A Annoying Woodpecker
The woodpecker pecks gracefully
On the side of the house.
It's bothersome raps
wake me from a sound sleep.
I stumble out of bed in a
Sleepy fog, and walk outside
To somehow quiet the loud clatter.
I walk up to the house
The small woodpecker is startled
And hastily flies away.
He perches on a small branch
And looks at me
I leave the woodpecker
To his business
In hopes that he would get
Bored and leave
For my house's sake.
poem by Melanie Dickie
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Related quotes
Lessons from a Woodpecker
The woodpecker will not give up,
Until the hole it planned is made!
It walks upon the trunk upside,
Its clawed feet holding bark firmly!
It pecks and pecks while turning head;
It bangs and drums upon the tree;
It hammers, chisels, saws and files,
The sharp beak digging circularly!
The pecking actions cause echoes
In air surrounding bird on tree;
With great a force, it pecks each time,
But does not mind feeling giddy!
It pecks and pecks as wood chips fly;
The bristly tongue helps it to clear;
The beak keeps hitting edge of hole,
As head of bird, then goes deeper!
It takes a month to make a hole!
The woodpecker will not give up;
It comes back to the hole each day,
And deepens it some more, some way!
The woodpecker has taught me how
Hard labor, perseverance clicks;
And lo! The nest is filled with love,
As noisy cries come from new chicks!
Yes, Mother Nature teaches all,
Such golden lessons for no fee;
Oh, listen to her daily call;
Success will smile on you, may be!
When one has aimed to do something,
Come in the way, don’t let a thing;
Work till the job is fully done;
Nothing in life, you leave half-done!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-15-2010
poem by John Celes
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But for a woodpecker
But for a woodpecker
tapping at a post, no sound
at all in the house
poem by Matsuo Basho
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The hoopoe
Every time that I mow the lawn
he waits in a tree
on me to finish
and there are times
that he gets impatient
and his hoopoe resounds.
Just when I walk away
he flies fluttering down
and pecks everywhere
to get worms
and insects
and I see his orange brown quiff
standing up
and it’s as if his body
glows shimmering orange
and there are black and white stripes
going to the points
of his wings
while like a woodpecker
he hits his bill
here and there into the ground
and like a chicken
pecking up seed
picks up insects from the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Richard Feynman's Woodpecker
Under a cloudy sky
A hammering woodpecker
Drilled and drummed
On a tree branch
With her chisel-like bill tip.
Then a physicist stepped out
Of his house into the haze
Billowing over the street.
He scratched his bald head
And brooded and pondered
Contemplated and thought
Of the opaque secret of light.
Well, he said, nowadays
Of course we already know
That light can be
Both a particle and a wave,
A stream of arcane photons
Or a recondite river of rays:
Electromagnetic radiation.
But I still
Do not understand it,
He muttered,
For this whole damned thing
Remains elusive and mysterious.
The problem is, he said,
That while sound waves
Propagate through the air
And surface waves in lakes
Or oceans travel in water,
Light can traverse through
Intergalactic nothing
Moving in straight lines
In the vacuum
Of empty space
Without a medium
As electromagnetic waves.
Now, how does this
Silly light do it?
How can it propagate
Without a medium?
And how does it know
Which way is straight?
And why is it a constant?
He asked, and nothing
Can travel faster
Than the speed of light,
That is to say almost
300,000 km per second.
And he suddenly
Remembered that once
Richard Feynman said:
Physicists do not
Really understand physics,
They just get used to it.
And so the physicist just kept
Wondering and scratching
His bald head
Under a cloudy sky.
A dense gray mist
Billowed then over the street
And a hammering woodpecker
Drilled and drummed
On a tree branch
With her chisel-like bill tip.
poem by Paul Hartal
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does Woodpecker know
whether many insects hide
in each branch he climbs
haiku by Christine A Kysely (29 January 2011)
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The Monument Of All Our Wrongs
i build a house
no one likes it.
the house is empty
i put some chairs.
someone comes and
says, this house is
lonely, it needs
a sound
it is boring and needs
a paint
i put a tree beside
its stairs
i grow another
fence
i put a lone bulb
on a post
and leave the house
for good
that is what the
house is made
there is always
missing
something is
always wrong
this is the house
of regret
it is the monument
of all our wrongs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Woodpecker
What is that knock-knock sound?
I hear it when it's quiet.
I look and listen for the source.
It's the woodpecker looking for its diet.
I found him upright on the bark
of a tall and lanky pine
making a hole as he taps repeatedly
with his beak that's pointy and fine.
It seems he's making a nest today
pecking away with his beak.
And in between he takes some time
to eat insects as I try to catch a peek.
But the sight that I catch as he pecks away
is not as interesting to me
as his knock-knock sound that I listen to
on my tall and barky tree.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A House for Four
A house for four
What is it? a house for four
A dingy looking thing
Are there windows? none
What is it? a house for four
Such a palace
Are there greetings? none
What is it? a house for four
Why the space is so small
Is there privacy? none
What is it? a house for four
A dozen creeps could be creeping there
Is there any trust? none
Don't judge me for mine
Poor fool i wont
Even give you the time
Are you judging me?
Your quite the choir
With a cracking voice
And
A tall house that falls
To scrutiny
A house for four and
A house for four
A people of choir and
A people of poor
Do you not recognize
The stains are yours?
A house is not a house
Unless there is more
More and more
Sometimes less is more
poem by Deci Hernandez
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Cybil
I sit here, sad and lonely,
speaking to the sea.
As it's kindly listening to me,
in this little house that's empty.
Am I lost to be here?
To be in a little house before the sea.
As quiet as it might be,
beautified by tranquility.
Swallow flies above me,
Sunset is in front of me,
But you're not here beside of me,
this little house remains still incomplete.
In this little house,
I wish you come home,
I've been tired and lonesome.
I've stared at the sea for so long and long.
I sit here again, quiet and lonely.
I've been thinking thoughtfully.
From this little house, I see and see,
far off the sea, there's you,
and me..
poem by Kite Remedy
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A woodpecker pecked wood.
A woodpecker pecked wood.
Pointed in dismay
arranged to be sharp,
my sword moves
a plain battlefield
of bloodspotted ink
which will stay.
Stained by fools
who never learned
to break the
walls of prejudices down,
i frown in surprise.
How can I start
a life that's never begun,
were can i put
my big little toe?
Shocked by my
clodded
tabula rasa,
i break down
and cry.
The field is grained
and dotted
with grey, black
and reds,
on a sunny
display.
A woodpecker
pecked wood,
misunderstood
and then stopped
to learn.....
to be good. Madrason 30-09-2010
poem by Madrason writer
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Let's Talk About War
Let’s talk about war
We’ll discuss Tennyson
And Brooke
Owen
And Sassoon
How simple life seems
When the sun blazes
The girls are wearing skirts and sunglasses
The scent of summer in the air
We’ll talk about the different wars
And the poets who fought with pens
A distraction occurs in the form
Of a woodpecker
Beating away at a drainpipe
April names it Woodpecker
April names it Pecky
It’s hard to think, miles away,
Men and boys are cut down
In their prime
Blown to bits
As they stand, straight and tall.
How ironic
That we’re talking about war
While outside
A tiny feathered machine gun patters away.
poem by Rebecca Kate Summers
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Refugees
They want us to leave.
They say it's too dangerous.
Neighbor killing neighbor
In the middle of the night.
Who can you trust?
Nobody.
You never know what will happen.
So the neighbors and I
And my family
Gather our belongings and leave.
The village behind us
Quiet
Gives the effect of an empty house,
Where the last remaining person
Has died.
But nobody will know for weeks.
We walk on
Miles upon miles
With frightened children crying,
Old people dying, and the tired
Needing sleep.
We walk on.
Others join our people train.
Walking through rough terrain,
Walking through woods and snow,
Through frozen streams
We go on.
Everyone has a story to tell.
I think,
'Dear God! What could be worse than this?
This is our hell.
I'm paying for crimes
I did not even commit.'
We walk on.
We walk on.
The war has started,
And,
We walk on.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Our House
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house it has a crowd
Theres always something happening
And its usually quite loud
Our mum shes so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
And a mess is not allowed
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Something tells you that youve got to get away from it
Father gets up late for work
Mother has to iron his shirt
Then she sends the kids to school
Sees them off with a small kiss
Shes the one theyre going to miss
In lots of ways
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
I remember way back then when everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time such a fine time
Such a happy time
And I remember how wed play simply waste the day away
Then wed say nothing would come between us two dreamers
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, that was where we used to sleep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soledad
in true faith to her name
she lives alone in a small house
on the side of a hill
the trees are cut and the grasses
have grown taller
the house sheds of window panes
pillars recede their heights
soledad in true faith to her name
continues to live alone in that small house
on the side of the dead hill
she waits for her beloved
who long died in the war.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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1,2,3,4.
1,2,3,4
Needy men sprawled on the floor.
Many pass with merciless stares
While they wait patiently for somebody to care.
No job, no house, no bed to sleep
We leave these men without basic needs.
Assuming that they spend it on booze and drugs
We flick them away like pesky bugs.
No job, no house, no bed to sleep
And all they want is some money to eat.
No job, no house, no bed to sleep
Is this how we treat God’s sheep?
No job, no house, no bed to sleep
Won’t somebody care to see?
That 1,2,3,4
Needy men, need support.
poem by Vanessa Hibberd
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The Houses
1898 -- A Song of the Dominions
'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.
For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.
'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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As a member of the House Committee on Small Business and because of my own experience as a small business owner, I am appreciative of the impact these small businesses have on our local economies.
quote by Melissa Bean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Complicated Lifestyle.
a man's life is simple.
he has a routine, like this: house, office, house.
he gets bored, adds another place,
like house, office, park, mall, house,
waste of money, but a little interesting, he adds more
a friend's house, another house where he can be intimate with someone,
then sex, and games and romance and betrayal and use and sue and
lots of booze,
he retreats back to house, office, house,
but it is not the same again.
he sins, feels so broke, and
to a certain extent
attempts at suicide.
sad, but it can happen to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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House Of Jazz
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin' and a fightin' on a TV show
Lightin' blindin' in the middle of the road
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap 'n' tickler
To make you growl
Spitin' and bitin' on a TV show
Tightenin' frightenin' givin' out a load
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Come on in
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz
song performed by by AC/DC from Stiff Upper Lip
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Please Leave Behind My Heart
My runaway bride,
Before you leave my house,
Just to leave behind my heart.
You can forget the price
I paid for your hand;
The ones I gave your mother
For your sake.
If only I knew you were fake.
Your father too,
He ate from my sweat.
And my wealth I showered
On your friends.
I am not asking to be given back
The price I paid.
But just to leave behind my heart
As you leave my house.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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