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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The Emptiness
Since my childhood I carry a heavy bundle of burden
And recently I opened it and found nothing.
I checked the life's Encyclopedia and found the right word in bold.
' Emptiness.'
* A man actually needs very little to be happy in his lifetime; but he gets lost in his search for false glories and destroys himself.
- 'Zorba the Greek' by Nikos.Kazantsakis
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Falcon
You soar high and from the barren sky
Watch the ants like human,
How they struggle and grab the greasy tricky life
That runs through the bony fingers.
Nothing is certain, we come like water
And go as wind.
Birds sing songs without lyrics and they fly, Man cannot fly with these feeble hands?
Thanks again my friend and your name imprint in my soul list with Omar Khayyam, Nikos Kazantsakis and his great character Zorba as same as Maxim Gorky's Makar Chudra, Loiko Zobar and Radda.
Garcia Lorca, Matsuo Basho the radical Tankist Ishikawa, Alexander Pushkin
And the miracle whistle of Zamfir!
Mysterious smile of Mona Lisa to Neil Armstrong?
*To Warren Falcon the poet!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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Santorini Santorini
santorini santorini
Zorba zorba shall i be.
we shall dance
the zorba the zorba
i have so much to take
i have so much to give
we have so much to laugh
we have so much to drink
in santorini in santorini.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Helen
All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.
All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.
Greece sees, unmoved,
God's daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funereal cypresses.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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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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Please do not break my little Christmas tree
I hung my loved ones photographs over there.
Oh! They are very far away, on the top
My beloved and myself of teary eyes tangled with jingle bells.
Oh! My Landlord gatecrashed, the Greek,
I nicknamed him as 'Socrates'
He called me on my pseudonym 'Don'.
'Merry Christmas' We both greeted simultaneously.
Secretly I winked to my wife tune the radio little louder
There the music of 'Zorba's dance' goes on.
And I offered him a Greek drink 'Ouzo'.
He had two gulps faster and we danced together to the tune of Zorba.
He left with a friendly smile and thank God he didn't grumble of the rent this time.
I murmured to myself 'Long live my Greek God'.
* To the President, I dreamed him last night he disguised as a Santa Claus and distributed some leaflets door to door regarding the health care reform it seems.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Isles of Greece
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus
sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set...
The mountains look on Marathon--
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
A king sat on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations--all were his!
He counted them at break of day--
And when the sun set, where were they?
And where are they? And where art thou?
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now--
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear....
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning teardrop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swanlike, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
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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And, of course, it must be asked: is it proper to transact with the Turks for the most reassured of Greek possessions when Greece is under Turkish invasion and subjugation?
quote by Melina Mercouri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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To the Oracle at Delphi
Great Oracle, why are you staring at me,
do I baffle you, do I make you despair?
I, Americus, the American,
wrought from the dark in my mother long ago,
from the dark of ancient Europa--
Why are you staring at me now
in the dusk of our civilization--
Why are you staring at me
as if I were America itself
the new Empire
vaster than any in ancient days
with its electronic highways
carrying its corporate monoculture
around the world
And English the Latin of our days--
Great Oracle, sleeping through the centuries,
Awaken now at last
And tell us how to save us from ourselves
and how to survive our own rulers
who would make a plutocracy of our democracy
in the Great Divide
between the rich and the poor
in whom Walt Whitman heard America singing
O long-silent Sybil,
you of the winged dreams,
Speak out from your temple of light
as the serious constellations
with Greek names
still stare down on us
as a lighthouse moves its megaphone
over the sea
Speak out and shine upon us
the sea-light of Greece
the diamond light of Greece
Far-seeing Sybil, forever hidden,
Come out of your cave at last
And speak to us in the poet's voice
the voice of the fourth person singular
the voice of the inscrutable future
the voice of the people mixed
with a wild soft laughter--
And give us new dreams to dream,
Give us new myths to live by!
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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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
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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In a Greek Amphitheatre: George Seferis, poet
Noon here in hot summer in this quarter-sphere of stepped stone;
the smell of herbs rolling down from the mountainside,
the light so strong that it seems to have bleached away all thought;
time is taking a siesta.
come sit with me here in this almost deserted amphitheatre
which has stood for more than two thousand years,
only the bees are quietly moving,
searching the flowers which grow between these huge blocks of stone
which someone quarried, someone brought here,
someone acted out the world upon, some many sat
and were moved to fear and tears;
someone ate olives, spat the pits between the blocks of stone;
now an olive tree bears witness,
its bleached roots like an arthritic climber,
splitting the stone blocks with the insistence of history.
‘Memory, wherever you touch it,
hurts’…
merciful gods might have removed these stones
with two thousand years of rain, of wind, of searing sun,
so that the insistence of history might not be
so painful to a Greek.
The only other figure in this huge amphitheatre -
you see him down there? In the white hat
and dark suit of summer cloth? He’s a poet;
but is his mind too, sitting in the audience? Or is he
on the stage? Is he
living the play; the hero with a tragic flaw,
the chorus commenting, the tragedy unfolding?
In Greek, the same word means martyr
and means witness.
He was born a Greek in a Greek colony;
at 22, the Turks flung them out;
he sailed in wine-dark seas of wars and occupations;
and when the sailor sailed into the port to take his place in his immortal court,
found Greece, not celebrating peace, but Greek fighting Greek;
the cruellest of wars.
It was not Odysseus but Greece itself
that wandering, had not yet come home;
the harbours boatless; silent the shepherd's flute;
the olive groves untended; hives deserted;
grapes that never tasted wine; figs that burst uneaten;
Olympia's grass, all silent and untrodden;
temples empty, marble columns
their cool beauty empty-armed without their worshippers.
Here at noon, the summer heat pressing and intense,
the air still, a bee passing across our laps
as we sit here on the higher tier;
a dark-suited poet, witness, martyr,
like an olive tree between hard stone,
suffers the playing out, the painful beauty
like a dark thought at noon,
the insistence of history.
‘Memory, wherever
you touch it, hurts.’
poem by Michael Shepherd
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If we were living in ancient Rome or Greece, I would be considered sickly and unattractive. The times dictate that thin is better for some strange reason, which I think is foolish.
quote by Gwyneth Paltrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The center of Western culture is Greece, and we have never lost our ties with the architectural concepts of that ancient civilization.
quote by Stephen Gardiner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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I Was Born Free
They gave me a name with a capital letter
and made my Horoscope?
Registered the Certificate of birth
with their Religion?
In the cradle when I cry
They gave me a Peek-a-Boo Soother
dipped in Glycerine.
I jumped so many times
over the cradle fence.
Remember they enrolled me to a College adjoining a girl's school?
And there I learned about Apollonius
Pythagoras, Euclid's parallel lines
Archimedes, Sir Issac Newton and others too.
When flowery girls play in the grounds
I watch them with my toy telescope a birthday present.
I learned well but failed the Examination?
Recently I realized from a pauper's toothless smile
Nothing we bring here and anything we take away?
To the Greek author Nikos Kazantzakis for his great novel 'Zorba the Greek'.
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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