Wisdom Parrot
A call of 'key, key'
In the skies above the house
A kind of squeak
'Key, key' of parrots
Delivering a routine green evening
Signalling that my heart be open
To see one mounted by Kamadeva
Another one Andal holding in Her hand
Some more each with
Multi-faceted consort of Shiva
Another one, a guise, sage Arunagiri
Questing for Parijatha
And ofcourse parrot-faced Sukhabrahmam
Importantly preaching Bhagavatham...
Parrot parroting the Truth
Mortals' inner truth of wisdom-quest
Through love and desire
There's an enlightened plumage green and divine
Red-beaked from the 'Bakula'tree
Gazing at me 'key'key'ing
My heart blooms a smile
A parrot to parrot to me
The quest on wisdom
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
I think a cute movie idea would be about a parrot who is raised by eagles. It would be cute because the parrot can't seem to act like an eagle. After a while, though, to keep the movie from getting boring, maybe put in some pornography. Later, we see the happy parrot flying along, acting like an eagle. He see two parrots below and starts to attack, but it's his parents. Then, some more pornography.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea Of Land
My animals are swept from the sea and land,
They inhabit the outer realms when awake
But die when asleep, the peace is so immense for them.
My friendly parrot is upon my skull,
It needs my companionship like the rain and snow.
The sun and stars visit it in its sleep,
Yet it succumbs to me every day in my speech.
The animals also need me as they need my parrot,
The birds are flowing in the air, and my parrot dies.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Parrot
The Parrot.
The café in our village has shut. The couple who ran it left
when their parrot died. They had kept the place open for it,
since it was a genial bird. The parrot called everyone who
entered idiots; people laughed no one took offence, or so
we all thought. But someone must have taken umbrage, it
was shot through the window when the café was empty.
Feather everywhere the village was shocked, who could do
such a shameful deed? The culprit, was a farmer, who had
drunk his coffee at the café for twenty odd years, and had
enough of being called an idiot. The moral of this sad tale,
if there is any: if you call a man an idiot long enough he will
end up being one.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Show and tell day
It was the day for show and tell
I took my pet parrot along to class
Everything went excessively well
Until it unexpectedly turned wild
It swept off the teacher’s secret wig
With a strong swoop from its perch
Everyone’s eyes turned really big
At the confused parrot’s sudden lurch
The stunned class went berserk
The parrot screeched in absolute fright
Panic seized Tommy, the anxious nerd
With lightning speed he took flight
Grabbing the teacher’s favourite jug
I filled it up with tidbits for my pet
Racing to the petrified bird over a rug
It responded to the treat as fast as a jet
My subdued parrot did not feel bad
Although it seemed a nervous wreck
The embarrassed teacher was fuming mad
Despite getting his precious wig back
Nicked My Heart, You Thief!
A stocking mask- worn culprit,
came on a bike from behind,
snatched my chain and sped away.
I worried much for my unkind fate
and sat sleepless through the night.
To my surprise, I found it placed
on the porch of my house in the morn.
“O my parrot, tell me! Who is that
naughty one playing mischief?
It repeated: ”‘That one! That one! ”
A month later, I was shocked to find out,
my scooter missing, on coming out of a bank.
I lodged a complaint at the nick, though,
I had no hope of getting my vehicle back.
Good Heavens! I found it back,
on the porch in the morning.
“ O my parrot, tell me that someone,
who robs my things and brings them back,
to give me sweetful shocks! ”.
My lovely parrot repeated, “That one! That one! ”
On a fine evening, I enjoyed the music,
played by some guys of my class.
There was looting spree of the hearts
by a singer of old, melting melodies!
I suffered being sleepless, forgetful
and my parents saw me, ’absent-minded’.
“ O my parrot! You know someone, the thief,
Is hiding in my hearty haven”.
My parrot said twice: “ Thief! Thief! ”
In the early morning, a flash of thought,
rushed me to the porch to find that singer,
standing there with a bouquet!
“ You, the thief! ”, I smiled. My cheerful parrot,
Perching on his shoulder, repeated: ” Thief! Thief! ”.
----------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Cage Parrot
Parrot in the cage -
kept aside in the platform,
fortune teller by the side -
laments, 'O' God,
the peanuts exhausted,
the owner is disgusted,
my working hour is not yet over'
Yours lovingly,
CAGE PARROT.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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A stray Parrot recites the Greek Alphabet
'Alpha, Beta...........&..................sigma...! '
Early in the morning I heard these strange words.
And I saw a Parrot rests on my next door neighbor's olive tree.
'Kali Mera Mastura! , Sorry that means good morning.' Parrot whispered.
'Where are you coming from? ' I asked.
Straight away flew from Greece the country introduced Civilization first.'
I said; 'I like Greece and Nikos.Kazantsakis and his book Zorba the Greek.'
'Oh! Master if you know Nikos.Kazantsakis then you know all about Greece.'
The Parrot imitates the Zorba's dance and I lived in Greece for a while.
How strange the autumnal dreams?
To my poet friend Duncan
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Set free
Set free
I was bonded laborer
Always sad and never happier
Kept in chains and not allowed to move
I prayed almighty to set me free and remove
It is like dark dungeon
Secluded place like pavilion
You are confined alone
To spend the life in isolation
No one must be kept in bondage
To be set free is divine privilege
Slavery had been in practice for ages
Same condition even not liked by birds in cage
I saw green parrot in captivity
It forced me to remember days being suffered under barbarity
I opened the gate for parrot to flee
Bird was in confinement and not allowed to fly as free
I could witness energy in his wings
Special sound was originated when he tried to sing
As if lions roared in jungle but with mind sound in air
Parrot crossed over river and looked for some one to make pair
How can we chain someone against will?
Let it be birds, human beings or wild animals
All love freedom and free movement
Ever felt joy with happiness at that moment
Enjoy and feel freedom for all
Don't create hurdle or high scale wall
World is to see and enjoy
Not to suffer and make others to annoy
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Parrot In Paradise
Parrot in the cyclone eye
spread his sodden wings to dry.
Wall of wind approaching sly
snapped him up and flung him high.
Swept aloft a hundred mile,
dropped on black volcanic isle,
Parrot viewed the ashy pile;
not the jolliest exile.
Parrot flew around the peak,
finding there a pleasing scene.
Brought a smile to his beak,
a little paradise of green.
After roaming full extent
sadly, it seemed evident,
on this fertile lava vent
he alone was resident.
Long he scanned surrounding seas
for a sign to still unease.
Tossed ashore, one day on breeze;
a mat of storm-whipped splintered trees.
Lifeless, though it first appeared,
something moved and Parrot neared.
In Chameleon's eyes he peered,
'How d'you do'? he squawked and cheered.
'What's your name? Please come ashore!
I won't bore, I've tales galore.
I can tell we've great rapport.
Did I mention, I don't snore'?
Cautiously, Chameleon
left the safety of the raft.
Black sand beach, it stepped upon.
Parrot danced around, quite daft.
'Bu Parleur's my name, I'm fine;
means I like to drink and talk.
Let's ferment some island wine,
we'll walk the talk and squawk the walk'.
Parrot boasted, 'I'm a Chick……'
'Yes', Chameleon replied.
'What? No! Ha! Well done, you're quick;
Chick Magnet'! Parrot glibly lied.
Reaching welcome leafy shade,
shy Chameleon's fears allayed,
back and forth it gently swayed,
swiveled turret eyes; surveyed.
'Can I call you Cham for short?
Do you think I'm beady-eyed?
Shall we dance, play cards or sport'?
'Yes', Chameleon replied.
'Do you like my feathered suit?
Would you like some seeds or fruit'?
(Cham caught fly, with aim astute)
'Wow', said Parrot, 'My, you're cute'.
'Like the way you aim and flick,
love those slinky moves, real slick,
I've got tricks and you've got shtick.
What shall we do now? You pick'
'See my feet, you'll be enthralled,
two toes forward, two toes back.
ZygoDACtylous that's called.
I dig your color-changing knack'.
Parrot stared at Cham's small feet;
cried 'I knew it! ain't life swell.
We are so alike, that's neat.
You're zygodactylous as well'!
And so, the pair became firm friends,
bonded by their common ends.
Castaways the island tends,
castaways the island mends.
Soft the moonlit night descends,
loud, the parrot's song ascends.
Zygodactylous me….
Zygodactylous you...
Zygodactylous we….
Zygodactylous two…
Zygodactylous zygodactylous zygodactylous me…
poem by Diane Hine
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After the rain
After the rain
the air is full of swallows
swishing up and down
hanging in it
to catch flying white ants
and I see them ascending
and descending twittering.
Some sit as if strung together
right next to each other
on the silver lamp post
and hordes are invited
to the feast of the swallows.
Later when I sit in my study
there is a bird
that that lands on my windowsill
that looks like a parrot to me
and seeing itself in the window
pecks constantly against it
or maybe it’s something else
that I take as a parrot
and its head is scarlet red
up to its neck,
its eyes wide from each other
and its beak is bended
and below the red
its pitch black
and the rest of its body is light green
and I know that it’s too late
for the festival of the other birds
but maybe it would rather have
An apple or two
and every day
I now wait on Polla
or whatever its name is
to come back
to awake me with its knocking
and maybe I will catch him
but it’s rather much better
to be without a cage
and never again to be cooped in.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bakula
O'Bakula, Bakula
Tell me
Your secrecy why sri Krishna
His Bansuri played under your canopy
Whilst you shedding your drizzles
Gathered the cows in gentle breeze
Tell me
St.Sambandar why under your shade
To marry assured Sangili Nachiar
Whilst you murmuring in gentle sway
Played concealed Shiva in your shadiness
Tell me
Temple lords all choose why you
In tranquility seated by your side
Tri-faceted turned why even Lord Muruga
At Elangi in your courtship importunate
Tell me
Your medicament exercised why to luxuriate
Usage of barks, flowers, fruits all yours why
Prized ethereal your gardenia why
Blossoms yours laced into laurels why
O'Bakula, Bakula
Look, handful mine your aromatic blossoms
To open up here truth of your heavenliness
Sunny-tiny, their celestiality wafting fragrance
Speaketh of trees five of providence
'Sandhanam, Mandharam, Karpagam, Parijatham
With Devatharu their evil fate suffered
Be out of demonism sought they to Shiva
Blessed then into one Bakula tree all five
Up His words seated at Thiruvotriyur
Shiva in shadiness beneath the Bakula tree'
O'Bakula, Bakula
Firmament so is your mother factual
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Yeah, for some reason parrots have to bite me. That's their job. I don't know why that is. They've nearly torn my nose off. I've had some really bad parrot bites.
quote by Steve Irwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Parrot And The Ferrett
Jolly Polly parrot said to the fast, fidgety ferret,
“You want some of my food before I eat all this carrot? ”
Well the fast, fidgety ferret as usual was in a real hurry
And didn’t have time to eat since he only had time to scurry.
So he said, “Thanks, but no thanks. I must be on my way.
It seems like there’s never enough hours for me in a day.”
Then jolly Polly parrot frowned at fidgety and said,
“Unless you change your ways, my friend, you’ll soon be dead.
Fast fidgety ferret, you must eat well to keep your body sound
Or you’re going to get sick and become part of the ground.”
That was indeed a scary thought for fast, fidgety ferret
So he asked jolly Polly for some ideas that might have merit.
“I think that three healthy meals and some regular rest and play”
Said Polly to fidgety, “Now that will give you a better day.”
Fast fidgety thought and then smiled at his friend Polly parrot,
And happily said, “I’ll do it. Now my new name is just Ferret.”
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Destiny
The red beaked
Hungry green parrot
Was happy
When he saw
Grain scattered
On the ground
He slowly moved
Towards it
When some
Obscure sound
Made him cautious
He stopped for a while
Looked left and right
Carefully weighed
The danger to his life
Feeling confident
That no one was
Around
Moved ahead
To fulfill his appetite
He started eating
Felt dizzy
After sometime
Ultimately, fell down
On the ground
He did not know
The grain
Was poisonous
Being careful
Did not help him
His destiny decided
Otherwise
His desire to live
Turned into painful
End of his life
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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The 'Poem A Day' Project - Day 80
I sometimes wonder if animals have a better life
Do they live more happily without the stress or strife
They don’t have to wait for calls, don’t have to wait in line
And there’s no fashion issues if you’re naked all the time
They don’t worry about finances, don’t get stuck in jams
You don’t get loans or credit cards offered to the lambs
And if you are an animal that gets to be a pet
You’re fed and watered and kept warm, you never have to fret
You don’t have to be so serious, your main object is play
You can meet your mates in the park and run around all day
If an animal acts a ‘human’ way then it is seen as cute
But if you act like an animal, others will persecute
If a parrot talks like a man it’s regarded as OK
But if a man talks like a parrot people slowly walk away
poem by Flying Lemming
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The Mimic Harlequin
'I'll make believe, and fancy something strange:
I will suppose I have the power to change
And make all things unlike to what they were,
To jump through windows and fly through the air,
And quite confound all places and all times,
Like harlequins we see in pantomimes.
These thread-papers my wooden sword must be,
Nothing more like one I at present see.
And now all round this drawing-room I'll range,
And every thing I look at I will change.
Here's Mopsa, our old cat, shall be a bird;
To a Poll parrot she is now transferred.
Here's mamma's work-bag, now I will engage
To whisk this little bag into a cage;
And now, my pretty parrot, get you in it,
Another change I'll show you in a minute.'
'O fie, you naughty child, what have you done?
There never was so mischievous a son.
You've put the cat among my work, and torn
A fine laced cap that I but once have worn.'
poem by Charles Lamb
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Sick And Tired
I'm gonna buy me a parrot, baby,
And teach him how to call my name.
I'm gonna buy me a parrot, baby,
And teach him how to call my name.
Then I won't have to miss you baby
And I won't have you driving me insane.
I was in love with you, baby,
Till the day you brought me down so low.
I was in love with you, baby,
Till the day you brought me down so low.
You had me walking 'round in circles, baby;
I didn't know which way to go.
Oh, I'm so sick and tired baby,
I'm sick and tired of the way you carry on.
Lord, I'm sick and tired, baby,
Sick and tired of the way you carry on.
You can pack up all of your things, baby;
Hit the road, get out of here, be gone.
Now I'm gonna get me a shotgun, baby,
Keep it stashed behind the door.
I'm gonna get me a shotgun, baby,
Keep it stashed behind the bedroom door.
I may have to blow your brains out, baby,
Then you won't bother me no more.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Longevity
I watched one day a parrot grey - 'twas in a barber shop.
"Cuckold!" he cried, until I sighed: "You feathered devil, stop!"
Then balefully he looked at me, and slid along his perch,
With sneering eye that seemed to pry me very soul to search.
So fierce, so bold, so grim, so cold, so agate was his stare:
And then that bird I thought I heard this sentiment declare: -
"As it appears, a hundred years a parrot may survive,
When you are gone I'll sit upon this perch and be alive.
In this same spot I'll drop my crot, and crack my sunflower seeds,
And cackle loud when in a shroud you rot beneath the weeds.
I'll carry on when carrion you lie beneath the yew;
With claw and beak my grub I'll seek when grubs are seeking you."
"Foul fowl! said I, "don't prophesy, I'll jolly well contrive
That when I rot in bone-yard lot you cease to be alive."
So I bespoke that barber bloke: "Joe, here's a five pound note.
It's crisp and new, and yours if you will slice that parrot's throat."
"In part," says he, "I must agree, for poor I be in pelf,
With right good will I'll take your bill, but - cut his throat yourself."
So it occurred I took that bird to my ancestral hall,
And there he sat and sniggered at the portraits on the wall.
I sought to cut his wind-pipe but he gave me such a peck,
So cross was I, I swore I'd try to wring his blasted neck;
When shrill he cried: "It's parrotcide what you propose to do;
For every time you make a rhyme you're just a parrot too."
Said I: "It's true. I bow to you. Poor parrots are we all."
And now I sense with reverence the wisdom of his poll.
For every time I want a rhyme he seems to find the word;
In any doubt he helps me out - a most amazing bird.
This line that lies before your eyes he helped me to indite;
I sling the ink but often think it's he who ought to write.
It's he who should in mystic mood concoct poetic screeds,
And I who ought to drop my crot and crackle sunflower seeds.
A parrot nears a hundred years (or so the legend goes),
So were I he this century I might see to its close.
Then I might swing within my ring while revolutions roar,
And watch a world to ruin hurled - and find it all a bore.
As upside-down I cling and clown, I might with parrot eyes
Blink blandly when excited men are moulding Paradise.
New Christs might die, while grimly I would croak and carry on,
Till gnarled and old I should behold the year TWO THOUSAND dawn.
But what a fate! How I should hate upon my perch to sit,
And nothing do to make anew a world for angels fit.
No, better far, though feeble are my lyric notes and flat,
Be dead and done than anyone who lives a life like that.
Though critic-scarred a humble bard I feel I'd rather be,
Than flap and flit and shriek and spit through all a century.
So feathered friend, until the end you may divide my den,
And make a mess, which (more or less) I clean up now and then.
But I prefer the doom to share of dead and gone compeers,
Than parrot be, and live to see ten times a hundred years.
poem by Robert William Service
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The parrot's so funny. He imitates me and I don't even realize he's doing it. I'm walking around the house talking to myself and whistling and the next day he's said something I've said... it's scary you know?
quote by Mick Ralphs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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