Fast Food
Two vultures sit on a branch up a tree
I've stopped, and armed with my camera, I approach stealthily
I begin to smell a pong
I squinted around and located the source before long
A dead alligator, hit by a car, it had crawled to the side
They're waiting for decomposition to get through the tough hide
They wait it out, They may have young to feed
But others are smarter and also have a brood
So they wing their way to the dump..for some fast food.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Whatever Happened To Pong?
My brother and me used to play it
Down at the bar
Taking money from guys
More used to the playing of cards
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now virtually everyones singing
A popular song
But I still believe in
In the excellent joy of the pong
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
To the paddle the paddle the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now if they take it h.g. wells
Well, Ill be on the first flight
To a time before the kong
Whatever happended to pong?
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Wish to Fill a Vacancy
How did I stop what?
Aging?
As Long as I live and breathe...
Doing 'that' by anyone today,
You can say is an impossibility.
However...
I have stopped seeking aggravation.
And sharing with others,
Headaches they could not wait
To dump updated complaints to relate.
I've stopped sitting to get return calls...
I placed to those,
Who had forgotten I had called at all.
I have made myself number one on my priority list.
And no longer dismiss my own happiness.
That is probably what you now see in me!
An attitude I don't hestitate to give and leave...
In a belief I should please others I care about,
Who have shown me they could care less...
If I am down and out.
Or mugged or mauled,
As I lay half dead on one knee as I crawled.
There is nothing like being shown,
Who has what or who on their minds and when!
That removes wrinkles and stops a frown,
From taking up residency on my face and skin!
And that is probably what you see.
An absence of that.
With no wish to fill a vacancy!
'I 'hope' God reminds me to just say 'hello'
The next time I bump into you.
Have a great day!
And 'who' should 'we' thank...
That you have no 'ego' in the way? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Sun peeps through the tattered sky I saw dew on the grass!
Our daughter in Australia sent us a digital camera.
Thank you very much!
I ran to the faraway burial grounds in my dreams
To take a photograph of my poor Mom & Dad!
Then the Cemetery Keeper who's smell of Liquor
Stopped me and said; ' Leave them alone as they're fast asleep.'
Still it's a dilemma the skinny drunkard whether he's dead or alive?
*I dedicate this poem to my shadowy friend Paddy Martin who's fast asleep!
Please have a rest as the War still goes on here and there?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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
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Waiting Room
I sign in my name
I guess I have to wait a while
I'm gonna play this game
Call me up if you know how to dial
You always had my number
You need to be my lover
Humiliation
I'm in the waiting room
[Chorus:]
If we both want the love
And I wait long enough
Then the ground that we're on might be coming
All I can do is wait for you
All I can do is wait for you
I'm all alone in the waiting room
I'm all alone in the waiting room
When you buried in solitude
It can get real thick
Desire is your only food
It can get you sick
You know you're so fine
I'm over here standing in this line
Just waiting in the waiting room
[Repeat Chorus]
While I'm in the waiting room
A thousand thoughts I think of you
Whatever you did
song performed by by No Doubt from Rock Steady
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Longing for you
How much longer must I wait, sitting on my rocking chair, on my porch, waiting all day long, the days pass by like clouds rushing through the sky, and a shadow saunters by my side. My mind is going crazy! I'm thinking; and must I still wait? I even smell his fresh cologne of Irish spring, his natural smell of Ivory soap, when he's just coming out of the shower! how many more nights? sometimes I can feel his breath so near, his skin so close, I can almost feel it's real. In my sleep I call out his name, Oh darling how much longer? You linger and I wait, your return is uncertain, my body weary from longing for your return, Today I still wait, please don't hesitate, I can't dream anymore.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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If your friend is already dead, and being eaten by vultures, I think it's okay to feed some bits of your friend to one of the vultures, to teach him to do some tricks. But ONLY if you're serious about adopting the vulture.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Hung Me
It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.
My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.
You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.
I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.
Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.
poem by CJA Anderson
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They Too Dangle
If you suck the sap from the tree,
To feed your own interests...
Without seeking ways to replenish,
OR preserve what's left...
You sap the life from the tree.
And guess what?
Have you ever observed yourself,
Dangling from a branch?
Connected to it as the leaf you are,
Leeching.
Well...
That branch from which you leech,
Is connected to that tree...
From which you attempt to leave sapless.
And surrounding your unconscious doing,
Are others who are not as thoughtless.
But like you...
They too dangle,
Precariously with similar sefishness.
Until they dropp from that same tree...
Lifeless.
But you,
And those like you...
Wish to speed up that process!
With your frenzied greed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wait
(berry/buck/mills/stipe)
You got your problems darling
I got mine too
You know that
Maybe its time for you to come through
Because Im fed up with waiting for you
Wont you decide real fast
What are you gonna do?
Ive almost given up hope
Then what else is new?
You know that
Im at the end of my rope trying to hang on to you
Because my patience is wearing thin just waiting for you
Wont you decide real fast
What are you gonna do
You better wait (wait!)
Dont go away now darling, wait (wait!)
Why dont you stay?
You better wait (wait!)
Dont go away now, wait (wait!)
Why dont you stay?
(chorus)
I know that youre confused
Its no crime
You better hurry sugar
Cuz were running out of time
Because my patience is wearing thin just waiting for you
Wont you decide real fast
What are you gonna do?
(repeat chorus)
I dont wanna walk on the same stage with you
Then the bells begin to blow in my head
If things dont turn out right
Its gonna be all right
(repeat chorus 4x)
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mantree
Man & Tree.
There was a spruce tree in the forest, he had
watched it grow from spindly sampling to
a handsome young tree, and thought of it as
the son he never had.
But shortly before Christmas it disappeared
he went to the market in town where they sold
hundreds of trees for those who want the real
thing, but couldn’t find it there.
After the festivities he found his tree on a dump,
green needles gone, now it was brown, he took
the dead plant home and used as kindling to lit
the fire on cold, soggy days.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Medium
Medium, medium.
Waking up I smell the scent of coffee on the brew,
And I think about the amount of the sweet,
Id like to have in my cup today.
One for the two lump, three lump, four.
No half of one, no less no more.
Just give me a chance, let me make it mine.
Id like a medium blend of that piece of pie.
Not too bitter, not too sweet... medium.
Just enough to ? ? ? ... medium.
Not too bitter, not too sweet... medium.
Just enough to ? ? ? ... medium.
Dinner time just rolls around,
And I think I crave a steak but,
Im not too partial to the meat,
When its cooked too long and Im made to wait.
Not too much of the parsony,
And just enough of the spice.
I think Id enjoy a medium-rare dish with a side of fries.
Not too tender, not too tough... medium.
Not too little, just enough... medium.
Not too tender, not too tough... medium.
Not too little, just enough... medium.
Medium. medium. medium. medium. just a medium. medium.
? ? ? and I smell the pits but ? ? ? ? ? .
I couldve sworn a ? ? ? last week and scrubbed like ? ? ? .
I like to stink just a little bit,
Just to keep you on your toes yes.
The more I stink the more I think,
That you smell like a rose.
Not too pleasant, not too bad... medium.
Just enough to hold my ? ? ? ... medium.
Not too pleasant, not too bad... medium.
Just enough to hold my ? ? ? ... medium.
Medium. medium. medium. medium. medium. medium.
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Rhythm
A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.
It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.
We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.
Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.
poem by Francis Santaquilani
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Y.. Tree of Life
The tree of life
It has a branch
A money making branch
The bigger the money making branch
The more comfortable our life
But if the money making branch
Is the only branch
On our tree of life
It is such an ugly and unstable tree.
A prayer and devotion branch
Will stabilize the tree of life
Let it be a real big branch
On your tree of life
But if only two branches on a tree
Imagine how ugly it would still be!
So let there be branches
Of Affability and Charity
Of Cheerfulness and Friendliness
Of Gentleness and Honesty
Of Humility and Compassion
Of Spirituality and Wisdom
Of Courage and Hard work
With these branches present,
It will carry soon the lush greenery
Of love and job satisfaction
And soon enough, the tree of life
Will bear the fruits
Of peace of mind and happiness.
A wonderful tree of life I wish you
with many fine branches
and lots of greenery and fruits.
poem by Aufie Zophy
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As I Write This Poem
as i write this, she is with someone else,
a friend, i do not really know. I do not dare ask.
i do not like any answer. for what i have are just questions.
as i write this, the people around me are talking within themselves.
half-naked. copying their books. talking loudly among themselves.
friends, yes they are friends, and they say they belong to one another.
someone stands to take a look at me.
as though i am a tree. another one stares at me. as though i am a bird.
i hear a phone ringing.
it is not stopping. she says she is waiting outside the door.
i am not a tree. i am not a little bird.
with her waiting for me, they looked at me,
confused.
i do not dare tell them, i am a man
and this is not about love. this is about
my soul
she is my soulmate waiting. and she says
she can wait that long. whatever. wherever. whenever.
then they start doing their own affairs.
one reads back his book. the other goes back to his seat.
and then they stopped talking.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Home
A home above the year's seasons
home of children animals and apples
a square of empty space
under an absent star
home was the telescope of childhood
the skin of emotion
a sister's cheek
branch of a tree
the cheek was extinguished by flame
the branch crossed out by a shell
over the powdery ash of the nest
a song of homeless infantry
home is the die of emotion
home is the cube of childhood
the wing of a burned sister
leaf of a dead tree
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded
Has sorrow thy young days shaded,
As clouds o'er the morning fleet?
Too fast have those young days faded
That, even in sorrow, were sweet?
Does Time with his cold wing wither
Each feeling that once was dear? --
Then, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.
Has love to that soul, so tender,
Been like our Lagenian mine,
Where sparkles of golden splendour
All over the surface shine --
But, if in pursuit we go deeper,
Allured by the gleam that shone,
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper,
Like Love, the bright ore is gone.
Has Hope, like the bird in the story,
That flitted from tree to tree
With the talisman's glittering glory --
Has Hope been that bird to thee?
On branch after branch alighting,
The gem did she still display,
And, when nearest, and most inviting,
Then waft the fair gem away?
If thus the young hours have fleeted,
When sorrow itself look'd bright;
If thus the fair hope hath cheated,
That led thee along so light;
If thus the cold world now wither
Each feeling that once was dear --
Come, child of misfortune, come hither,
I'll weep with thee, tear for tear.
poem by Thomas Moore
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The Weight
I pulled into Nazareth, was feeling 'bout half past DEAD
I just need some place where I can lay my head
Hey, mister, can you tell me, where a man might find a bed
He just grinned and shook my hand, "No" was all he said.
Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny, and you put the load right on me
I picked up my bags, I went looking for a place to hide
Then I saw old Carmen and the devil walking side by side
I said, "Hey Carmen, c'mon, let's go downtown"
She said, "I gotta go, but my friend can stick around"
Chorus
Go down, Miss moses, ain't nothin you can say
It's just old Luke, and Luke's waiting on judgement day
Well, Luke, my friend, what about young Annalee
He said, "Do me a favor, so, won't you stay and keep Annalee comapany"
Chorus
Crazy Chester followed me, and he caught me in the fog
said, "I will fix your rag, if you'll take Jack, my dog"
I said, "Wait a minute Chester-you know, I'm a peaceful man"
He said, "That's ok, boy, won't you feed him when you can"
Chorus
Get you cannonball, now to take me down the line
My bag is sinking low, and I do believe it's time
To get back to miss Fanny, you know she's the only one
Who sent me here, with her regards for everyone
Chorus
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sketches For A Fine Day
actually i like the sound of
brooms sweeping the street today
a young girl
short for her age
and brown and
bow legged
does her assigned task in the street
gathering dead leaves
as i watch
it is a bright day
the street light is turned off
a young boy's hand is held by her mother
crossing the street
waiting for the school bus
a white dog pisses
on the side of the trunk of the
mahogany tree
a black car from the right side of the village
wheels its way towards the boulevard
a young woman with short blue jeans
jogs along the green valley
the sea is sky
blue and the sun slowly rises from the horizon
like a man's face peeping upon a table's edge
the long line of trees along the faded street
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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