"fowls" poems
I
On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,--
One old jug without a handle,--
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
II
Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,--
''Tis the lady Jingly Jones!
'On that little heap of stones
'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
III
'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
'Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
'Will you come and be my wife?'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
'I am tired of living singly,--
'On this coast so wild and shingly,--
'I'm a-weary of my life:
'If you'll come and be my wife,
'Quite serene would be my life!'--
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
IV
'On this Coast of Coromandel,
'Shrimps and watercresses grow,
'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
'You shall have my chairs and candle,
'And my jug without a handle!--
'Gaze upon the rolling deep
('Fish is plentiful and cheap)
'As the sea, my love is deep!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
V
Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow,--
'Your proposal comes too late,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'I would be your wife most gladly!'
(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
'But in England I've a mate!
'Yes! you've asked me far too late,
'For in England I've a mate,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'
VI
'Mr. Jones--(his name is Handel,--
'Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
'Dorking fowls delights to send,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle,
'And your jug without a handle,--
'I can merely be your friend!
'--Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
'I will give you three, my friend!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'
VII
'Though you've such a tiny body,
'And your head so large doth grow,--
'Though your hat may blow away,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy--
'Yet a wish that I could modi-
'fy the words I needs must say!
'Will you please to go away?
'That is all I have to say--
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!'.
VIII
Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
Lay a large and lively Turtle,--
'You're the Cove,' he said, 'for me
'On your back beyond the sea,
'Turtle, you shall carry me!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
IX
Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
With a sad primaeval motion
Towards the sunset isles of Boshen
Still the Turtle bore him well.
Holding fast upon his shell,
'Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!'
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
X
From the Coast of Coromandel,
Did that Lady never go;
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle
Still she weeps, and daily moans;
On that little hep of stones
To her Dorking Hens she moans,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
4.2k
Why aren't you smiling, while the whole world is smiling?
In this lovely day why aren't you shining?
Obstacles on your way but even fowls are crossing.
Instead of smiling why are always cursing
the world and her natural ways of judgment.
Life is full of jubilance, why the resentment?
Understand that life is the most wonderful element,
Rich and nourishing, each day lived is a divine fulfilment.
Why aren't you smiling when you should be rising?
Why are you still going backwards, forward is where you should be heading,
You should be smiling even when everything seems to be falling,
Smile each day, life is awesome and worth living.
*"Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero"
Live today and worry not about tomorrow.*
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
It has always perplexed me
The unspoken laws of nature
The fowls swiftly follow their
Undeviating migrant patterns
Like long highways- better than man
Will ever hope to build.
The wolf never leaves the
Woodland heights. An invisible
Boundary is laid between the creatures
Of the desert and the creatures
Of the forest. The ones who live in the
Dark, dank ponds and the woodland
Shallows are never seen roaming
The grassy plains. What is it about man?
Is it his sense for adventure?
Or his passion for destruction?
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
♀↵ϖ†∅↨⊕☺☼↑↓
Apples will be cantaloupes
depending on their nurture;
and so I cherish rainbow hopes
for our collective future.
Oranges elect their hue
improving Nature’s seal,
while pronouns stifle what is true
suppressing the appeal.
Fruits may choose to change to nuts
and fowls select their plumage.
Why settle in Tradition’s ruts?
Such rigid roles do damage.
Nuts in turn, may feel like flowers,
picking how and when to bloom.
So ambisexual thought empowers
androgynes to court their doom.
A leopard, too, may change his spots
(or turn into a vegan bunny)
No law’s tittles, neither jots
make Speciesism funny.
If you decide to see it so
the sky above is yellow.
Perceive as pink the grass beneath
and better times must follow.
Gender? Merely social constructs –
preach it to the masses
until tradition self-destructs
and *** takes off her glasses.
Babies need no Dad (nor Mother):
sexist labels, obsolete.
Love is blind. There is no other.
Bats must bark and chickens bleat.
Integrated water closets
show how far we have evolved:
urinary bank deposits
(with no member account involved).
Foolish thinking from the past
(like water being wet, and such)
calls for re-education, fast.
The State will lend its human touch
compelling all to sing the hymn
with genderfluid motions…
so birds can preen their scales and swim
in dry and waveless oceans.
(Yet “hymn” sounds sexist said out loud –
we ought to sing a “her” instead…
no – make that “us”, since we are proud,
lest misconceptions be misread.)
Shake a healthy dose of salt
upon this strange post-modern food.
May God re-set us to default
with human common sense renewed.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Last Sunday after Pentecost
A calling-crow-cold sky ceilings the world,
Lowering the horizon to itself
All silvery and grey upon the fields
Of pale, exhausted, dry-corn-stalk summer
The earth is tired, the air is cold, the dawn
False-promises nothing but an early dusk
As calling-cold-crows crowd the world with noise,
Loud-gossiping from tree to ground to sky
Soon falling frosts and fields of ice will fold
Even those fell, foolish fowls into the depths
Of dark creek bottoms where dim ancient oaks
Hide darkling birds from wild blue northern winds
Crows squawk of Advent disapprovingly,
For Advent-autumn drifts to Christmastide
When all the good of the seasonal year
Then warms and charms the house, the hearth, the heart.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
Break Of A New Day
Birds chirping,
Crickets singing,
People laughing,
Cars passing.
Dawn is breaking,
Clouds are shaping,
People walking
Fowls are dancing.
All else is SILENT.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
There’s beauty in June
THERE IS BEUTY IN JUNE
Sparkly! its June in summer.
The leaves are bright and daze
The trees are ripe, and the Flowers are blooming with chaos
Swiftness is Dashing in the air. the sky is **** with bronze.
The Delights of sunray’s, The taste of Sage.
The woods are Timeless with Venus and Splendor.
The Clouds are Crunchy sizzling with navy and Dew.
The scenery is refreshing, and vineyards are dripping with oats
The Merry of Fowls Swaying towards the east
The respiration of haze to luminous day.
Surely there is Beauty in June
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 8:29 AM UTC
This is not mine!
THIS IS NOT MINE!
THIS IS NOT MY HOME!
your diamond ***
intense compaction and heat
clear like hash gum
red as a cherry until it pops bittersweet
the end is enough
but victory feels naught
years of blood I cough
and hate is what i'm taught.
Away from sane
Pleasures of pain
Try and keep the loose locks chained
Realities plane
From what we gain
Oh life is tamed
From heart to brain
Your name is bane
Now I’m the same
These maggots of shame
Express my frame
The life of death is but a game
The fowls in your lies
They **** out my eyes
Streaking fire harmonize
Along the lines of mental suicide
now lost in higher skies
Known like when a ghost dies
Inegligible melting wax
With a sea of philosophical facts
Tearing your nails for satisfaction
incomprehensible refractions
why try to grasp such fractions
to only destroy your foundation?
like narcotics and communication
or the vane abyss of dead relaxation
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
I buckle to my slender side
The pistol and the scimitar,
And in my maiden flower and pride
Am come to share the tasks of war.
And yonder stands my fiery steed,
That paws the ground and neighs to go,
My charger of the Arab breed,--
I took him from the routed foe.
My mirror is the mountain spring,
At which I dress my ruffled hair;
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,
And wash away the blood-stain there.
Why should I guard from wind and sun
This cheek, whose ****** rose is fled?
It was for one--oh, only one--
I kept its bloom, and he is dead.
But they who slew him--unaware
Of coward murderers lurking nigh--
And left him to the fowls of air,
Are yet alive--and they must die.
They slew him--and my ****** years
Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,
And many an Othman dame, in tears,
Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.
I touched the lute in better days,
I led in dance the joyous band;
Ah! they may move to mirthful lays
Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.
The march of hosts that haste to meet
Seems gayer than the dance to me;
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet
As the fierce shout of victory.
1.4k
Last Sunday after Pentecost
A calling-crow-cold sky ceilings the world,
Lowering the horizon to itself
All silvery and grey upon the fields
Of pale, exhausted, dry-corn-stalk summer
The earth is tired, the air is cold, the dawn
False-promises nothing but an early dusk
As calling-cold-crows crowd the world with noise,
Loud-gossiping from tree to ground to sky
Soon falling frosts and fields of ice will fold
Even those fell, foolish fowls into the depths
Of dark creek bottoms where dim ancient oaks
Hide darkling birds from wild blue northern winds
Crows squawk of Advent disapprovingly,
For Advent-autumn drifts to Christmastide
When all the good of the seasonal year
Then warms and charms the house, the hearth, the heart.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
Give answer by thy voice—the sea-fowls' screams!
When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams?
When from the sun was thy broad forehead hid?
How long is't since the mighty Power bid
Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams—
Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams—
Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid!
Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep.
Thy life is but two dead eternities,
The last in air, the former in the deep!
First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies!
Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
Another cannot wake thy giant-size!
1.3k
Blessed are you who drink my pain
And swallow my seasonal worry,
Where were you,
When the slave master
Took away my pride and destiny?
Stop crying over me,
For I have truly
Exchanged my honey for their bees,
And the walls of ignorance and oppression
Are drawn down over my ballad,
Oh yes, the cockroach will not be safe
In the gathering of fowls,
But you need to stop crying.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
The First Sunday of Advent
A calling-crow-cold sky ceilings the world,
Lowering the horizon to itself
All silvery and grey upon the fields
Of pale, exhausted, dry-corn-stalk summer
The earth is tired, the air is cold, the dawn
False-promises nothing but an early dusk
As calling-cold-crows crowd the world with noise,
Loud-gossiping from tree to ground to sky
Soon falling frosts and fields of ice will fold
Even those fell, foolish fowls into the depths
Of dark creek bottoms where dim ancient oaks
Hide darkling birds from wild blue northern winds
Crows squawk of Advent disapprovingly,
As Advent-autumn drifts to Christmastide
When all the good of the seasonal year
Then warms and charms the house, the hearth, the heart.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
I clutch Her like a Clutch purse
I make Her cling to me
She tells me when She holds me
She likes it when I sing
my Robin my Baby Bird
hope You'll keep lettin' me a sing
We go out to the jam spot
talking Bird's and B's
i'm not certain if i'm certain yet
one day I hope to be
"I have no ambition"
said a man close to me
when He was asking my Mawm a question
that led straight to my dreams
Oh Robin, Oh baby Bird
Oh Baby Bird sing
I'll plany my Heart next to yours
if You'll hold my hand and sing
I clutch Her like a Clutch purse
I like to hear her breathe
Talk about a Fresh Mint
Jesus, you should hear Her sing
I once was a Raven man
I even Mockingbirded I think
I never was a Cardinal fan
I read Buzzards wake at ease
Nah, I like my Robin's song
She's the Bird I need
Oh Robin come to my nest
We'll be Night Owls
Not song Fowls
Let's stay up late and Sing
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
I see people with there minds closed feelings exposed
eyes wide shut, with open toes
they're too enclosed
in a mindstate - reality overthrown
By throwns of the egos
Egoes guiding the thrown.
war amongst foes killing innocent souls like wild fowls.
We keep judging books by their covers, so when the truth unfolds, it's a different story. True nature uncovers has halos hover over two stories. The sins of our father's, and we blame our motherland for land us in unforsaken. Thanks to mother we all will sink in the sand that we played our hand. Instead of learning for our mistakes, we take the word of another man. Wisdom is something I will never understand, as long as I got the upper hand.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
The mighty God, even the
Lord, hath spoken, and
called the earth from the rising
of the sun unto the going down
thereof.
2 Out of Zion, the perfection of
beauty, God hath shined.
3 Our God shall come, and
shall not keep silence: a fire shall
devour before him, and it shall be
very tempestuous round about
him.
4 He shall call to the heavens
from above, and to the earth, that
he may judge his people.
5 Gather my saints together
unto me; those that have made a
covenant with me by sacrifice.
6 And the heavens shall
declare his righteousness: for God
is judge himself. Selah.
7 Hear, O my people, and I will
speak, O Israel, and I will testify
against thee: I am God, even thy
God.
8 I will not reprove thee for
thy sacrifices or thy burnt
offerings, to have been continually
before me.
9 I will take no bullock out of
thy house, nor he goats out of thy
folds.
10 For every beast of the forest
is mine, and the cattle upon a
thousand hills.
11 I know all the fowls of the
mountains: and the wild beasts of
the field are mine.
12 If I were hungry, I would not
tell thee: for the world is mine,
and the fulness thereof.
13 Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or
drink the blood of goats?
14 Offer unto God thanksgiving;
and pay thy vows unto the
most High:
15 And call upon me in the day
of trouble: I will deliver thee, and
thou shalt glorify me.
16 But unto the wicked God saith,
What hast thou to do to declare my
statutes, or that thou shouldest
take my covenant in thy mouth?
17 Seeing thou hatest
instruction, and castest my words behind
thee.
18 When thou sawest a thief,
then thou consentedst with him,
and hast been partaker with
adulterers.
19 Thou givest thy mouth to evil,
and thy tongue frameth deceit.
20 Thou sittest and speakest
against thy brother; thou
slanderest thine own mother's son.
21 These things hast thou done,
and I kept silence; thou thoughtest
that I was altogether *such an
one* as thyself: but I will reprove
thee, and set them in order
before thine eyes.
22 Now consider this, ye that
forget God, lest I tear you in
pieces, and there be none to
deliver.
23 Whoso offereth praise
glorifieth me: and to him that ordereth
his conversation aright will I
shew the salvation of God.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I cannot perceive my past,
Neither can I behold my future,
Yet my heart will go on,
The native doctor has cast
An evil spell on my gun,
Causing poverty to become
My greatest confidant,
Yet my love will go on,
She has left me
For the energetic farmer,
Indeed, he who has corn
Has no problem owning fowls,
Yet my heart will go on,
Nature has frown
Her face in darkness,
Whiles the sky is
Weeping in tears of dim stars,
Yet my love will go on,
My dead palm nut tree has
Decided not to reproduce
Tasty palm wine any longer,
Knowing very well that
My gourd is extremely thirsty,
Yet my heart will go on,
Life has been cruel
To my youthful teeth,
Having no pity for
My taste and sight,
Yet my love will go on,
The cruel Gods have brought
A great calamity on my land,
Causing my rain drop to
Hold its peace indefinitely,
Yet my heart will go on,
The Aburi mountains are
Lying flat on their bellies
Whiles the Shai hills are
Looking ghastly at my pains
Yet my love for Frimpomaa
Will forever go on.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:56 AM UTC
*eerie plover cries
and night jar acrobatics
in broad daylight
were a sign of something amiss
especially coming so soon
after a barn owl
had pecked his fruit bowl at lunch
and a crow had sat on his head
and cawed lustily for an eternity
it's *** for tat from nature
when we think only of ourselves
without doubt we demean our stature
when we upset nature's designs
one of these days an ape will come visiting
and help himself to the fowls*
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
*Mother of the children
I'm here
Yes I'm here, but I'm so tired
I have a knife that's sharp and indiscriminate*
**W hen he of the itchy fingers is around
keep an eye on your fowls and your goats!**
**When he warns you about your fowls and goats
He's being evasive; I'm the village stud, ask your wives!**
*Mother of the children
I'm here
Yes I'm here but I'm so tired
I have a knife that's sharp and indiscriminate*
**Sleep, baby sleep, and be silent
I don't need any water; your father is here
He's sweeping my nether lands with a broom that tickles me
So sleep, baby, sleep, and let your mother be a queen tonight**
*Mother of the children
I'm here
Yes I'm here but I'm so tired
I have a knife that's sharp and indiscriminate*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
The world has stopped spinning.
God is going to toss a stone,
And it is going to change everything.
Change does not wait for anyone,
And it is not going to wait for you.
God is going to toss a stone,
Watch it crush your bones.
Feed us to the maggot queen.
We will carry her eggs,
And when they hatch,
They will eat the nest.
There will be nothing left
The beasts of the forests,
And the fowls of the air.
Shall devour us.
The ***** of the earth,
Shall be burnt in a devouring fire,
And swallowed up by the earth's crust.
There will be nothing left of us.
If we continue to live like this,
Then we are going to die like this!
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 4:33 PM UTC
There was an old person of Cannes,
Who purchased three fowls and a fan;
Those she placed on a stool,
And to make them feel cool
She constantly fanned them at Cannes.
765
geese are gorgeous
but raucous and cruel
selfish fowls
small-brained fools
grackles are ugly
but travel as friends
it wouldn't be awful
to live among them
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
Howling fowls cease to be
while grey boatmen
chapped on ends
worry about where their women
back on land
choose to lay.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
A glimpse, as
morning creaks awake,
and one hundred blackbirds
feast along the cleared patch of land
where seeds, cupped and flung open-handed,
are strewn across the white and white and white
until, sated for the moment,
the fowls erupt in a calamitous flurry,
blackening the dawn,
succumbing to the urge to move on.
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC