always have a ‘wild’ blend!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hurried judgment, curried thought
‘Animal sacrifice in Kali temples
and in Durga shrines is a disgrace! –
this is pagan savagery and
a shame to our pure souls!
*
(Please excuse the yellow smear
of chicken tikka on this screen;
chicken from a factory farm
that led a miserable life..
these lines were written in
righteous anger, and just after
a delicious Hindu meal.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Animal Kingdom
I've got this great kid who just loves all animals,
Cats, rabbits, dogs and ducks;
She wants to bring everything home
And it's getting rather tough -
If I'd let her
And she had her way,
She'd take in every wild critter
And each lost stray -
I'm running out of
Room and money,
Trying to house and feed
Ducks and bunnies -
I love my child dearly
And don't mean to complain,
But something's got to give
Before the whole farm goes down the drain!
I can't tell anymore
Who is running the place,
Us humans
Or those darn animals, for Pete's sake!
Plus my daughter's getting older now
And busier all the time,
So, it's dear old dad
Who's generally left with those critters to mind -
Looks like I'll just have to put my foot down
And let them all know,
In this little animal-kingdom
It is me who's King of the whole show!
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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