"crowing" poems
A steady cadence
pulsing in a heart beat
like rhythm, voices
and strummed instruments
all in harmonized concert,
An orchestral multitude,
of frogs and crickets,
never tiring or ceasing,
How many must there be,
to render such a cacophony?
Sustained and loud enough
to keep city folk wide awake.
Nature's Music of the night,
should you but choose to listen.
How do they do that, all night
with absolutely no intermission?
A crescendo finale triggered
only by the coming dawn's
first light, and the boastful
crowing calls of our cocky
persistent red rooster chicken.
Where these musicians go in
daylight is anybody's guess.
To sleep I suspect, deserved
resting up for yet another
night of endless music.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
The beauty of patience is in letting the sun
rise when it rises and shutting our eyes
when the dusk dawns believing the secrets
of life will come in the wake amidst the
crowing of the roosters.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
The sun breathing deep,penetrating
my lovely clouds ,his horses
Running high and with pride
taking joy at my wanning mood
My skin denies the clothes over it
Rejecting the sweltering walls
Adding me with more sweat
Was there any worse day?
Inside my temporal erupts atomic
volcanoes fueled with solar fission
My legs hang over walls of ponds
How lucky are the frogs under mud
With involuntary scratches on my hair
I look around for my baby clouds
The only drops that gather is my own
As I patiently wait for wind
to drop some leaves
Patience might be the only virtue
against the dry spell of the sun
in the middle of monsoon
That seem to burst prior clouds
Trees hang their branches patiently
Crows crowing, now tired of thirst
Not a single ant comes on my way
The ever growling dog sits irritated
but quietly against the fly
I can tell of every thoughts around
But who is there to answer
Will this day come to end
or shall the world end for it
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
In ruck and quibble of courtfolk
This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene
With hands like derricks,
Looks fierce and black as rooks;
Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.
Her dainty acres he ramped through
And used her gentle doves with manners rude;
I do not know
What fury urged him slay
Her antelope who meant him naught but good.
She spoke most chiding in his ear
Till he some pity took upon her crying;
Of rich attire
He made her shoulders bare
And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.
A hundred heralds she sent out
To summon in her slight all doughty men
Whose force might fit
Shape of her sleep, her thought-
None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.
So she is come to this rare pass
Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall
And sings you thus :
'How sad, alas, it is
To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'
7k
I am blessed,
With God in my life I am not stressed.
In the mornings, I awake to the unique sounds of nature,
Birds chirping, the wind blowing the leaves on the trees,
Roosters crowing, dogs barking.
I see the bright and glorious sunshine,
The butterflies playing in the air,
The cotton ball clouds,
The beautiful mountains and the lovely and
Sweet smelling roses.
I am blessed to behold the beauty of God’s creation.
I am blessed to have the opportunity to experience true salvation.
I am blessed; there is always food to eat and to share.
I am blessed, not stressed, well dressed, put to the test.
I am blessed, there is money to pay the bills and
I have feet to walk up the hills.
I am blessed, I am loved by my family and friends,
And most of all I have the love of Jesus Christ.
I am blessed, God provides for me in everyway,
He protects me and I know that He will never forsake me.
I am blessed
His angels are near and He has given me ears to hear.
I am blessed, I have lived to see another day,
My saviour has cleared the way.
I am blessed, I am in my right mind,
I can smile and make others smile as well.
I am blessed, I am in good health,
I can feel my heart beat the rhythmic beat of life,
As it vibrates against my chest:
Budup, budup, budup.
Oh, how wonderful it is to know,
That I am blessed, not stressed,
Well dressed, put to the test.
Praise the Lord!
I am blessed.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 1:03 AM UTC
Whistle sounds, alarm beeps
Battle drums, my heart beats
Rising sun, crowing ****
It is here, riddle me
Silent bath, floating thoughts
Towel dry, connected dots
Tucked in shirt, shiny shoes
One quick prayer, banished blues
Speeding cars, crowded trains
Changing lights, fast paced lanes
Blaring horns, jamming doors
Quiet rides, bone-face walks
Smell the air, raise your chin
**** in chair, eye on screen
A sip of coffee and you know you'll win
Welcome to Monday, you can get through
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
A fisherman is drifting, enjoying the spring mountains,
And the peach-trees on both banks lead him to an ancient source.
Watching the fresh-coloured trees, he never thinks of distance
Till he comes to the end of the blue stream and suddenly- strange men!
It's a cave-with a mouth so narrow that he has to crawl through;
But then it opens wide again on a broad and level path --
And far beyond he faces clouds crowning a reach of trees,
And thousands of houses shadowed round with flowers and bamboos....
Woodsmen tell him their names in the ancient speech of Han;
And clothes of the Qin Dynasty are worn by all these people
Living on the uplands, above the Wuling River,
On farms and in gardens that are like a world apart,
Their dwellings at peace under pines in the clear moon,
Until sunrise fills the low sky with crowing and barking.
...At news of a stranger the people all assemble,
And each of them invites him home and asks him where he was born.
Alleys and paths are cleared for him of petals in the morning,
And fishermen and farmers bring him their loads at dusk....
They had left the world long ago, they had come here seeking refuge;
They have lived like angels ever since, blessedly far away,
No one in the cave knowing anything outside,
Outsiders viewing only empty mountains and thick clouds.
...The fisherman, unaware of his great good fortune,
Begins to think of country, of home, of worldly ties,
Finds his way out of the cave again, past mountains and past rivers,
Intending some time to return, when he has told his kin.
He studies every step he takes, fixes it well in mind,
And forgets that cliffs and peaks may vary their appearance.
...It is certain that to enter through the deepness of the mountain,
A green river leads you, into a misty wood.
But now, with spring-floods everywhere and floating peachpetals --
Which is the way to go, to find that hidden source?
4.6k
Going to bed last night was never by choice
But because the day is dark
Every being has gone to bed
Even the wind is saying goodnight
But when I close my eyes
All I could do is say
Goodmorning to you Karin Naude
All I wished is for the morning to draw nearer
So I could be the first being on earth to say
Goodmorning to you Karin Naude
Even before the **** rings his bell by crowing
Even before the sweet songs of the birds
All mornings are like paintings
You need a smile to brighten up
With petals of roses
Palm full of holly water
You need a little inspiration to get going
A text message from someone who really care
The sun wishes u a goodmorning
Even as he rises into the sky
Hoping you have a perfect day
Wishing you a goodmorning
Sealed with with prayers to keep you save
and happy all day long
A goodmorning spoken with care,love and happiness
I woke this morning before my body did to say
Goodmorning to you Karin Naude
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
The **** is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping—anon-anon:
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!
3.9k
Refuge from reality
Neverland's necessity
Chasing the whims of Shadow
Crowing at the moon's sad glow
Freedom from monotony
A childhood philosophy
Perseveres in light of fears
Long adheres in spite of years
Flee the world of decision
Distance mistake's incision
A brash heart's circumcision
Nulls care of peer's derision.
"You gotta let go and crow!"
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 7:34 PM UTC
Sitting in back of the car, in a big brown box was a rooster; who just wouldn't stop crowing. He was given to their father as a Christmas gift; they rather listen to their father snoring.
Their father three girls were on their way back home, from a very long trip. The rooster kept crowing behind their backs; they were about to flip.
The door on the side where they were sitting was broken; they held each other and the door tight.
I know their mother at home was praying, for them to make it home safely, on that Christmas Eve night.
Meanwhile, the rooster was crowing not softly, but he was very loud. Once they crossed the James River Bridge; they were happy and proud.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
i wake up in the morning and open up my eyes
i can see the daylight as the sun begins to rise
i can here the birds singing in the trees
singing there sweet song in the gentle breeze
i can here the cockerel crowing very loud
sitting on the fence looking very proud
then i rise from bed to welcome in the day
and say a geat big thankyou to mother natures way
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:04 AM UTC
Good morning rooster
How do you do?
It’s the crack of dawn
You cock-a-doodle-do
You sit on your perch pride fully and woo
Standing mighty and bold you call your brood for food
Sleek and graceful you do the cockerel waltz
Strutting vaudeville statuesque
Crowing to proclaim your territory
You stand protecting your roost
***** and brave
Watching for predators coming your way
The alpha male
Your earlobes and crown are blood red like a bird of paradise
Your steel beak as strong as a saw
Your feather mane chestnut drapes over your back
Your breast fuchsia and emerald quill
Your silken tail an extended fan
You run free reign on my ranch
A thousand chickens roost in my barn
You rearrange my garden while pecking for nourishment
Eating up all the insects and brown recluses in my yard
In dust you and your flock bathe
You even watch over the hens eggs
Your calls distinct and powerful
When you are still and content sweet singing rings
You are friendly to humans
And can even be domesticated
Stay here Roo
We will protect you
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 7:10 AM UTC
The Real Poets Here
are small craft
sailing between the narrows of crack'd lines,
employ the spyglass and luck to you,
for them to find
their voyages do not widen the chasm of waste,
yawning greater now by propped up boasts of
ugly shipowners who sin by commission,
national ***** crowing of the greatest length of their prow,
thinking that is a measure of prowess,
their tubs,
all but empty wordy new container ships,
that are forever lost at sea,
even before leaving port
they,
the real poets,
are the quiet lost lot,
a troop of forgettable ordinary Marines,
the sailors in the engine room toiling,
exploring cartographers ***** from the ****** crafting struggle,
looking to discover unmapped,
invisible poles,
East and West
opening up new passages,
within us,
with new passages
when called to arms,
the real poets
spill fresh ***** fluids from within the heart and mind borne,
upon the blank spaces,
they stain us with the grasping gasps of their sight insided
fertile are the pastures
where they lay low modest lay thinking,
amidst the splendor in the grass
of them
I
proudly will ever boast,
hold them close and ever nameless,
but deep inscribed inside of me
*Ah,
the real poets keep me
whole within the
ever smaller white purity of this narrow space
that has lost the struggle
to contains the
unceasing ever spawning black letter'd oceans and navies of
repetitive sad, sadly repetitive,
puerile singsong cant
that never sings,
can't never please,
but trends to the masses madly
dewdrops of tears,
are my own trees felled,
an acknowledgement that
when I read their unintended homages to humankind,
that when realized,
they speak with great respect,
all quietly scream this whisper...
all this,
that I have written,
and will yet to write,
this is all,
to give
greater glory to all human ability
whose
sole purposed to fill us,
wrench us from our lackadaisical comfort,
or urgently comfort us when none else can,
these are my friends,
the real poets here*
god keep you well
my trite words insufficient
so I gift you
some words worthy from
Wordsworth
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC
It’s the damndest thing when attentions focused
on one thing beget the focus of another
Like the rooster crowing the sunlight
in the cold, ungrateful weather,
My eyes scan the ups and downs
of those digital stand-ins for those I’ve known
Seeing mistakes, my own and in others,
Seeing perfection, in other’s imperfect successes,
wantonly rubbed in my eyes
As I springboard from the travails of those
with whom I may never vocalize my adoration
I drop out of the air of a life far from mine,
I see mention of a passed on spirit
Who I truly adored,
no digital fakery of half-true fables necessary
to express my love for the ideals implanted in me
by such a tongue so supplicant to the truths in that vast ether
where I used to swim in the light,
never thinking of the dark climes below.
What choice do I have on an accidental evening like tonight?
I no longer can mask disinterest for other’s soaring narratives
when my true care has been discovered,
been pried away from that dark corner of the airborne pool so ethereal.
My care, my pride have been torn asunder,
by a mere errant glance on a mere sideways mention
Of a massive, earthly idol, who, if only for a stanza of years
held my full gaze with hopeful smiles and ecstatic promise
for bright futures now gone into grey pastures.
I lay here an imposter in authentic skin
if only for the sight of words on screens,
with scant meaning in between.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
good morning america
it’s midnight, and I’m awake
which means it’s morning
and I’m ready to work
another 12 hours straight
without seeing a bit of sunlight
it’s a good day when there’s no day
in sight
I appreciate the dark more
no cicadas, no brash crowing, none
of that unfiltered nature, only
the cautious rustle of dead leaves
muffled boots on concrete
as I approach the next house
to say good morning.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
You should see my rooster,
he's a lively un-hooded fellow.
All day long,
he pecks & he crows,
and at night,
if you listen closely,
he'll scream loudly
just for you,
a personal,
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
O Darling,
do you hear him...
crowing,
now?
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
...5 X 5...
Rooster prepares for early waking
content with just chicken napping
breathless: wings are powerfully flapping
each morning, weird song playing
waking us with endless crowing.
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A, Bayan
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
tie me down
crowing about a crown of flowers
curl my palm into the hollow of your cheek
(oh my god drown me)
and here we have the soldier
hands covered in blood and knives (and something
else;but
we don't talk about that)
look how the blind man cries tonight
see these bones on the grass
frost building in the cavity between your ribs and
your skin
SCREAMING ****** IN THE HALLWAY
(THIS IS THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN HEAR YOURSELF
THINK
THIS IS THE ONLY WAY ANYONE KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE)
you, love, you, goldfinch
climbing windowsills
creep in the dead of night, cicatrix spiderwebs
here, here, here, in the small of your back
(can you feel me, here, crawling into your skin?can
you feel me sewing our palms together, goldfinch?)
"and the world will revel in wonder and delight--"
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
508
I’m ceded—I’ve stopped being Theirs—
The name They dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church
Is finished using, now,
And They can put it with my Dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools,
I’ve finished threading—too—
Baptized, before, without the choice,
But this time, consciously, of Grace—
Unto supremest name—
Called to my Full—The Crescent dropped—
Existence’s whole Arc, filled up,
With one small Diadem.
My second Rank—too small the first—
Crowned—Crowing—on my Father’s breast—
A half unconscious Queen—
But this time—Adequate—Erect,
With Will to choose, or to reject,
And I choose, just a Crown—
2.2k
Forty days and Forty nights
Kachina dolls danced
pounding deer skin drums
rattling snake gourds
whistling circles of
flustered chicken feathers and totem poles
around the drooping firmament
here and there wisps of
sunken chested, shrunken breasted
castrated clouds dragging their empty
rain barrels could be seen straggling
across heat infested waves
at times I swear I could hear the wind
cussing through dry crackling branches
Pine wearing wide brimmed straw hats
squabbling with over bleached blond Palms
How we languished and thirsted for the
dulcet, pure, pellucid taste of Your crystal kisses
lavender squeaky clean smell of rain-bells
oh! to feel those torrents gushing down our
upturned faces, slicked back hair,
engulfing our flowering *****
drenching us to the bone
then this morning we heard an unfamiliar sound
fairy feet tap-dancing on rooftops
excited I ran outside
crowing the Gayatri mantra
flapping prema pink wings
waddling like a duck in slap happy puddles
Yes, Dear God
a grateful, thankful swan,
gossamer reflection
glistening fervently up at You
from diaphanous depths
inexhaustible wellspring
diamond spa of Your Love
Hari Om
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Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
The Crow flies.
Along the 5th motorway car to car,
Past the French coast flying,
Flying.
The ***** black winds, worn and battered
From the ride, the constant ride.
Truck to truck, warm to cold, stranger to friend.
Friend to Comrade.
Preaching my Gospel of love and peace.
The time has come for love and peace.
But the Crow still flies,
His nest destroyed long ago
His brothers and sisters scattered amongst the wind.
The cool, harsh, stinging sea air wind
Of Portsmouth, Southampton, Bristol.
Goodbye, so long, see you soon.
The Crow flies again,
Protected and blessed by Elohim.
The meditating Crow,
Calm to fly once more.
Is this the last?
He promises yes but his heart
Says the opposite;
Fly Crow ‘till you find a better world,
A peaceful world,
A loving world,
A Crow’s world.
So fly Crow,
Fly away and fly safe,
Preaching in the wind,
Travelling in the wind,
Crowing in the wind.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 5:57 AM UTC
Push, Pull, Click, Click.........and so the Instructions , so Plainly Printed on the Silky Smooth Paper, *SHOUTED-OUT to the User. The User, Pondering in His Best State of Mind, Glared back at the SHOUTING black letters on the Silky smooth Paper. Are they serious, He wondered ? Should I actually do EACH of these steps in Exactly the Order in which they are Presented ? What would happen if I Suddenly , as if I had been Engrossed in some Deep thought, TOTALLY disregarded the Emphatic instructions? The User, not accustomed to such vivid instructions, was at a Quandary as to what to do ! ! Being an Observer of the Satirical Right, Could the User in such an Abrupt state of Mind, Actually curb his intentions, and TOTALLY ignore the Now Blatantly LOUD Instructions ! SUCH Simple instructions to follow,, OR so the Outline implied ! Simply start at Step #A, then proceed to Step #B and so on and so on.... ALL the way to the End and to the FULL completion of said Task. That's All there was TO-IT ! ! but, the words of INSTRUCTION, Now cut-back at each glance with a much Sharper Edge now, Making the reading a TASK of Monumental effort. Push, pull, click, click.. Just that Simple, Printed right there in Black and White, in BOLD Classic letter style for the user to read and complete. _____WHY were the Words now *SCREAMING? and even *YELLING ? All I simply tried to do, MUSED the User, was to "DO-IT"---"MY WAY"--! But NO, the next thing I know , crowing out his words, Here come these words Screaming and yelling, Just like they DIDN'T have anything better to do ! ! Why Me. the User was now complaining, Why Oh, Why Oh ME? _____"WHY-NOT" Blared out the Instructions on the Silky Smooth Paper ? *As the EXPLOSION ripped thru the building , Shattering windows as far as 3 miles away. He COMPLETED the Instructions, inserted KEY in door and walked OUT to SAFETY ~ Glancing Back , HE GLARED at the Smoldering Remnants of INSTRUCTIONS ,, THROWING OFF SPARKS, "AS IF IN DEFIANCE"___of those who *FOLLOW-INSTRUCTIONS"
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 3:34 AM UTC