Duval's Birds
The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness,
Circled three times above the upturned faces
With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings,
And then returned to stagger on her finger.
She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause. . .
The property man hated her dirty birds.
But it had taken years—yes, years—to train them,
To shoulder flags, strike bells by tweaking strings,
Or climb sedately little flights of stairs.
When they were stubborn, she tapped them with a wand,
And her eyes glittered a little under the eyebrows.
The red one flapped and flapped on a swinging wire;
The little white ones winked round yellow eyes.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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A Flying Cow
Millie Moo Cow was grazing
in a field on day
when her fairy godmother
came to pay a visit to her.
Millie you are a good old cow
and your days are not yet through.
If I had wish for you
what would that wish be fore?
Millie chewed at her cud
and thought for a bit.
I would like a pair of wings
so I could fly like the birds
and then I could find the green fields
with all the tenders shoots to graze upon.
The fairy godmother waved her wand
and on Millie, two beautiful wings grew.
Millie flapped her new wings
and into the sky, she flew.
As she, few around she caused quite a stir.
Looking down she remembered
all those who had tormented her.
Now she had wings she could get her revenge.
She dived and did a somersault
and then began her bombing run
laying on them cow pats big and round.
People ran for cover as Millie flew on by.
Tiring of her games in a green field, she landed.
Her fairy godmother wasn’t pleased.
You were only supposed to look for green fields
not go bombarding people with your poo.
For your bad behaviour,
I’m taking your wings away from you.
She waved her magic wand again
and Millie’s wings were gone.
The moral of this story is
when they say do unto others as they do unto you.
You will be punished
so go do it first.
poem by David Harris
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Vultures
In a big group dots appear out of the naught
where they turn round and round in the blue
with wings here and there flashing blade bright;
they decent dangerous, explicit,
like dirty washing rags fluttering and screeching
giving each other dirty looks, inciting the whole time,
they hang in the tops of green thorn trees,
with naked heads and necks stretched out,
with yellow-gold eyes spread open while they are spying,
before they flutter to the ground, not scared anymore
hobbling along, ripping a carcass apart,
screeching when hyenas want to offer resistance
they threaten with grotesque wings, claws clapping
milling angry around hyenas that tread around scared.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Christmas Gift
Christmas Gift Spurned
Crowed Christmas, street when I saw her I was sure it was her,
the way she walked. Thought I could sense her perfume too.
I hurried after her, touched her shoulder, said hallo, the woman
turned around, alas, I had been wrong. Said sorry, thought you
were someone else. She smiled and said, no I’m only me.
I read an invitation in her dark brown eyes, but I was hopelessly
in love with the true woman of my dreams and the lovely woman
in front of me, was not like the mythical one. I said sorry again,
flapped my wings and flew into the night sky to seek her amongst
the stars. In the cooling outer space I realized the fabled woman
of my dreams was an angel and I was only an earthling. I dived
back to earth like a Stuka dive bomber, skidded on slush. I looked
and looked, in vain, for the woman with the brown eyes, but my
Christmas gift had gone.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Migrant Birds
Suddenly out of the blue
they came together and flopped down,
children wanted to shoot some with catapults
when wildly they flapped wings among each other,
were walking up and down with twittering sounds,
were standing around in parks for breadcrumbs,
were walking around on sidewalks like pedestrians
until the church bells did ring of three o'clock,
and they flew up in a wide curve
taking to flight into a born-in direction.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When You Came Nearer
When you came nearer some birds flew up
while the sun glittered on you dark hair
and at that moment I did not say a word
while small devils danced in your eyes
and the whole world around us was vague
while something deep was hidden in your dark eyes
and your presence brought great joy to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Images Of The Past
Image 1
A big white horse
Galloping
All four feet hanging in mid-air
On the ground below it
A yellow butterfly
A broken wing.
Image ii
A dirty boy chases a dirty pig
His dirty father chases both
While mother hides her face
Behind a black umbrella.
Image iii
I see on the ceiling a little spider, a lizard
And a white moth
The faded yellow fluorescent bulb blinks
I blink too
The little spider is gone and the moth flew away.
Image iv
A girl on a swing swinging high on air
Her left slipper left in space
Rightly so
Captured still in the middle of air
The two of us look we did not move
Like a Flemish painting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Birds On Electric Wire
Wired above poles two
Swaying in gentle breeze
Perched by a row of birds on
Sparrows, tailor birds
Tweeting, screeching, caressing
Enjoying on a spree of joy
Ofcourse nonmatching crows too
Raucous in a near distant row
Unaware of my heart's speed
In cold sweat of a stringing devil
Dancing in execution-style
Monished atonce but my dear heart
Trickled my nose to sneeze
Puddled my legs to skid against
An auto-riksha's sonorous horn
Alarmed birds flapped away
Caged in my relief
poem by Indira Renganathan
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S.o.s.
(They found her body right under the stairs
Where it had lain for twenty years,
The neck was broken, I heard folks say -
'Too late! ' was the verdict of Gallows Bay) .
* * * *
I'd heard dark things of Samuel Pell,
He drank too much and was far from well,
But he walked the beach in the early morn,
Especially after a gale, or storm.
He checked the flotsam as in it swirled
Into the bay from the seas of the world,
All the jetsam he'd pile up high,
And check each mark, with many a sigh.
But never a word did I hear him speak
From the crack of dawn to the end of the week,
And then he'd hurry on home once more
Where he'd bar his window and lock his door.
He lived in a three-roomed beachside shack
With a lookout room that he'd built out back,
And up to that room he would creep at nights,
With the curtains drawn, you could still see lights.
Red lights, yellow, and some were green
They'd blink and change with a squeal, a scream,
And over all was a dreadful hum
As the world swirled through his solarium.
Towering over the roof, at last
Was a big, old fashioned radio mast,
And folks would grumble in Gallows Bay
'Old Pell's up talking to Mandalay.'
The folks who knew him from times before
Would shake their heads, but would say no more,
For everyone knew that his only son
Was lost at sea when the war was on.
And Pell had been on the Ham that day,
An S.O.S. from a world away
Came tumbling over the ocean's swell
From His Majesty's Ship, the 'Camberwell.'
So Pell had alerted the Naval Base
As the tears streamed over his cheeks, his face,
His fingers flew on the dit-dit-dit
'Til his fingers bled, and his eyes were lit.
But somewhere, in the Atlantic swell
The bow went down of the 'Camberwell',
She slid so silently into the deep,
Carried his son to eternal sleep.
Carried him down with the ship, distressed
Where a sailor's duties are put to rest,
While Pell sat there with his headphones on
His wife had cursed him to hell and beyond.
And then she'd gone, one lonely night
Had left the bay and the daily fight,
Just walked, he'd said, with never a word
Though whether she had, he wouldn't have heard.
For twenty years he'd listened first
To the chatter of Morse at a hundred Hertz,
Then clattered his key to the whole world round:
'Has HMS Camberwell ever been found? '
I watched him, suddenly old and grey
As he walked the beach in his aimless way,
And heard them talk in the old Bar One's,
'I'm hearing that Pell has Parkinson's! '
He stiffened up, and he slowed his walk,
His shoulders hunched, and he couldn't talk,
He beckoned, come to his room up there,
He needed help just to climb the stair.
His hands were trembling on the key,
I knew Morse Code as well as he,
His fingers trembled, he made mistakes
With the dits and dahs, and the sentence breaks.
But in his eyes was the strangest light
Like a man who's suddenly proven right,
He handed over the headphones then
And smiled at me like an old, old friend.
I heard the chatter repeat, and then
Begin the message all over again,
It said: 'Keep listening here, it's true,
For soon I'm coming on home for you! '
The Morse was echoing in and out
Like a message sent from a waterspout,
It waxed and waned, and said: 'It's true!
Old man... I'm coming on home for you! '
He took the headphones, took the key
Was calm at first, more calm than me,
Then tapped a message I could not guess,
Old Pell was tapping an S.O.S.
For then a sound like I'd never heard,
Such beating, just like the wings of a bird,
Old Pell fell back on the old arm rest,
His heart was beating right out of his chest.
His heart was beating, his fingers tapped,
The dits and dahs, they flew, he rapped,
But coming over the headphone swell,
The message was signed - 'HMS Hell! '
He groaned, stared right in my eyes, in fright
His jaw had dropped and his face was white,
He died, and I thought that his soul was free
Though his fingers kept tapping the paddle key.
The paddle key, still tapped in my head,
For minutes then after Pell was dead,
And still I heard - and this I must stress -
The key kept tapping out S.O.S.
9 October 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Dirty Eyes
You hypnotize
Honey
Yeah honey
You do it
Woooo, do it good
Do it all right
Every night
When you turn off the light
Its outta sight
(alright)
You hypnotize
Mezmorize
With your dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Your dirty eyes
Breathin
Breathin heavy
Heavy
Heavy breathin
Send shivers down my spine
[make me | and [im|youre]] so glad that youre mine
[when youre so bad and youre
Mine]
Thats what turns me on
All night long
You hypnotize
Mezmorize
With your dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
You got dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
I love your dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Right through me
Your dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
Dirty eyes
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am often on guard over the Russians. In the darkness one sees their forms move like stick storks, like great birds. They come close up to the wire fence and lean their faces against it. Their fingers hook round the mesh.
quote by Erich Maria Remarque
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirty White Boy
Hey, baby, if youre feelin down
I know whats good for you all day
Are you worried what your friends see
Will it ruin your reputation lovin me
cause Im a dirty white boy
Yeah a dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Dont drive no big black car
Dont like no hollywood movie star
You want me to be true to you
You dont give a damn what I do to you
Im just a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Well, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
A dirty white boy
Ive been in trouble since I dont know when
Im in trouble now and I now somehow Ill find trouble again
Im a loner, but Im never alone
Every night I get one step closer to the danger zone
cause Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Cmon, cmon boy
Dirty white boy, white boy
Dirty white boy, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy
Hey, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, yeah, Im a dirty white boy
Dirty white boy, dirty white boy, yeah
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Legend Of The Angel
When God made the angels, not one of them knew how to fly.
They walked across Heaven not knowing all they could do.
God wanted to know how long it would take them to learn.
So He kept telling them to go to different parts of Heaven.
Off they went walking, walking, walking, walking, walking.
In time, one of the Lord's angels found out that he could run.
The archangels were completely shocked and they tried it.
Pretty soon, millions of angels were running across Heaven.
God smiled at them. We all have to start somehere, don't we?
God created a few upstairs' rooms in some of His palaces.
Wisely, the angels and the archangels walked up the stairs.
Even though they could run and run and run, they walked.
God smiled again, because He liked them to be careful...
As a reward, He transformed their wings into silver and gold.
The angels were amazed at these wondrous dazzling delights.
But, the thing is, silver and gold can be quite heavy at times.
Not one of the angels complained. Why offend the Father?
But, the thing is, silver and gold can be quite heavy at times.
After a bit, it got a bit too much for one of the smaller angels.
He was exhausted, huffing and puffing his way across Heaven.
The next time God called to him, he approached the Throne...
Father, could You take back Your silver and gold, please?
The Lord agreed and then the angel began to float in the air.
He flapped his wings nervously not knowing how to get down.
To his amazement, he started flying as the other angels stared.
This is so much easier than walking or running! He told them.
So they all asked God the Father to please let them fly as well.
All their silver and gold melted away and covered the streets.
As they didn't feel the need of these, they blessed Heaven instead.
From that day on, all of the angels could fly, it was so easy...
Then they understood why God had made some smaller angels.
He knew one of them would be tired out and had to ask for help.
Imagine if we had no setbacks, no weights to hold us down...
Alas, we haven't earned our wings yet, but maybe someday...
In the meanwhile, let's just feed the birds and watch them fly...
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Rose Fairy
When God created the very first rose,
All the forest fairies were thrilled!
They formed a queue to line up for a smell,
Each swooning at its delightful fragrance.
The king of the fairies called them to his throne,
Reminding them that each flower is blessed,
With each one appointed its own fairy...
But who could they choose for the rose! ?
All the fairies not yet appointed flew near,
Each pointing to herself as the right choice!
Then the queen of the fairies calmed them down,
'Settle down, impetuous ones! ' she said...
So all the female fairies flapped their wings no more,
Settling once again upon the ground...
'Come, come! ' she scolded! 'None of you will do! '
The fairies' faces went blood red with shame!
The king looked at them in turn, loving them all.
Such enthusiasm, such devotion, but who would do?
The queen pointed directly to the king himself!
'You, Your Majesty, you must be the rose fairy! '
'What! ? ' remarked the king! 'That's unheard of! '
She held his hand with love and told him,
'There's no-one greater than you for this rose! '
The fairies leapt with joy! Flying here and there!
Doing athletics flips and backward somersaults!
When the king saw the joy of all the fairies, he smiled.
He was humbled by this wondrous spectacle
And he stood up, wiped away a tiny tear and told them,
'Never has a king been so blessed as I feel today! '
And so it was that the rose fairy was announced.
And God looked down upon the fairies in the forest
And smiled... and smiled... and smiled...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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King Street
A morn, a sallow lamp-lit morn,
A dawn that never breaks to day!
Old, old the faces, and forlorn;
The hearts look out, so seared, so grey!
It is as if some upturned stone
Had flung to light a vermin rout—
For things misfeatured, souls unknown,
Stagger in blind amaze about.
Along their gleaming lines of light
The charging trams go, head to ground;
Out from the drifting pathways, white
The faces flash—like faces drowned!
And there with painted features drear,
And eyes whose pathos still is sweet,
The hunted hunters prowl and peer—
Their lair the long, slow-surging street.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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On The Porch
As I lie roofed in, screened in,
From the pattering rain,
The summer rain—
As I lie
Snug and dry,
And hear the birds complain:
Oh, billow on billow,
Oh, roar on roar,
Over me wash
The seas of war.
Over me—down—down—
Lunges and plunges
The huge gun with its one blind eye,
The armored train,
And, swooping out of the sky,
The aeroplane.
Down—down—
The army proudly swinging
Under gay flags,
The glorious dead heaped up like rags,
A church with bronze bells ringing,
A city all towers,
Gardens of lovers and flowers,
The round world swinging
In the light of the sun:
All broken, undone,
All down—under
Black surges of thunder …
Oh, billow on billow
Oh, roar on roar,
Over me wash
The seas of war …
As I lie roofed in, screened in,
From the pattering rain,
The summer rain—
As I lie
Snug and dry,
And hear the birds complain.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Little White Rabbit
While sorting through a drawer
in my old treasure store
I came across a little white rabbit
almost forgotten there,
as I picked it up
my memory danced back
to the person who gave it
to me forty odd years ago.
I could remember her blue eyes,
her shoulder length blonde hair,
and that gentle smile of this lady fair.
She was at one time the love of my life,
long before I met my wife.
My love could not be returned
as she was seeing someone else,
but a friend she was,
and a friend she will always remain,
until my dying breath.
As I look at the little white rabbit,
dreamy eyes I become,
I drift back all those years,
and for a brief second or two.
I smile to myself,
and wrap the little white rabbit up,
putting it back in the drawer,
so I can remember,
that lost long distant love I had once more.
poem by David Harris
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Eve
Eve, with her basket, was
Deep in the bells and grass,
Wading in bells and grass
Up to her knees,
Picking a dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Down in the bell and grass
Under the trees.
Mute as a mouse in a
Corner the cobra lay,
Circled round a bough of the
Cinnamon tall. . . .
Now to get even and
Humble proud heaven and
Now was the moment or
Never at all.
'Eva!' Each syllable
Light as a flower fell,
'Eva!' he whispered the
Wondering maid,
Soft as a bubble sung
Out of a linnet's lung,
Soft and most silverly
'Eva!' he said.
Picture that orchard sprite,
Eve, with her body white,
Supple and smooth to her
Slim finger tips.
Wondering, listening,
Listening, wondering,
Eve with a berry
Half-way to her lips.
Oh had our simple Eve
Seen through the make-believe!
Had she but known the
Pretender he was!
Out of the boughs he came,
Whispering still her name,
Tumbling in twenty rings
Into the grass.
Here was the strangest pair
In the world anywhere,
Eve in the bells and grass
Kneeling, and he
Telling the story low. . . .
Singing birds saw them go
Down the dark path to
The Blasphemous Tree.
O what a clatter when
Titmouse and Jenny Wren
Saw him successful and
Taking his leave!
How the birds rated him,
How they all hated him!
How they all pitied
Poor motherless Eve!
Picture her crying
Outside in the lane,
Eve, with no dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Haunting the gate of the
Orchard in vain. . . .
Picture the lewd delight
Under the hill to-night -
'Eva!' the toast goes round,
'Eva!' again.
poem by Ralph Hodgson
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She Spread Her Wings (Quatrain)
She spread her wings
To touch the sky
Just as I was
Passing her by
I saw beauty
As her wings spread
It was lightly
That I must tread
Her wings were sleek
And long and smooth
I loved the way
They flapped in groove
Oh great eagle
Who caught my eye
I shed a tear
And had to sigh
Nature's beauty
So wild and free
You filled my heart
With joy and glee
I give my thanks
To God above
For giving me
This glimpse of love
poem by Edwin Tanguma
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Train thoughts
You see the train fires our thoughts-
We find a white metallic sky up there,
As though the train itself were the earth
Spinning like a top in cosmic space.
The train’s hoot pierces our awareness.
We then come down from the upper berth
To mundane matters of trivial concern-
Thoughts which are not train thoughts
But home kitchen and patio thoughts
Waiting for inquisitive neighbours to talk
So that we could pick large comic holes.
In the train, between our finiteness and sky
There is another white sky, train sky
Under which several celestial thoughts
Take place in our upturned sleeping faces
It is as though the metal sky does not exist
And we are faced with the Big sky itself.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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Back From A Two-years' Sentence
Back from a two-years' sentence!
And though it had been ten,
You think, I were scarred no deeper
In the eyes of my fellow-men.
'My fellow-men--?' Sounds like a satire,
You think-- and I so allow,
Here in my home since childhood,
Yet more than a stranger now!
Pardon--! Not wholly a stranger--,
For I have a wife and child:
That woman has wept for two long years,
And yet last night she smiled--!
Smiled, as I leapt from the platform
Of the midnight train, and then--
All that I knew was that smile of hers,
And our babe in my arms again!
Back from a two-years' sentence--
But I've thought the whole thing through--,
A hint of it came when the bars swung back
And I looked straight up in the blue
Of the blessed skies with my hat off!
O-ho! I've a wife and child:
That woman has wept for two long years,
And yet last night she smiled!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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