Distrust Appearances
He came into the bird-shop where I stood
A hulking giant, monumental, grim,
A paragon of muscular manhood.
'What is sold here,' I thought, 'that could serve him?'
His heavy brow, his grat, prognathic jaw
Spoke brooding truculence; he wore no vest;
And, where his shirt flared one side, I saw
The matted hair upon his mighty chest.
I thought of Gog, Carnera, Hercules,
As he stood by me, breating like a gale.
'What can he want,' I wondered, ''mid all these.
Pet dogs, birds, goldfish offered here for sale?
Bulldogs at least.' The parrots watched him, tense;
The yelping pups grew still to see him pass;
All sensed his presence, dominant, immense.
Even the goldfish goggled thro' their glass.
He scared me. Hastily I made my choice
And paid my cash. Yet loitered by the door,
Longing to hear the thinder of that voice
Rumble and break into a sudden roar;
Longing to know, amongst these playful folk
Pups, parrots, love-birds - what could be his need.
Sharks? Panthers? ... Then his piping treble spoke:
'Please, miss, three pennorth of canary seed.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Parrots make great pets. They have more personality than goldfish.
quote by Chevy Chase
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knock, Knock
Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And twice He knocked then stayed.
It was my choice, I could ignore
And that's why I delayed.
He walked away.
I watched Him leave
Then got on with my life,
To sin like others who deceive
And cause all sorts of strife
Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And I watched Him inside.
I knew He knew my every flaw,
Not one could be denied.
I stood my ground, He left again.
I let Him walk away.
I struggled every now and then
With fears of Judgment Day.
My bank account looked mighty fine
As fifteen years passed by.
To think that all that cash was mine.
How come my soul felt dry?
Lord Jesus stood there at my door,
With fear I turned the key.
And simply stared at Christ with awe.
You see, He died for me.
Lord Jesus entered as my friend,
Yet also set me straight.
My useless life came to an end,
God's love to celebrate.
I sighed I'd made Him wait so long.
Those years I can't restore.
I tell you this, you can't go wrong
If you open the door.
poem by Denis Martindale
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New Opportunities
I answered an advert for new opportunities
and received an admittance to this venue,
but I was lost in this room of strangers
and wondered what I was expected to do.
A young man came over and said mingle,
opportunities were plentiful and new,
put yourself about and meet the people
who were waiting to meet and help you.
I spoke to several extraordinary young people,
but they spoke as if they were old.
I was asked my opinions on life transference,
and whether I thought it would effect the soul.
I was offered a well paid job as a collector
and I would be trained on what to do.
Apparently it was nothing to do with selling,
but a client list should be established from new.
I was led into a room and made comfortable,
and told to sit, wait, and relax.
An attractive woman entered by another door,
extremely sexy and dressed in black.
She told me to stand tall like a mountain
while she examined the cut of my jib.
She felt the firmness in my arms, chest and butt,
and asked me if I’d really like to live.
She took time to straighten my shirt collar
then sniffed and bit my neck.
I’m now a full fledged member of her team,
who will forever be in her dept.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Nobody Spoke (for Karen)
Nobody spoke to Lucy,
nobody spoke at all,
ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
nobody spoke
for five long years
ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
Lucy withdrew
without a clue
why nobody spoke,
nobody spoke
for five long years,
nobody spoke
Ain't no joke
nobody spoke!
Lucy went mad
she went crazy!
She screamed
she cried, she sobbed,
but nobody spoke,
for five long years
Ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
Many years later
she saw them,
those people she wanted
to be her friends.
but ain't no joke
nobody spoke,
nobody spoke
for five long years.
Ain't no joke
nobody spoke.
Lucy left a note
in daddy's drawer,
put on her very best dress.
Did her hair in a very fine way
and walked into the hall as a guest.
She walked up to the folk
that never spoke,
said hello in an ordinary way,
then she pulled out a gun
and opened fire.
Yes she shot all those folk
on that day.
Now they were silent
now they were still,
cos ain't no joke
that nobody spoke
and now
they never will.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Dance of Birds
Drum of birds is on shore
Dance of parrots is on shore
Men are fishing in river
Drum of birds is on shore
Dance of parrots is on shore
Women are fetching water in river
Small birds perch on weeds to watch dance
Big birds perch on reeds to watch dance
Men and women stand to watch dance of birds
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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A Protest
LIGHT words they were, and lightly, falsely said;
She heard them, and she started,—and she rose,
As in the act to speak; the sudden thought
And unconsider’d impulse led her on.
In act to speak she rose, but with the sense
Of all the eyes of that mix’d company
Now suddenly turn’d upon her, some with age
Harden’d and dull’d, some cold and critical;
Some in whom vapors of their own conceit,
As moist malarious mists the heavenly stars,
Still blotted out their good, the best at best
By frivolous laugh and prate conventional
All too untun’d for all she thought to say,—
With such a thought the mantling blood to her cheek
Flush’d up, and o’er-flush’d itself, blank night her soul
Made dark, and in her all her purpose swoon’d.
She stood as if for sinking. Yet anon,
With recollections clear, august, sublime,
Of God’s great truth, and right immutable,
Which, as obedient vassals, to her mind
Came summon’d of her will, in self-negation
Quelling her troublous earthly consciousness,
She queen’d it o’er her weakness. At the spell
Back roll’d the ruddy tide, and leaves her cheek
Paler than erst, and yet not ebbs so far
But that one pulse of one indignant thought
Might hurry it hither in flood. So as she stood
She spoke. God in her spoke, and made her heard.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Dog
'Twas in a pub just off the Strand
When I was in my cups,
There passed a bloke with in his hand
Two tiny puling pups;
And one was on me with a bound,
Seeking to lick my face,
And so I bought him for a pound
And took him to my place.
Three acres by the shore I own,
A hut, a pint wood;
And there for fifteen years alone
He shared my solitude.
It was his own, his only world,
And when with hunting spent,
Each night beside my bed he curled,
And slept in sheer content.
My dog is dead. Though lone I be
I'll never have another;
For with his master-worship he
Was closer than a brother.
My foot is frail and I am old,
Yet how my heart can pity
Pups straining on a short leash-hold
And pent up in the city.
From all thought of self above,
And purged of sex emotion,
I know no form of living love
So deep as dogs devotion.
I have no hope at all of heaven,
I've lived in sin and strife;
But thank God! I at least have given
One dog a happy life.
poem by Robert William Service
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Paradox
He never touched her limbs;
But she ever touched his heart.
She is not a paragon of beauty;
Yet to him she is par excellence.
She never spoke to him love;
Yet her every word is love.
It is before him that she blushed;
It is before her that he flushed.
They spoke less and chatted less;
But ocean of tacit feelings crossed.
She is the cause for his hundred poems,
And is the source of his youthful rhythm.
That much none kindled her;
That much none stirred him either.
His gain of her is immense;
Vice versa she only knows.
He let her know like ‘water in glass’;
She is yet to let her cat out of the bag.
Their paths would lead nowhere;
Still he treads on only that way.
Why is this paradox,
From their orthodox?
No law is for stimulus.
Both ways it is perilous.
20.05.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Jane and You and the Hollow Tree.
Jane waited for you
by the narrow road
that led to Linch farm
the water tower visible
against the afternoon sky
of pale blue and white
cold clouds
she was dressed
in a grey coat
and her dark hair
was pinned back
with grips
you noticed
blueness
about her lips
the cold taking toll
wasn't sure
if you would show
she said
the coldness
and such
I said I would
and I say
what I mean
you replied
once you were close to her
she took her hands
out of the coat pockets
and linked her arm
through yours
where shall we go?
she asked
you know it better
around here than I do
you choose
you said
let's go up
the dust track
to the hollow tree
on the way up
to the Downs
she said
ok
you said
and so you walked along
and up the dust track
side by side
and she talked
of the wintery trees
and what birds
there were still about
and how she liked
spring best with the coming
of flowers and birds nesting
and you listened
looking at her
as she spoke
watching her lips move
how when she spoke
her white teeth showed
and now and then
her tongue would show
and it reminded you
of that kiss she gave you
up by Diddling church
as you stood looking
at the grave stones
and she gazed at you
and then kissed
and her tongue
touched yours
and it was like heaven
as if someone
had opened up
your heart
and stuck
their tongue in there
and as you thought
about that kiss
she talked of some girl
of a cowman
who'd got pregnant
and how did that happen?
she asked
and you said nothing
but listened on
and then you reached
the hollow tree
and climbed inside
and sat down
looking out
of the hole
in the side
and it felt cosy
in there
like a small home
and she leaned
in against you
and there was silence
and you looked at her
at her eyes
and hair
and how her lips
were parted
and her white teeth
showed and her tongue
waiting to speak
and you wondered
about that kiss again
and whether
it would happen this time
there in the hollow tree
out of sight
of others
and she showed you
tucked between
her small breasts
a small locket
which used to be
her mother's.
poem by Terry Collett
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She Glided Through The Doors
My young love said to me as she glided through the doors
'My mother would mine and my father showed a lack of care for your kind'
Then she stepped away from me and then she did say
'it will not be long love until the wedding day'
She stepped away from me and she glided through the doors
And finally i watched her with the need to massage away her sores
And she made her way forward and stopped to find her reflection floating on a nearby lake
As time ran away from her mind - i stood in front of the church and wondered was she purposely making me wait
Last night she came to me
She glided through my door
So lightly she came with the moonlit glow in her eyes
Then she laid her hand on me and then she did say
'love, we can't hold off our wedding day'
Still i wait for my swan at the head of the aille
As the silence grew tense i peeled away my smile
Then when it was past four- the rushing wind came speeding in
And finally where my bride stood - she glided towards me
poem by Tamisha Bellamy
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Quail's Nest
I wandered out one rainy day
And heard a bird with merry joys
Cry 'wet my foot' for half the way;
I stood and wondered at the noise,
When from my foot a bird did flee--
The rain flew bouncing from her breast
I wondered what the bird could be,
And almost trampled on her nest.
The nest was full of eggs and round--
I met a shepherd in the vales,
And stood to tell him what I found.
He knew and said it was a quail's,
For he himself the nest had found,
Among the wheat and on the green,
When going on his daily round,
With eggs as many as fifteen.
Among the stranger birds they feed,
Their summer flight is short and low;
There's very few know where they breed,
And scarcely any where they go.
poem by John Clare
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My Baby Bird
Is it true birds fly south for the winter
Wish i was a bird for just one day
I would fly to and perch on your window
My baby bird flew away
I love you my baby bird
But i had to set you free
I watched you glide with the wind high above the trees
Maybe i could be a boat and sail to your shore
I miss my baby bird
So next winter i will move south
I will look for you in the sky
You are no longer a baby bird as you have grown
Do you now have baby birds of your own
I long to see you again my baby bird my best friend
I wish i was a bird for just one day
I would sore sore so high
Wishing is all i can do for now
How is my baby bird
Do you miss me for i miss you
Bye my baby but not goodbye
0017 The Philosophical Goldfish
Doctors’ waiting rooms.
Dentists’ waiting rooms.
Goldfish etc.
What have goldfish done,
what fishy business have they been up to
in the murky underworld of the unpoliced,
to be incarcerated in public view
of the apprehensive, the fearful,
the distressed out of mind, those bearing
all the myriad aches and pains
that flesh is heir to?
Looking up from the Horse and Hound Gazette
which I noticed I was holding upside down
my eye was caught – or did he, or she, catch mine first? -
as if it heard my thoughts about its welfare
It swam towards me, pressed its mouth against the glass
in perfect O-shape as if singing,
or perhaps sounding some universal Om
(the final consonant difficult to catch for the dry-eared)
and it seemed to wish to communicate.
I sensed it was not a cry for help (and indeed,
what help could have offered, without
a plastic bag and in view of others who still
believed me sane? No, it seemed
peaceful but chatty; even helpfully inclined.
I got up, walked discreetly as if calmly passing time
and – almost tempted to kiss the glass, but instead
simply mouthing a friendly mwaa –
and though my lip-reading isn’t all it could be,
I believe I identified this message:
‘As above, so below;
as without, so within’
Sometimes one’s view of Creation
seems to have been hitherto
singularly unimaginative
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Very few of us have any idea whatsoever of what life is like living in a goldfish bowl, except, of course, for those of us who are goldfish.
quote by Graham Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jealousy
She wore braids in her hair
every single day.
Not because she wanted to.
It was her mother's way.
She braided them so tightly.
She thought her head would break.
Sometimes just the thought of them
would make her poor head ache.
'Why can't I have my hair
flowing down my back?
Her mother's frown would let her know
to try some other tact..
'Mother can we cut it
just above my shoulder? '
the answer that was given was
'Not until you're older.'
And so she wore her hair like this.
She never wore it down.
When at night she unbraided it
she looked just like a clown.
She knew she would cut it
the very next day
right in front of her mother
to see what she would say.
Her mother watched and sat down
and had a cup of tea.
Her mother simply said
'Now you're more beautiful than me.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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She Spoke 2 Me
Spoke 2 me
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me
Close 2 me
I never thought i'd get her close 2 me
Now the moon and the sun belong 2 me
All my wildest hopes, my crazy dreams
But they seem more like reality
Fantasy
This girl fulfills my every fantasy
She must be
Specially designed by heaven just 4 me (just 4 me)
My friends look at her, they see mystery
But i look at her and i see a masterpiece
Can it be, i mean really did she?
Spoke 2 me (spoke 2 me)
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me (speak 2 me, baby)
(speak 2 me, baby)
Spoke 2 me
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me
And if she hurts me
I'll take it all with open arms u see (u think i won't?)
Cuz like a track under a subway train
She could roll all over me and i'd still be the same
Cuz 2day is the day she spoke 2 me
I can't believe it, but she spoke 2 me
Close 2 me
I never thought i'd get her close 2 me
If i'm stuck in some groovy wet dream
Don't pinch me
I don't wanna wake up
I'm diggin' the scene (i'm diggin', diggin')
Yeah, baby
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Believe
I was holding on, now I'm letting go
This is nothing more than a picture show
Everything I knew now I hardly know
Busy keeping less never getting more
One more nickel dime I'm out the door
This kind of life I can't afford
I want to believe
There's something to believe
I would live only
Just to believe
Oh, I'd love to believe
It's not only me that's longing
Only just to believe
'Cause I want to believe
I want to believe
Can't put my mind at ease with the words I say
Trying to get myself to get out of my way
Birds in the trees just make me depressed
Seeing sunny skies, feeling emptiness
Layers of lies just seem to fold
This kind of life is all I know
I want to believe
There's something to believe
I would live only
Just to believe
Oh, I'd love to believe
It's not only me that's longing
Only just to believe
'Cause I want to believe
I want to believe
Murder wears a friendly smile
Like the perfect end in a plastic vial
No pain
Sorry I can't seem to stay
But this bird was meant to fly away
Fly away, fly away
Layers of lies just seem to fold
This kind of life is all I know
I want to believe
There's something to believe
I would live only
Just to believe
Oh, I'd love to believe
It's not only me that's longing
Only just to believe
'Cause I want to believe
I want to believe
I will believe
I'd love to believe
I can believe in something
I will believe
I'd love to believe
I can't believe in nothing
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Telephoning In Mexican Sunlight
Talking with my beloved in New York
I stood at the outdoor public telephone
in Mexican sunlight, in my purple shirt.
Someone had called it a man/woman
shirt. The phrase irked me. But then
I remembered that Rainer Maria
Rilke, who until he was seven wore
dresses and had long yellow hair,
wrote that the girl he almost was
"made her bed in his ear" and "slept him the world."
I thought, OK this shirt will clothe the other in me.
As we fell into long-distance love talk
a squeaky chittering started up all around,
and every few seconds came a sudden loud
buzzing. I half expected to find
the insulation on the telephone line
laid open under the pressure of our talk
leaking low-frequency noises.
But a few yards away a dozen hummingbirds,
gorgets going drab or blazing
according as the sun struck them,
stood on their tail rudders in a circle
around my head, transfixed
by the flower-likeness of the shirt.
And perhaps also by a flush rising into my face,
for a word -- one with a thick sound,
as if a porous vowel had sat soaking up
saliva while waiting to get spoken,
possibly the name of some flower
that hummingbirds love, perhaps
"honeysuckle" or "hollyhock"
or "phlox" -- just then shocked me
with its suddenness, and this time
apparently did burst the insulation,
letting the word sound in the open
where all could hear, for these tiny, irascible,
nectar-addicted puritans jumped back
all at once, as if the air gasped.
poem by Galway Kinnell
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Privacy
Oh you who are shy of the popular eye,
(Though most of us seek to survive it)
Just think of the goldfish who wanted to die
Because she could never be private.
There are pebbles and reeds for aquarium needs
Of eel and of pike who are bold fish;
But who gives a thought to a sheltering spot
For the sensitive soul of a goldfish?
So the poor little thing swam around in a ring,
In a globe of a crystalline crudity;
Swam round and swam round, but no refuge she found
From the public display of her nudity;
No weedy retreat for a cloister discreet,
From the eye of the mob to exempt her;
Can you wonder she paled, and her appetite failed,
Till even a fly couldn't tempt her?
I watched with dismay as she faded away;
Each day she grew slimmer and slimmer.
From an amber hat burned, to a silver she turned
Then swiftly was dimmer and dimmer.
No longer she gleamed, like a spectre she seemed,
One morning I anxiously sought her:
I only could stare - she no longer was there . . .
She'd simply dissolved in the water.
So when you behold bright fishes of gold,
In globes of immaculate purity;
Just think how they'd be more contented and free
If you gave them a little obscurity.
And you who make laws, get busy because
You can brighten he lives of untold fish,
If its sadness you note, and a measure promote
To Ensure Private Life For The Goldfish.
poem by Robert William Service
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Well, I play Jews and parrots. Parrots are how I've branched out.
quote by Gilbert Gottfried
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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