but no fellow-hyena could explain it
Raj Arumugam
Raj Arumugam
Nov 2, 2014

I went to this meeting
(when I was a kid)
of hyenas;
and the ritual
consisted mainly of laughing
and they laughed and they laughed -
you know, and I just didn't get it

I demanded an explanation -
but no fellow-hyena could explain it

everybody laughs
nobody knows why;
and now I am an adult hyena
and I just laugh -  it's something to do
with survival, I think

#laugh   #humour   #funverse   #hyenas  
Raj Arumugam
Raj Arumugam
Nov 2, 2014

I hate school
because teacher Giraffe is always
picking on me
in his high and lofty manner
He's always pointing at me
with his prehensile tongue
and snorting: "Maybe you'd
like to stop laughing
and share your joke
with the rest of animal class?"


But I don't know no joke;
I just laugh

Raj Arumugam
Raj Arumugam
Nov 2, 2014

it's woman power here
in the clans of the spotted hyenas -
the women are bigger and the males fear;
fathers are kind to daughters
so at least the daughters will be nice to them

so women really just give orders
and the male hyenas obey
with mirth and laughter

Did you take the garbage out?
yeah, ha, ha, ha, yeah, yeah, yeah
Did you put the toilet seat cover down?
yeah, ha, ha, ha, yeah, yeah, yeah
Have you mopped the floor?
yeah, ha, ha, ha, yeah, yeah, yeah
Is dinner ready on the ground?
yeah, ha, ha, ha, yeah, yeah, yeah

information in first stanza on spotted hyenas from wikipedia
*"Hyena - don't you dare laugh;
Raj Arumugam
Raj Arumugam
Nov 3, 2014

so King Lion
summoned us for a meeting
and King sat on his throne
and before he started
the King looked in my direction
and he roared:
"Hyena - don't you dare laugh;
here in Council what we deliberate over
is no laughing matter"


And I pissed in my pants
(in a manner of speaking)
and sat throughout the meeting
trembling in fear, as it seemed
to the King -
but also because I had to keep
my suppressed laughter
rocking in my tummy
throughout the meeting

final in my current series of hyena poems...
#humour   #funverse   #hyena  
what the hyena cannot kill
Paul Sands
Paul Sands
Apr 4, 2015

what the hyena cannot kill

it will steal

tallied on the gritted walls of our toil

their bounty cultivated from the nothing we now possess

and the bodies which must fall once their winter bites

no time left to wail and gnash

we must become as lions that rise

and grip the throat of this thieving class

you know who I'm talking about
#politics   #choices   #choose   #resist   #vote   #revolt   #rise-up  
Samuel Lombardo
Samuel Lombardo
Feb 15, 2015

Born into this world as an angel;
experiences unheard of and in defeat-
the mouth of outrageous roars and gel
grown in a circle of many feats.

There came a face filled with scars
the mind of unsure, bold, and assertive delusion
promotes such gratitude and mingled spurs
to run from me, run from such obsession.

The hyenas are so fake in their attitude-
their faces are like an abandoned building
with graffiti to cover their indecisive gratitude,
and pretentious illusions that yield bring.

In the dark valleys with only moonlight,
such attitudes and gloom of darkness
sets in motion the evil wariness and fight-
the lion flights into the cave of the barking mess.

Hyenas crave the deception to feed on lies;
and the lion's assertiveness frees from itself
the circle of dark redemption that proves his rise,
hyenas hide behind the masks on the shelf.

Hyenas are busy trying something new
whereas the lion still never gives up his path.
Hyenas are free spirited in the blues
while the lion is free from the hyenas wrath.

(Possible Chorus):
In the wrath of darkness, one is never satisfied.
In the light of the world, one can be magnified.
No matter what there is a circle of life
that once will be the door to wasted strife.
The light of the world, defeats the darkness of soul.
The assertiveness and protection will be whole.

A full day of poetry sounds good. Here is the first- could be a song later:
(My cover may be- Bad Crushes):

Written by, Samuel J. Lombardo- February 15, 2015 @ 4:36pm
iBRAHIM dEATHRAY
iBRAHIM dEATHRAY
Dec 11, 2014

under fate's predatory gaze we lie helpless as babes

#fate  
igriegazeta
Mar 9, 2010

If ever
there was a spark in mindless stupid
would it not be the ladies remarking
at scooped cut asphalt
jagged, freeing suffocated Terre?

the most fertile , the most thirsty.

Lush outside. inside the skin?
rancid repulsive desiccation,
a piquant impulse for escaping love.

Mouth's morning wift: gloomy, heavy, smoke.
Eyes: blurrr,
Memory: cashed
Framework: gaunt & yellow, a Purple cadaver among stern Circles, reflecting the Nausea of popularprice

hyena
Jun 24, 2014

The sweetest flower that blows,
I give you as we part
For you it is a rose
For me it is my heart

It is the heart that carries one to heaven?
Or the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked?
Who knows?

c/p

me and my grandfather, buying candles to place on graves of family members, discussing topics hushed for the public, two hyenas of the graveyard... my grandmother frequenting the grave of her mother and father and nanny like frequenting an armchair... i've heard her cry... like a joy division song: an egyptian will tear us apart! but me and my grandfather the two hyenas of the graveyard - a friendly ghost of resurrected israel, suddenly everyone in western europe starts wearing an arabian scarf in the "cool" and "educated" sector of society of a bachelor's degree... vocal terrorists who only experienced the Blitz but not the holocaust; yes, domesticated cats returned into the hands of the wild by nesting in the graveyard... oh the scent of smoked wood of early winter of Poland in the air, winter in siberia, an air of such cold as if climbing Mt. Everest, walking on the frozen tundra plateau.

why do old men suddenly
get a monopoly on guidance?
why can't youth guide youth?
the old are guided by an automaton
of death, no one guides them
but suddenly everyone younger than
them frightens them!
why take advice from the old
who's sole concern is to die in
their sleep?
if we try transcendental passing
of knowledge we'll be left
with a 100m sprinter in a zimmer-frame
running faster than the the most
agile athlete... why take advice
from the old farts? are we in this
together or not?
are we a wave born in the 1980s
or just cripples of splintered appreciations
of past and future generations?
well, i can't appreciate the culture of youth,
younger than me... but i also can't
appreciate the wisdom of the elderly...
and that's because the culture of youth
is without experience worth a maxim...
while old age has too many maxims...
while we're craving a narration to serve
like a duty to prayer, although lessened
in terms of necessitated gesticulation
for dumb-struck rather than lighting-struck
realisation...
while old men start being avatars of death
and actors of past life,
the youth start to become competitive
and rude and un-guiding...
clench my teeth at the matter...
the young become passports of sight into lives
you sometimes wished you led
but eventually realise by their example
you haven't; and then clap... clap... clap...
you begin clapping... as a cursor to ensure they
do not conjure up an encore.

 
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