Sometimes I wonder,
but not for grandeur,-
my mind does race as they go by.
Pretty faces floating
bodies lean and tall,
for the perfect stance
at me they do not glance.
No, low should this responsibility
be thrust upon them.
Why should the swans slow their pace
for an ogre of a duck,
chubby and clumsy.
I see them glare
But I do not care
save for such curiosity at my undeserved hate.
How selfish am I
at the delight I feel
At the thought of their reaction;
when I am so thin it is frightening,
when I am frail
and they do not touch
for fear of shattering me..
when I cry without a sound,
and when I go out with a BANG!
that will leave them speechless.
But not just any bang,
a literal bang,
coming from my tight grip
and finger pressing hard
against the trigger.
He twirled my hair between his fingers
Ran his hand down my spine
He kissed my thighs
Followed my edges
Stopped at my neck
And sort of rested
He pulled on my hips
And bit my lips
He tucked me in with tears in my eyes
Sat at the foot of my bed and listened to me cry
He drove my car for a year or so
Left stupid drawings on my dresser
Drug me to all of his shows
And rested his chin upon my forehead when the night was over
Eventually the tables turn
If you've ever played the game
You chase and chase
But if you fail to catch
He sits where you once were
And you become the one he runs and reaches for
I'm still waiting
You spent nearly a year
toiling over my love and
I was cooking an omelet
down in the kitchen just
now when the coconut
oil reached up and bit
my hand, when I realized
that maybe it was my turn
maybe it is my turn. I am
not quite so sure what It is that
a poem of a
bird, a duck to be tota-
lly specific .Although
not seem any-
thing that duck-ish about this poem as you read
it, it will soon occur to you (if it has not already) that
this poem is really very special since it is not only
about a duck but it is in the shape of a duck...
You see this duck is called Gershwin and he
likes splashing in puddles so that is
he , him
this is ... day ause
supposed to be a long . he
puddle .Yes it is and and that , is a duck!
a ....... too ........
........... ....... ... .
* this is the most weirdest poem i
have ever written and its just so RANDOM*
Once there was a little duck,
Who felt so all alone.
Little did the ducky know,
He could just pick up the phone.
The little duck had no hope,
He was filled with such despair.
He felt his life was purposeless,
And he was a waste of air.
So one day the little duck
Dove to the bottom of the pond.
He was prepared to leave this world,
And see what was beyond.
But another duck saw him dive,
And dove right after him.
She brought him up,
And hugged him close,
And they went for a swim.
She told him that she knew his pain,
And used to feel the same,
But together they could swim all day,
And close friends they became.
The little duck no longer felt
Quite so all alone,
And with his new friend by his side,
This world now feels like home.
there was a clever duck a diving duck was he
he just loved to dive in the deep blue sea
he took a trip abroad so he could dive beneath
sailed of to Australia to the barrier reef
taking his equipment snorkel tanks and mask
to swim around the reef that was only task
he dived in to the water and started descend
into the great big reef where there is no end
suddenly he heard a funny bubble sound
coming from rocks that were scattered all around
he took a closer look swimming through the weed
there he saw a fish trapped among the reed
duck he was so clever and knew what to do
i will use my knife he said and cut the reed from you
now the fish was free duck had saved the day
fish he thanked the duck then he swam away
duck was very happy that he cut the reed
and was very pleased with the fish he freed
there was little duck a diving duck was he
and to be a diver one day he would be
he took a little trip to a foreign land
with lots and lots of cliffs and lots of sea and sand
he climbed up the cliffs took it nice and slow
then dived into the water that was down below
people they were watching and they began to roar
little duck was happy and dived again once more
the little duck got tired and took a little rest
then fell fast asleep in his little nest
He holds the day like duck feather.
Good or bad weather
Silver dimes or rusted nails
Through them all he quietly sails.
On the way small flowers he plucks
In thrill’s quiver sings joyous cluck
When rough tides break him he reveals not crack
Doesn’t complain when the clouds are black.
If his wings feel weary he stops the swim
A shore he finds to rest in dream
For the duck feather each day is a gain
To swim in the pond, his piece of haven.