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Ignored. (a Seagull Story)

Ignored. (A seagull story)

At the seaside restaurant it was busy everyone was eating lobsters,
I tried to catch the waiters’ eye. I was ignored and got the feeling
that I was Invisible, or that I was so small that my head didn’t reached
over the table. A seagull landed on my table a beautiful bird,
yellow beak and feet, plumage snowy white its wings light grey/blue
and its eyes were green; it also had the aroma of the Atlantic Ocean.
Waiter came, looked at the bird asked what it wanted, lobster, I said
when the dish came I gave it to the bird. Got up, left and no one tried
to stop me.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Killing

The killing

A flock of white doves flew over my house, heading due east, if they were flying to
Israel fat chance, and if they landed on the Gaza strip they would end up in a pot.
Last time I saw a white dove was in 1956, when I accidently killed one, I had made
a bow and arrow and shot into the air and hit one. Our neighbour came, pulled
the arrow out of quivering bird and gave it to me, but kept the dove. The aroma of
roasted bird wafted along the street. We sat eating fried mackerel with turnips,
“why didn’t you take the bird home? ” My mother asked. “But it was white and it
might have been an angel” I said.“? Never mind the colour, we are talking about
food, ” she said. My sister went even further insisted it was Jesus in disguise, and
I had to give her my chewing gum to atone for my sin. White doves of peace with
a palm leave in their beaks, how romantic, war is undying, peace is just a breather
and festive balloons as military brass bands play.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Shore Leave Ornithology

Slacks, coffee trend
I could have been in the us navy
Flapping grey, coffee smoke
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Where the hell were you?
Rough stencil, print music
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard coffee
Saxophone mention barbers, n.y.
The cigarette was burning, the flat shoes
Stool
Bongo, coffee, don't mention that black man
The leather-coat was his
Where was she?
Could have been in the us navy
Flow beating air, table-top, shoulder slung
Shore leave, no sailors here
Cardboard, cardboard, cardboard, cardboard
Liquor slacks twisting
The cigarette was burning
The flat shoes, the flat shoes, the flat shoes
Bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
Bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird, bird
I could have been in another nineteen-fifty
Bird, bird, bird

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey, Grey Sky

Someday I will ride the great bird
Into the sky, into the grey
And will take a bright secret of mine
Into the grey, grey sky.

And the light will come, piercing my eyes
Out of the sky, out of the grey
Come blinding and searing these eyes
Out of the grey, grey sky.

And I will find comfort in this
In the wide sky, in the wide grey
In the painful dark brightness of light
Light of the grey, grey sky.

My secret will fly away home
Into the sky, into the grey
And the great bird will follow it there
Into the grey, grey sky.

And I will be riding that bird
Bird of the sky, bird of the grey
And I will come home once again
Home to the grey, grey sky.

But for now I am weighted, earthbound
One of the mud, one of the ground
And I write this sad song to sad sound
Girl of the pavement sighs.

poem by Grace Hutton
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The moment that the sun disappeared into the sea

The moment that the sun disappeared into the sea
church bells were ringing in the distance,
while I found you alone on the beach
with a seagull with a broken wing.
With streaming tears you could hardly breathe,
to me you were really beautiful
when the wind whirled, were blowing through your hair
and with the poor bird you glance was rigid

while we walked along the white beach
the waterline was glistening
with the orange-red of the last sun
the bird in your hands were suddenly lifeless
and immediately the night was dark,
for the bird we did what we could.

When my eyes caught yours at Hartenbos
the see foamed blue, alive behind us,
I felt my heart bounding suddenly somewhat anxious,
there was something intimate and magical present,
while I saw stars in your eyes
without deserving them.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A bird came into my garden

A bird came into my Garden
She looked very Cheerful
Her beak was red and feathers Blue
Red stripes shone on the Body
Sound of her chirping lured me
I wanted to take her in my Lap
I ran after her
She kept on Dodging
Though tired but urge was Increasing
I tried my Best
But couldn’t catch her
Frustrated, I sat down on the Mat
I closed my eyes to take little Rest
I opened my eyes and was quite surprised
I found the bird sitting in my Lap
She understood the feelings,
I had for her
Surrendered Herself
To make me love her

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Green Bird, Golden Bird.

A tired green bird flew a very long journey,
Came to a stop in a beautiful valley.
There were many birds of all colours singing and playing,
Among them he saw a beautiful golden bird,
Her feathers shining in the bright sunshine,
And her voice echoed melodiously.

Within a short time the green and golden birds were close friends,
They knew each other deeply by heart,
Passing the days, flying from valley to valley,
And resting from tree to tree.

Then one sad day, golden bird must return,
She too had flown from across the vast ocean,
Even though it broke the green bird's heart,
But he was willing to let go, and before she left, .. he asked;

Golden bird, have I full-filled my promises to you?
That I would never hurt you,
That I would protect you with my life,
That I would share my provisions with you,
That I would make you happy and smiling always!

Is there any single word to describe all these?

Golden bird,
I will pray for your lasting happiness,
I will never forget your overflowing kindness,
You have nested permanently in my heart…and lastly,

I dream for us to be able to fly together again,
in unimaginable beautiful green heaven!

poem by Desert Life
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Ay De Mi

O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
With touch that seem'd to speak,
And ask a tender 'yes' -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.

O tender downy breast,
And warmly beating heart,
That beating seem'd a part
Of me who gave it rest -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.

poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A journey begins with first step! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Oh great warriors
Of yore
Sages of folk lore,
Could you tell me
Why do I feel vanquished
In the face of victory?

Had no aspiration to build
Great empires,
Or enlighten
The ignorant.

Just a small aspiration
To be free
And protest against
Pressure of
Conformity…

On being released,
from captivity,
Stood dazed in front of
Open cage,
Like a bird
Who has forgotten the
Instinct to fly

Looked skyward:
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
Soaring high…

Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach is a fable in novella form
about a seagull learning about life and flight.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Bird

(9/15/12)

I saw a bird perched on a tree
I looked at him and he looked at me.
The strangest bird that I ever did see
He had a tail about four inches long
With that body it did not belong.

He had a body smaller than a sparrow
With a beak long and narrow.
He made a sound that I never heard
Not like one you'd hear from a bird.

It was not like the sounds of a love bird
Canary, or cockatoo, but a soft whistle
Which filled the air, and with all
Living things it wanted to share.

It was like a hypnotic sound
And turned my head completely around.
His soft whistling cry was like
A call to the wild
Brought flocks of birds
Of every color and style.

Landing on every branch of the tree
And left no empty space that I could see.
This was the most beautiful sight that
I had ever saw, and I knew
I will see it no more.

© L. RAMS

poem by Louis Rams
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Ode To A Seagull

rising from oneself
to the highest
sky
alone flying and
diving
and those who
watch
thought that this
is plain nonsense
for that seagull
may finally shatter
its bird's head
to a rock
it is not as simple
as that
the seagull has
learned the trick
of smashing itself
on the water
like a rocket
with a fuel at
its back

to speed to art
to life!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Speed

rising from oneself
to the highest
sky
alone flying and
diving
and those who
watch
thought that this
is plain nonsense
for that seagull
may finally shatter
its bird's head
to a rock
it is not as simple
as that
the seagull has
learned the trick
of smashing itself
on the water
like a rocket
with a fuel at
its back

to speed to art
to life!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little White Bird

little white bird
now that i have set you free
from my hands

to the winds you shall go
to its whims shall you be

search the skies
map out your freedom
be carefree

little bird
do not look back
i am in the prison walls of my mind
still thinking about your white wings
feeling each feather
in every patch of my skin

little bird, little white bird
how pure was that love?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weird-Bird

from the wire chirp
on the wire chirp
frantic head
to and fro
to and fro
chirp, chirp, chirp
little bird on a wire
head and beak
to and fro
to and fro
ten times in a second
tail up, tail down, tail up, tail down
the tight feathered bodice
doing a twist
legs angled tight on tiny wire
a tightrope walker
chirp, chirp, chirp
looking for some fun
looking for a companion to share its day
chirp, chirp, chirp

inspired by

Weird-Bird
Birds are flyin' south for winter.
Here's the Weird-Bird headin' north,
Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin',
Cold head bobbin' back 'n' forth.
He says, 'It's not that I like ice
Or freezin' winds and snowy ground.
It's just sometimes it's kind of nice
To be the only bird in town.'
Shel Silverstein

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A beautiful bird that got away

Help me cry for the beautiful bird
So full of life and spotless in nature
Help me cry for the beautiful bird
The one who found refuge and treat me with pleasure

I will cry for the beautiful bird
The bird who shield me with feather and showed me love
I will cry and cry again for the beautiful bird
My beautiful dream that left my heart in knots.

poem by Olufunmbi Aransiola
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The Indian minor

It landed on the wall
that divided the front yard
from the back
where my yellow BMW
was sheltered under a roof

It was dark brown with a yellow bill
and sharp small black intelligent eyes
watching everything
much like a crow or raven.

Every now and then
it darted down
to land next to the bowl
with the dog’s pellets
pecking them up
as another bird would seed.

The dog would eat every now and then
and sometimes guard its bowl
lying there defying that bird,
but when ever it would go
that bird would
have its feast,

till one day
that I took that bowl away
into the dogs pen
and then that bird
sat screaming on that wall
as if I had stolen
his dearest possessions
from him
as if there was nothing else to steal.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Unforgiving Love

one day a blue bird fell in love with a white rose..the rose was envious of everybod falling in love and was afraid that she will get hurt..the blue bird told her that he had loved her from afar but was too scared to tell the white rose how much he actaully did...the white rose told the bird when my petals turn from white to red i will fall in love with you back....the blue bird came by and by everyday and told the white rose how much he loved her...until one day the blue bird cut his wings and soaked the white rose with his blood...the white rose's petals turned from white to a luscious red and she realized how much the blue bird loved her..but it was too late the blue bird fell in front of the rose and the rose was red forever..that's why roses are giving to the ones we loved

poem by Ariff Khan
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Weird-Bird

Birds are flyin' south for winter.
Here's the Weird-Bird headin' north,
Wings a-flappin', beak a-chatterin',
Cold head bobbin' back 'n' forth.
He says, 'It's not that I like ice
Or freezin' winds and snowy ground.
It's just sometimes it's kind of nice
To be the only bird in town.'

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I want to fly!

yes, you do.
where do you want to go?
i am looking for a new home

how does one grow wings?
i want to fly...

it is the most quiet conversation.
the man begs to understand
why the mouth he is blest with does not take the shape of a beak.

the bird sings of many lands
the man has not yet been to

the little brown bird's heart is a ray of sun
but the man does not know

inside the wars are all in the making
outside it is still calm

the bird and the man kiss
the bird flies
the man falls asleep
the man flies
the bird is dead.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eating Alone In A Chinese Restaurant

all my life i never imagine myself eating alone.
there is something detestable i think when a person eats alone.
either he is selfish to have to share a conversation with someone else
or that he is shutting himself away from this world where each must belong
to someone else, lest one can be branded as another scrooge
before Christmas, a misanthrope, a man who has no capacity to relate to
another human being, or even with a pet dog, or cat, to join him eating
in a restaurant.

i have seen some who eat alone in a Chinese restaurant, their eyes fixed on
the other customers eating alone too, sipping the bird's nest soup with the sound of a pig or a big bird, as though eating alone becomes a socially
acceptable action. I do not bother asking them, why they eat alone and look
stupid with their lonely eyes, falling faces, less hair, and protruding teeth.

then i start to eat alone by myself. I look at the passers-by one rainy day
through the glass window of the restaurant. I enjoy the noodles and the
sweet sour pork and the bottomless red tea and the jasmine rice.

i tell you, it did not take that long really to learn to live my life alone.
after you left me.

It is this eating alone in a Chinese restaurant which taught me. And now i am beginning to like it.

Sans love. Sans anybody.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Talk Over Tea.

Janice's gran
had left the room

to fetch another
pot of tea

and Janice said
Are you coming on

the day trip to the seaside?
I'm not sure

you replied
Oh please do

Janice said
Then we can be together

and I won't have to spend time
with those giggly girls

from the gospel group
you looked at her fair hair

and the way her eyes
were on you

and how precise
her lips were

when she spoke
I'm not sure my parents

can afford it
you said

Oh it's free for kids
whose parents are poor

she said
And after all

it's part of the point
of the whole thing

to show Christian values
and so on

and she smiled
and put her hand

on yours
under the table

as her gran came in
with the teapot

What are you two
talking about?

Gran asked
putting the teapot

down on the table
Janice's hand

squeezed yours
under the table

Oh just about the day trip
to the seaside

Janice said
Are you going too?

her gran asked you
you hesitated

and then said
Yes I think so

and Janice looked at you
her blue eyes bright

and she said
Isn't that good Gran?

Yes indeed
her gran said

and poured tea
into your cup

and added milk
and sugar

and Janice's hand
left yours

and the absence
of the warmth

of her hand
felt like

a dying world
in a vast galaxy

or drowning
in a deep blue sea.

poem by Terry Collett
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