#joiedevivre - Hello Poetry

Not far from the ocean, not far from the town, the South Beach turkeys roam the hospital grounds. They serve no purpose, they do as they please, they preen and they strut in the salty sea breeze. Sometimes they just stand and look around. They find tasty grubs in the trees and the ground. Sometimes they chase, sometimes they cluck; they do as they please; they don’t give a f*** It’s a bird’s life, on the grounds of South Beach. Perhaps there’s a lesson that these birds could teach-- no need to hurry, just do what you need. Fly if you can, or just sit in a tree. Watch the passersby as they go to and fro. Or just stand around and watch the grass grow. Some thought they were pests and wanted them gone; but to **** them for no reason would just be wrong. At times I have thought that they might be tasty-- wild birds raised in nativity—with stuffing and gravy. Surely much better than from the factory farm-- (and it’s a shame that to those birds we cause so much harm). But shooting a turkey who sits on a lawn would mean calling the cops, with their guns drawn. So the turkeys live on, and I sing their song. I’d miss their feathered glory, if one day they were gone.

0

Nov 24, 2016

Nov 24, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC

scarlet-mccall

Ode to the Turkeys of Staten Island

Not far from the ocean, not far from the town, the South Beach turkeys roam the hospital grounds. They serve no purpose, they do as they please, they preen and they strut in the salty sea breeze. Sometimes they just stand and look around. They find tasty grubs in the trees and the ground. Sometimes they chase, sometimes they cluck; they do as they please; they don’t give a f*** It’s a bird’s life, on the grounds of South Beach. Perhaps there’s a lesson that these birds could teach-- no need to hurry, just do what you need. Fly if you can, or just sit in a tree. Watch the passersby as they go to and fro. Or just stand around and watch the grass grow. Some thought they were pests and wanted them gone; but to **** them for no reason would just be wrong. At times I have thought that they might be tasty-- wild birds raised in nativity—with stuffing and gravy. Surely much better than from the factory farm-- (and it’s a shame that to those birds we cause so much harm). But shooting a turkey who sits on a lawn would mean calling the cops, with their guns drawn. So the turkeys live on, and I sing their song. I’d miss their feathered glory, if one day they were gone.

24

I craved for more for As long as I remember Tailor-made Italian suit A brand new sports car That penthouse with a Postcard city view So I sold my soul for it Gave away my innocence Scarred my mental health Lost my very joie de vivre In the process of chasing Those shinny promises But now that I got there I realize that I fought for No more than fool's gold Useless junk that'll never Fill the void that is to exist Being a broken thing

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Dec 30, 2024

Dec 30, 2024 at 6:47 PM UTC

PeterGerstenmaier

Fool's gold

I craved for more for As long as I remember Tailor-made Italian suit A brand new sports car That penthouse with a Postcard city view So I sold my soul for it Gave away my innocence Scarred my mental health Lost my very joie de vivre In the process of chasing Those shinny promises But now that I got there I realize that I fought for No more than fool's gold Useless junk that'll never Fill the void that is to exist Being a broken thing

18

Surprisingly. I am surprisingly surprised About things already surmised. This dullness And sameness, The monotonous feeling Not a thing new revealing, All the same trials, In familiar styles. Surprisingly. I am surprisingly surprised Though not one thing has been disguised. Broken hope, Such a dope, I just wanted to believe, This time I’d get my reprieve, But I was shocked when Life fooled me again. Surprisingly. I am surprisingly surprised That I still have not realized, I have earned What I’ve learned, While predictability Is not such a tragedy, I smile to myself. Life repeats itself.

0

Nov 20, 2018

Nov 20, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC

not_thepoet_hewantstobe

Surprisingly

Surprisingly. I am surprisingly surprised About things already surmised. This dullness And sameness, The monotonous feeling Not a thing new revealing, All the same trials, In familiar styles. Surprisingly. I am surprisingly surprised Though not one thing has been disguised. Broken hope, Such a dope, I just wanted to believe, This time I’d get my reprieve, But I was shocked when Life fooled me again. Surprisingly. I am surprisingly surprised That I still have not realized, I have earned What I’ve learned, While predictability Is not such a tragedy, I smile to myself. Life repeats itself.

27