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Salmabanu Hatim Oct 2018
I am the cuckoo clock,
Precise,authentic,steadfast  as a rock.
All day long,
Tick tock, tick tock goes my song.
Hung on the wall,
In the main hall,
Tick tock, tick tock, tick,
Not a wink,
My pendulum swings to and fro,
As I view people come and go.
On the dot of the hour,
My cuckoo slides in and out of the door,
Chirps a lovely cuckoo call,
Young and old in the hall,
They cheer all.
I am their cuckoo clock,
A piece of artistic work,
My master's pride,
The family's guide,
To their various routines,
For many many seasons I have been,
On their wall,
In the main hall.
Apporva Arya Sep 2018
What's unsaid about it?
Still it's different
and unique for everyone.

Sometimes,for me its like
songs of cuckoo bird.
Sun that rose again in my life,
a green oasis in a desert,
The best part of my youth.

and sometimes,
i am a lone warrior in the battlefield,
searching for the enemy soul,
dont know where to find
and how to defeat!..

I am not afraid of break-ups or
passionate love.
since who knows,
what love has at store!
the equal amount of love back?
or may be a surprise?
i have decided not to be fearful anymore. whatever it will be,how far we will go i will cherish our journey,our moments together .Because now i know some people are destiny and some destination.
Amanda Sep 2018
If I were a person stronger than myself
My insecurities would disappear
Would you hear worried absurd thoughts
If murmured into your ear?

You would be horrified to learn
The madness running my brain
If I was less crazy my head would be too
It's a shame that instead I am insane.
I don't suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it.
In the audio recording you sent me
An hour of touching yourself
punishment for misbehavior
you giggle and cry at the same time
With a trembling whimper

It's too late now, for a confession.
We were never so honest, as our ***
Violent, passionate
suspending reality momentarily

Life's one true sin, objectification.
And now, you are a recording.

Your eye begging Me, The Cuckoo Bird
To Free you from your own fingers

like the cuckoo bird
My religion
Only gave me one hour
To howl, at passing time.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
True love is:
                  A waxwing bird feeding
                  A cuckoo who was left in her nest
                  The starving cuckoo is pleading
                  The waxwing is doing her best.
O the flower sways,the flower sways!
Why does the gentle wind blow!
O the river picks up a sway!
O flows away with its 'gentle' noise!
O why does the cuckoo,in every garden
Kuhu, Kuhu,Kuhu, does it sing!
O why,who knows,for what?
O Haay!Haay! Does the heart?
Haay Haay is an Indian expression of surprise and confusion!
What d'you think?:-) :-)
Loretta Proctor Feb 2018
Early morning

It was in the early morning, blackbird song and
long wet grass, shuffling through making trails in dew
In the early mornings of my life.
Something of magic in the sun slanting
through wet dripping branches,
pearls of water drops in spidery webs enchaining
blade to blade in the long wet grass.

It was in the early morning rising from warm sheets
when hearing that cuckoo summons from
far distant woods, calling , welcoming me forth
into the dewy day, doors unbolted, stepping from within
dark walls, shadowed kitchens, cold and stony floor.
Stepping forth and catching at my heart.
They were.
Sun’s rays, dewy grass, pearls of water drops.
K Balachandran Oct 2017
a mystery is-
bound between one's birth and death;
yen to transcend it!
As dawn broke we warmed
the cuckoo started love songs
Almost romantic
Rob Kingston Aug 2015
A cuckoo sings its first spring voice
The cider maker cracks his cork on this year’s choice
English apples presented from pre years press
Picked and selected to impress
Bottled and ready for drinkers wide and far
Vision distorting with every jar

From orchards up and down the land
Drinkers search the best in town
Scrumpy be the drinkers rot
Weak willed should try it not

A test once tasted of a brewers fare
An enjoyment discovered but just take care
For once you have past the half way mark
You’ll soon be singing and dancing with the larks
This poem is my first to be published on air by BBC Essex, Mark Punter's Show, Read by the well known poetess Shirley baker. 23.8.15
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