Related quotes: There was a rooster in...

There Was A Rooster

There was a rooster in the neighbourhood
Gallant, bouffant, royal
White like peace, valorously crowned
Droned to a victorious red beak
Clucking with a battle of chicks
His puissant, repetitive alarm..not a nuissance
To me alone sweet consonance
Whilst every note of his phrase
In uniform rhythmicity out from his beak
Wide open through thousand microphones
I used to be the staunch spectator
Recalling my bygone music
I used to be the admirer
To his crowing in gentle, genuine stance
I used to be the best critic of his concert..
Day and morrow rose timelessly often
By his crowing to the sun's dismay
Yet to all my admiration
Adversely he strangled me one day
His unusual alarm like that of a chit
Syllables clearly 'amma, amma' to perception
In the darkness of a witchy night
Strangled me sharply, then sawing
Point by point my neck bone
That I became breathlessly silent..
From the next morrow
In search of him me in his netherland flock

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes

Happy Easter

Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.
Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?

To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do the clucking?

Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!

Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.

Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?

Who wants to be a rooster,
Crowing before dawn everyday.

Who wants to be that rooster?
Who wants to be that rooster?

To strut and cluck for someone sleeping,
To get up.
And do that if programmed before the dawn shows up.
And if that rooster gets into a rut...
Who will then do,
The clucking?

Or wake up,
To collect the eggs!
'Happy Easter'
~Do you notice anything different about those eggs? ~

'Yeah!
They are colored.
Why? '
~They are for the Easter Egg Hunt.
Put them back.~
'Oh!
I must be dreaming.
I thought I heard a rooster crow.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beak Kind To Birds!

Beak kind to birds both near and far,
Both high and low as well...
To me, each bird's a superstar!
In fact, to me, they're swell!
Beak kind to birds and show you care
With titbits now and then...
And watch with wonder as they share
Their breakfast once again!
Beak kind and keep your cats at bay...
Else feeding birds take flight!
It's nicer seeing birds at play
Than watching them take fright!
Beak kind to birds, give them their space
So they may co-exist...
For none on Earth can take their place,
So they'd be sorely missed!
Beak kind to birds, they'll flock to you -
They're all our feathered friends!
It doesn't matter, black or blue...
Beak kind - 'cos it makes sense!

poem by Denis Martindale (2003)
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Simple And A Lot More Basic

If only I could make each tomorrow that comes,
Less disappointing than those yesterdays now gone...
I would awaken before every dawn,
With a seeking to find that rooster...
Who apparently gets more rest than I think I should get,
Before my alarm clock goes off.

I have no wish to kill it!
Just give it a stern warning!

If only I could make each tomorrow that comes,
Less disappointing than those yesterdays now gone...
Simple!
And a lot more basic.
With a crowing that's done,
Before the Sun on the horizon comes...silenced!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On Alarm

You said he was your brother
But his name was not miller
So if you wanna cheat me, baby
Youre getting a real killer
Im on alarm now baby
Be sure Ill get you if I want
Im on alarm now baby
Be sure Ill get you if I want
You said your dad is working
And you think your mothers too
But I dont love your parents
So I cant belive you
Im on alarm now baby
Be sure Ill get you if I want
Im on alarm now baby
Be sure Ill get you if I want
Im on alarm now baby
Be sure Ill get you if I want
Im on alarm - (hes on alarm)...

song performed by by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh! Can it be?

Oh! Can it be? Said the blue bird to the bee,

That you are poking holes in the air is what I do see;

No! Said the bee, It's just my warning alarm to let you know,

Come too close, and you will get the point, that is so.

Oh! Can it be, said the bird to the cat below?

You have such claws, they look to sharp, you know,

Said the cat, to the bluebird on the fence just near,

These claws are sharp, for birds who show no fear;

Oh can it be? Said the cat, to the large bulldog there,

You don't see to want with me your food to share;

Then the dog said to the cat, Touch my bone you'll be cat nip,

Go eat your whiskers, go away, or I will make of you egg flip.

Oh! Can it be? Said the dog, to the large horse in the stable,

Are you a grand racing horse, or is that just a fable?

Neigh, nay, just here to help the farmer to plough,

But; if you get too cheeky, I will kick to the cow.

Oh! Can it be? Said the horse to the cow, near the barn

Is it true, mrs white the lamb, can give a good yarn?

Of course she said, to nick the large horse, it's true,

Mrs White, can certainly give a yarn with a nice dye,

But if you say neigh in stead of yea, I'll know you tell a lie.

The moral of this poem, is do not be a stick beak,

Or someone may be rude ad call you a lousy freak;

And don't go stirring and spreading any rumor,

Or you may have the joke on you, and that's no humor.

poem by Margaret Haig
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Hunters And Gatherers

rooster crowing,
dogs barking, rain falling,
almost a tease...

the price of gas rising,
the cost of life rising,
Wall Street speculates...

gambling with human lives.
so many walk the edge,
teetering with every blow...

the sound of distant trumpets!
small people have big hearts,
picking up pieces of lives,

scattered like trash
on highways that devour.
strong candles stay lit,

flicker with the storm,
yet the light remains,
the light remains...

rooster crowing,
sleep pillows laid aside,
the hunters and gatherers

tuck their children neath their arms!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Eight Minutes To One

In the early hours the radio alarm
went off at eight minutes to one
despite me setting it earlier for six
and checking that it was on.

Now wide awake I rechecked the setting;
and I had definitely made no mistake.
I put it down to an electrical malfunction
and fell asleep until it was time to wake.

I didn’t think any more about the alarm
and continued with my normal day.
The alarm was already set for six o’clock
so I went to bed in the usual way.

At eight minutes to one the alarm went off
exactly the same time as the previous night.
Again I checked on my alarm settings
and again everything was set right.

This time I unplugged the whole radio unit
and recalibrated the time and alarm.
I was now happy that all would be okay
and fell asleep relaxed and calm.

The following night I went to bed as usual
and slept until eight minutes to one.
The cursed radio alarm went off again,
so this radio’s days were done.

The next day I bought an electrical travel clock
and tried out the alarm there and then.
It worked like a charm and I was very pleased,
so that night I went to bed at ten.

At eight minutes to one the alarm went off again
and I could hardly believe this to be true.
I was faced with a problem that had to be sorted,
and a mechanical clock should do.

I bought a large brass, twin belled wind up clock;
set the alarm and several times tried it out.
That night I retired expecting a good night’s sleep,
with no electrics to care about.

At eight minutes to one the alarm went off,
and I threw the clock against the wall.
I was now convinced something supernatural
was causing the earlier morning call.

Over the next few days I tried several clocks
and the alarms went off the same.
In the end I didn’t have a clock in the room,
and I never will again.

poem by Orlando Belo
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Flower-De-Luce: To-Morrow

'Tis late at night, and in the realm of sleep
My little lambs are folded like the flocks;
From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks
Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep
Their solitary watch on tower and steep;
Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,
And through the opening door that time unlocks
Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep.
To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest,
Who cries to me: 'Remember Barmecide,
And tremble to be happy with the rest.'
And I make answer: 'I am satisfied;
I dare not ask; I know not what is best;
God hath already said what shall betide.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Crab That Played with the Sea

China-going P. & O.'s
Pass Pau Amma's playground close,
And his Pusat Tasek lies
Near the track of most B.I.'s.
N.Y.K. and N.D.L.
Know Pau Amma's home as well
As the Fisher of the Sea knows
"Bens," M.M.'s and Rubattinos.
But (and this is rather queer)
A.T.L.'s can qiot come here;
O. and O. and D.O.A.
Must go round another way.
Orient, Anchor, Bibby, Hall,
Never go that way at all.
U.C.S. would have a fit
If it found itself on it.
And if "Beavers" took their cargoes
To Penang instead of Lagos,
Or a fat Shaw-Savill bore
Passengers to Singapore,
Or a White Star were to try a
Little trip to Sourabaya,
Or a B.S.A. went on
Past Natal to Cheribon,
The the great Mr. Lloyds would come
Whith a wire and drag them home!

. . . . .

You will know what my riddle means
When you've eaten mangosteens.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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O Silver Rose

THE dark hour turns so slowly and so sweet,
The last still hour soft-fallen from the stars.
To-morrow I may kneel and touch thy feet,
O Rose of all Shiraz.

Lay wide thine amorous lattice to the south,
O Silver Rose, when roses breathe thy name,
And thou at dawn shalt feel upon thy mouth
The kiss I dared not claim.

Discrowned, dishonoured, reft of pride and power,
From the red battle where they hailed me lord,
O Silver Rose, O sweet Pomegranate Flower,
I turn me to their sword.

Life hath so held me to an empty part,
Life hath so snared me, bound and made me blind.
To-morrow I may rest upon thy heart,
For death shall prove more kind.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Hymn to Abduction...With Thanks to Norman Who Inspired This

The evening sigh pours
Out of me
Then lust
Then contempt
I have no recourse
I mumble
Grow bitter.

The night opens
It flushes out the light
Low at first
Light, like a hummingbird's song
Then the darkness settles in

Personality
Hope light and love
Are engulfed
They are seated down
Made comfortable.

Then love is ripped from hope
From light
Love, is taken by the neck
(Or at least what I recognize as love
It might be a bad abduction)
And it is strangled passionately
Like a rose to the frost!

Love takes courage
I use to have that courage;
You know?
Now I run from the battle's call
I am wounded,
Running
I am a coward!
Remembrance of you
What could have been
Chases me like a pack of hounds.

I have taken to the river now
The waters are up to my neck
Will I get away?

poem by R. James Sterzinger
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An Early Morning Wish

it is too early
i guess the nights are longer now
it is 4: 56 a.m. it is cold
the air is cold
and the windows are still closed
the rooster at the yard
keeps on crowing
while other roosters of the neighborhood
(i live in a rural town
with dusty roads still at the other
nearby kiosk)
keep on crowing too for an answer,
how i wish to make you
a lovely,
happy,
gentle,
peaceful poem
no one screaming on the road
not a motorcab screeching
neither a bus overspeeding
and spreading dust
how i wish to write you a poem
about love
or about that only peaceful star
hanging on the
early morning sky
just a wish
but really
there isn't any
it cannot be
what with a heart that is grieving
a soul that is lost
a body that trembles
a mind with thoughts live leaves
heap upon heap
without a match
to burn them all
this hot days of summer.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Too Early

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song Of The New Year

I heard the bells at midnight
Ring in the dawning year;
And above the clanging chorus
Of the song, I seemed to hear
A choir of mystic voices
Flinging echoes, ringing clear,
From a band of angels winging
Through the haunted atmosphere:
'Ring out the shame and sorrow,
And the misery and sin,
That the dawning of the morrow
May in peace be ushered in.'

And I thought of all the trials
The departed years had cost,
And the blooming hopes and pleasures
That are withered now and lost;
And with joy I drank the music
Stealing o'er the feeling there
As the spirit song came pealing
On the silence everywhere:
'Ring out the shame and sorrow,
And the misery and sin,
That the dawning of the morrow
May in peace be ushered in.'

And I listened as a lover
To an utterance that flows
In syllables like dewdrops
From the red lips of a rose,
Till the anthem, fainter growing,
Climbing higher, chiming on
Up the rounds of happy rhyming,
Slowly vanished in the dawn:
'Ring out the shame and sorrow,
And the misery and sin,
That the dawning of the morrow
May in peace be ushered in.'

Then I raised my eyes to Heaven,
And with trembling lips I pled
For a blessing for the living
And a pardon for the dead;
And like a ghost of music
Slowly whispered--lowly sung--
Came the echo pure and holy
In the happy angel tongue:
'Ring out the shame and sorrow,
And the misery and sin,
And the dawn of every morrow
Will in peace be ushered in.'

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Past Tense

long, long time ago
in the past tense of my life
there was once a rosey rose
with a beauty sharper than a knife
spoiled by every dropp of rain
on her petals so reddish as blood
playful in such childish vain
though never she had to leave her bud