"ostriches" poems
having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
she's dumpy. her *** is too big.
she radiates kindess and symphaty.
live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent.
you order a turkey sandwich and a
beer.
the man at the table across from you
has watery blue eyes and
a head like an elephant.
at a table further down are 3 men
with very tiny heads
and long necks
like ostiches.
they talk loudly of land development.
why, you think, did I ever come
in here when I have the low-down
blues?
then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich
and she asks you if there will be anything
else?
snd you tell her, no no, this will be
fine.
then somebody behind you laughs.
it's a cork laugh filled with sand and
broken glass.
you begin eating the sandwhich.
it's something.
it's a minor, difficult,
sensible action
like composing a popular song
to make a 14-year old
weep.
you order another beer.
jesus,look at that guy
his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's
whistling.
well, time to get out.
pivk up the bill.
tip.
go to the register.
pay.
pick up a toothpick.
go out the door.
your car is still there.
and there are 3 men with heads
and necks
like ostriches all getting into one
car.
they each have a toothpick and now
they are talking about women.
they drive away first
they drive away fast.
they're best i guess.
it's an unberably hot day.
there's a first-stage smog alert.
all the birds and plants are dead
or dying.
you start the engine.
11.1k
Hey, met any hot chicks lately?
Yeah, that peahen is looking at me,
soon the others will too -
not at you, buddy…Oh yeah. Get real.
Just wait till I display my train of shimmering colors
and you’ll see the peahens making a beeline for me -
and you’ll have to bury your head
in the ground for shame
like those silly ostriches do…
All males have their self-esteem hurt in my presence, sure;
you’re no exception – don’t feel too bad…you’re just bad…
The last time I displayed my train,
hey - I caused mayhem in the ancient Indian forests
as the peahens went wild…
that’s why they’ve placed a ban on me
in the land
and how I ended up in this reserve
but I’m not the one to worry,
yeah, brother
you’d better step aside
and let me show you how
I call it the Kama Sutra of the Peacock Gyrations -
learn a bite or a posture and you might
be able to put your gene-stamp
on future generations…
now if you’ll excuse me,
I’ve got a thing or two to do
with these peahens clamoring
for a peck and a neck leading
vigorously to do
the mating dance with me
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Me talking to humans is like an ostrich flying.
I talked to Rianna about this yesterday.
she told me I was an odd human.
I told her indeed very strange.
Stranger than most.
Then we talked. Very interesting conversation adopt the female kind and ostriches and flying.
All relating back to humans.
The only human I can talk to in person easily is Emily. I just have trouble approaching her.
****
That's really bad.
I can talk to someone but can't go up to them.
I can approach some girls but can't talk to them without stuttering.
Rianna approached me one day and randomly asked what's good?
I just stared blankly.
Felt like an idiot.
I can't talk!!!!!
Talking is not a talent that comes easy to me.
That's okay though.
I can observe.
It's okay.
I'm sure humans love me the way i am.
Even if I'm silence.
That's okay.
I'm okay.
For once in a long time I'm okay.
Don't know if it was the girl yesterday or a rush of mania.
Yes it could be mania.
Mania pushing me high.
This is where I'm dangerous.
I get mean when mania takes over me.
I change when mania holds me close.
Mania makes me social and unafraid because I have it to fear.
The effects it will have on me.
Mania strangles the depression then goes for me.
Mania is not good.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
*two bottles of 70cl whiskey later and a few beers, popping sleeping pills for an actual effect worked with (it's ten past five p.m., i'm already mentioning ~ eleven minutes to midnight, so wait)... you get the shovel and broom ushering the ***** drinkers from a town centre in Leicester or Norwich; or you implant a hope to live in Scandinavia; you're basically laughing with a russian at that point: 'eh eh, where's lithuania?' 'ah **** it's next to yuri reciting poetry on the laika satellite.' 'thought so.' german started from monkeys, sent one into space... slavs started with dogs... like all good people, i would too have kept the cats grounded in atmosphere; well, the oedipal riddle began with a sphinx, so i'm more than ready for the cerberus.*
i'm not going to repent for
my alcoholic metabolism,
i'll wait till you turn into ostriches
ostricizing vegans for anaemia
and bulimia and the london fashion show;
bullseye market that cares for
diaphragms and diabetes; sure the arabs
are alcohol free, but diabetic
looking into the sand dunes like looking
at dunes of sugar.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
almond shaped eyes
the color of fertile earth
deep
deeper than marianna and her treacherous trench
i fall deeper into your magic with every glance
the mere thought of your existence sends lightning bolts through my bones
you give me butterflies the size of ostriches
and someday soon i'll take flight
astronauts and the smell of stardust
nasa
here we come
i can hear the static pulse of the universe in your laughter
you leave solar flares in your wake
you take my breath away
a presence as heavy as the vacuum of space
not burdensome
but welcomed
like an egyptian cotton blanket over bare flesh
or the pressure of the lakes surface on my naked ribcage
an embrace
with god
with darwin
with satan
and neil pert
it hurts me when you frown
deep
deep down
i drown in despair at the earliest glimpse of your discourse
but when you smile
hot ****
that smile
i shiver and shrink
like a scalp in a glacial pool
you're strong as a sequoia
proud as an ancient peak
yet for some reason
you see me
in a far more flattering light than i view myself
i wanna take you
far
far
far away
and make you stay forever mine
forever perfect in my eyes
poetic strengths
prose-like down falls
and it all reads just like Rumi
classic
timeless
true
i can't wait until the day you admit
that you can't wait
to be tangled up in me
and the sheets
and the seams of the fabric of time
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
The piper came again
In this world of pain
The clouds were packing up in the last part of the sky
Turning themselves to dragons, the ostriches left behind
In a race which has no end
From eternity to eternity
As free as a bird
The unicorns, angels, owls n strings of guitar
Everything moving in their own pace
Following the tune of the piper
To a world where there are no boundaries
Where there are no divisons
Where there are no societies
And the trees are friends
The door opens with warm welcome of the sunrise
The dogs of this world don't bark at men
And dragons wait for the ostriches
The forests echo with laughter
And everyone is happy
Here no one is hungry n no one has greed
No sloth, no control, no envy, no judgement
No wrath, no cautiousness, no reasonings, no hypothesis
The strings speak, cry and sing in synchrony
The songs of unity
The songs of fraternity
The songs of spirituality
Here streets are unbaptised
People have no types
And u don't need an identity to prove yourself a human being
Because here, all is one and one is all
Pain is not a word here
If u come with stetho, they'll send u back
No hypocrisy, no pretending
And u can keep ur things at ur places
And everything is in a motion
With the tune of the piper
Now when the trust is broken
The light is split into colours
They race with different speeds
The beats and tunes of the strings turn to mere noises
Unicorns fight to break down their horns, get turned to horses
Who again begin to race
The ostriches get extinct
The dragons fight
And the river of blood flows
The vultures appear
The bacteria begin decaying things
Into gases that poison civilisation
The division begin and people sing their anthems at minutest levels
And the world splits into billion pieces
Everyone trying to increase their territory
Coz they need bigger spaces and they fight for more
But when the two worlds fuse
The freedom is extended
And they call it love
The more they love, the more freedom they experience
They begin a journey
From eternity to eternity...
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
Singularity.
Not wanting to assimilate
No need to ingratiate or even to populate.
In the alone wearing my clothes which are home to me are these things that are known to be,
my truth.
No one but one where one can be one and one can be true to oneself.
Selfish is singular too,
another one that is one and so true.
Here on the Central line there are twenty minutes, enough time to write and more than enough time to open my eyes and be overcome by the plight of us all.
On the tube wall, Rwanda, the fate of the elephant, the panda, the children, who wills then misfortune on women and always the children who suffer.
The next stop is my stop, how lucky to get off, but the world turns slowly for some,
if time is the gun,
It
is already smoking.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
A queer breed of ostriches we're!
Scared of reality,
we bury our senses
in the barren sands of illusion,
live in an oasis of fantasy!
Does the glare of daylight scare us?
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 7:10 AM UTC
Long necks held high,
Ostriches in a huddle;
Far palmyrah palms!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
Today a ten-year-old girl
threatened suicide at school because
a trusted uncle had molested her.
What kind of ******* world
has this become?
Police were called,
Child Services arrived,
statements were taken.
no doubt social workers
were stirred into the mix.
I am a man of the 20th Century,
just old enough to remember outrage,
to remember when too much was taboo,
to remember personal honor.
When I was a kid, this monster
was snatched from his bed
by righteous neighbors, dragged begging
to a private place beyond help
and been beaten nearly to death
by the fathers of other potential victims.
Imagine a circle of men, ordinary men,
mostly World II and Korea veterans:
insurance men, car salesmen, farmers,
store keepers, salesmen, even a lawyer
tightening the circle in the torchlight.
The monster begged, pleaded, wept,
wet himself, **** himself, whimpered.
The sheriff watched, smiled,
and then rearrested the pervert for resisting.
Had he lived, the monster would never
have touched a little girl again in our town,
knowing that his life would be forfeit
and end abruptly and anonymously.
Probably, he would have just slunk away.
This new state of bureaucracy cares nothing
for the victims it claims to protect.
It only wants the paperwork filled out correctly.
I was 11, 1962 in a quiet sleepy town.
My father took me to see what evil brings,
the best lesson he ever taught me.
If I had been old enough I would have joined in
without so much as a twinge of regret.
You liberal ostriches can call this brutality if you like.
I call it community action, community justice.
People protecting what is there's to protect
when the official guardians just go through the motions
I miss the 20th Century. I miss justice.
~mce
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
My feet long to walk
Until i reach the ocean
Where only a boat
Might take me further
My old habits
Catch me
By the hair
I
Feel
Like running
Away
This night is cold
Colder than anything
But maybe if you
Were warmer
Id Actually
Want
To
Stay
No
No
No
I cant
Blame
You
Its me.
It has always
Been me.
Im afraid of words
Because i live
In their power
Love
Holds far
Too much
Pain
If i could live by the ocean
Maybe
Maybe id stay
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
1
it is astonishing
in spite of so much progress
in space exploration
the general population
(Yea, ye puny earthlings)
has so little grounding in space facts
(come on - face facts!)
2
which reminds me of the sun
which for years refused to get an education
because it claimed it’d already got
a million degrees;
but humbled by my admonition
the sun now goes to school
to get brighter;
and for reading it’s got plenty of comet books
and all day( there’s no night)
it learns all about its children:
it learns that a tick on the moon
is called a luna-tick;
that the moon is heaviest
when it’s full;
and all these planets exchange songs
they secretly call Nep-tunes;
and that Mars tries to get fresh
with Saturn by saying often:
“Give me a ring sometime!”
And more,
the sun learns about the light year
which is really a year with less calories;
that the cows have a distinguished
space history -
after all, the first animal in space
was the cow that jumped over the moon;
but really, its main aim
was to get all the way to the milky way
3
more of these facts? –
you lazy ostriches,
get off your heavy bottoms
and dig into a wormhole yourself
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
From within the safety of the train compartment
Memories, written in stone, glide by
There’s the Roman church
With the statue of the priest and his dog
And the enigmatic farm
Where llamas and ostriches stride
And that one funky albino kangaroo
And after that comes the castle
Which in my mind is inhabited
By an anachronistic loner
A degenerate nobleman
Who hides within his fortress
Hoping that the days of old come back
And after wasted grandeur comes earnest cosines
Carefree children playing football
While their grandfathers smoke
And discuss the Tour de France
And eat Boules de Berlin
Images that I have seen a hundred times before
But the celebration of triviality
Has never been so precious to me
As these images, gliding by, through the window
Written inside my memory
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
I look into the void that fills the halls of power and I get all confused. I look for distinguished statesmen in fine attire, but all I see are the animals running up and down a spire. There are old lions who have seen their better days with dingy coats and teeth that have bitten off more than they can chew. I see packs of wolves banding together giving anyone who challenges them an icy Arctic stare. Then there are Zebras that are constantly trying to change their stripes, as they prance to and fro trying to avoid any one position. I look on and see packs of Jackals with microphones and cameras. Hissing and growling as they snap at each other to get a word in edge wise. Then there are the Ostriches, who stick their heads in the sand or at least under their desk until what ever problem they are facing has passed. Such is the life in the halls of power also know as a Political zoo.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:51 AM UTC
Tuffy skinned a cat
Behind Walker Bros. Stores;
He was probably in on
The sand-girl's situation,
But no one believes her;
Yet believe Tuffy capable of such.
He wrestled ostriches and kangaroos
At Jungleworld,
Real ones.
Some say the animals were old and drugged,
But Tuffy pinned them all the same.
Margo's house burned to the studs
Following her sex-driven ******
That was thirty years ago,
The same time Jungleworld,
With its spiders, snakes and caged bear
Died off with Tuffy and his peacock,
And the secrets of his take downs and holds.
I never saw Tuffy perform
His flaming knife-throws,
Destroying balloons between lips,
Slicing straps with his swordplay.
He would've thrived in Venice with Leonardo,
Dazzling Popes and Princes,
Who would be benefactors and patrons.
Tuffy would have lived in a villa,
On a mountainside, overlooking his audience,
And applauding them for their attention to detail.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
The Disappearance Of The Flora & The Fauna
As usual I watch TV.
Not news but documentary.
“Care and Sustenance of Nature” theme, wherein I learn
The world’s downfall is not the climate, wars or other,
But the disappearance of the fauna, disappearance of the flora.
Population out of hand, we continue in our building,
Take the forests and its bounty.
Must we mutiny?
In the forests are the flora and the fauna:
Insects, mosses, mushrooms, herbs;
All dependent on the flora, all reliant on the fauna.
Population out of hand; swelling daily,
How to build for it more wisely?
Species dying out of hand,
We, the ostriches in sand,
Where lies duty, where lies blame?
Where lies power and restraint?
Who shall act with calm and tact?
I, you, we who lacked the facts?
T has plans to dig the Arctic.
There can be no Noah’s Ark. Bit bores and drills.
Do we need oil?
Fated to be hanging there somewhere in space,
Green, over-green, impure for sure?
Seen from up above, sun-blocked from war?
Submerged in water. What could be:
‘Hell on earth’ no more cliché but nature’s blithe reality.
The Disappearance Of The Flora & The Fauna
12.1.2017 Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Nature II; Circling Round Reality; Nature Of & In Reality; Arlene Corwin
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
While it's certainly true
That you annoy me no end,
I love the fact that you exist
'Cause my mirth may never end.
You think your soft, comfortable life
Will continue forever; Always getting better,
Never losing lustre - You-butte, Brand-spanking New!
It's unfortunate you Brainwash the Under-feet-lings too!
Now what do we get for our peace of mind?
Defenceless society when the Under-dogs bite!
A deep-set idiocy - distracted, but not engaged;
Living batteries for Another's Pleasure and Pain.
Some people have worked **** hard for their security;
Their privileges and indulgences and perks of service.
But these brave souls are few and far between;
More likely quietly, patiently, happily waiting their day
When they can once again enjoy the prestige
Of calling a F**k-wit or rude ***** exactly what they are,
Without the undue fear of a litigious future looming.
No-one is purrfect, but some people never learn
To accept themselves for who they are;
They need only look inside - reflective thinking -
To conclude that those insensitive arse-ostriches
Should just be laughed at until they see the travesty
Of a farcical life worthwhile while it lasts.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
Change seems inevitable.
Old sentences carry
different purposes.
Mold forms in old coffee cups
like modern paintings.
Tubas boom like thunderstorms.
Your age appears first
on the back of your hands.
A clock talks by ticking
or not at all.
The knot is not the rope.
Poets write only white lines.
Medications are altered.
The brain forgets itself.
Impatience scribbles nonsense.
We become heavier,
weighted and slower.
Playing the Sitar
becomes easy as whistling.
Tamed ostriches preen
in toy cowboy hats.
Lint tells secrets of navels.
Words float in bubbles.
The wicked become tender.
Voices ebb and echo
devoid of throats and tongues.
Speech nailed to walls
becomes the new poetry.
We burn the news
to warm ourselves.
Each dawn forms
a unique conclusion.
A moth destroys Chicago.
Vandalism is elevated
to curated folk art.
How can I be sure
these syllables are real
when everything changes
except the desire for coffee?
Please don't wake me up.
I want to remember this dream.
~mce
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
A queer breed of Ostriches we're!
Scared of reality,
we bury our senses
in the barren sands of illusion,
live in an oasis of fantasy!
The glare of daylight scares us!!
Cosy in the arms of our delusions,
inebriated with our fallacies,
romancing idiocies,
we day-dream all the time,
while silver drizzles of the morning sun
paint the dawn gorgeous!
But we blind our senses
to a magnificent reality!
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
yeah, batman said so,
said: it's a bartenders' pantomime
of half-filled shot glasses
drank as human ostriches
shoved their heads into the sky
rather than the earth, in hiding
(reminiscent notice of eventual
disclosure, like a signpost that
stated right, **** happened, you
fell off a cliff), as was the original
thought: it breaks social barriers...
the only barrier i broke was impregnated
long ago... english fancy was about
taking dates... i speed-dated once,
i was never into dating,
took to the pleasure of prostitutes:
no dinner, no vanity talk:
no the beatles sing-along can i hold your hand
revised by monster magnet
**** first then handy pancake puck up flip panky?*
(i want to cite type-o-negative,
really really really... next time).
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Ask what she wants, Ask what he needs
He'll write you an epistle, She'll sing you a psalm
Present all she needs, Avail all he requires
He buries them in the earth, She hides them in her purse
To her brother, She is the new era
To his sister, He is the long awaited change
First name, Pseudo
Last name, Grabby
Joined in unholy matrimony
They bring forth
EMPTY PROMISES and HYPOCRISY
Regurgitating from their long throats
Indigestible pellets, packaged as permanent solutions
Whilst
Skillfully silencing the many angels
Seated on their right shoulder
Ask him what he has done, Ask her what she is doing
And like ostriches,
Heads buried in the sand, Butts hanging out
They just don't care
©Belema.S.Ekine
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 11:26 AM UTC
I used to think ostriches were stupid
For burying their heads in the sand
I mean, the need to conceal was perfectly acceptable
Just look at chameleons, children’s games, eclipses;
The universe overflows with proof that hiding is only natural
But to do it so poorly?
That was just sad.
As I grew up though
I began to understand the value of smoke and mirrors
The art of distraction, of diverting attention from the body that cannot hide
And I mastered it
I became the expert of illusion
Delusion
Confusion
I constructed a mask so lifelike even I could no longer remember if I’d ever had a real face.
Waking early every morning
I applied makeup and apathy as my own personal veneer
For I had long ago realized
That weakness led to concern led to questions led to fear
So instead of opening myself to the Inquisition
Which I knew would attack until I confessed
I learned the greatest lesson from the birds I once scorned:
How to hide more simply by ‘hiding’ less.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
*** yir ******* skids outta
m'ah 'uckin feece!
god i love that place,
glasgow is like birmingham
of the north...
a rotten scow to nowhere,
unless it be a place that
spoke: deep-fried mars bar
for breakfast -
you scurvy worth of
the tangled sailor! ****
gods took to the twallop,
and i takes me to the
rool ups!
got a bargain with a shrimp
you belfast *****
my **** you 'av!
next time they sing: sweet dover,
i'll have you marrying the *****
cult of: shard!
ye storm ah heed!
**** me an' timber twice:
V fooking eye of ye, hire-crane!
******** twice,
three times removed
the drunk... huh?!
it's all plus minus with me by
now...
ha ha!
had a cousin, didn't say why,
cursed & numbed the cuss words
like a nun ought to know why...
so i says me:
lingua the leash - earn the ir -
softspot for the tucker-jacks
and the irish lepers: shauns they
called them...
he he...
look at me:
all smug and waiting
for brussel sprouts out the paan tree...
what's with these wallaby terms?
panchree? panna quinoa, panna cotta?
******* as clingy as those pepsoowongs,
or wangs or pepsoos.
as the english queers say
F F Θ, but then pull out a churchill -
and vey v girman vey such & such...
they and way become indistinguishable -
churchie and the welsh abbey become
one and the same with either V
as "peace", or the V and the welsh
longbowmen **** you...
v'eh point... wayward: too soon...
vuck!
wook?
wookie?
va va voom!
woonder-brum, brimming,
bra bra bra... ha ha ha...
dried it all off with the giggles...
then it became apparent:
the man settled for the dozen,
whether it was a dozen of ostriches,
hyenas,
bunches of lychee,
leaks,
bulgarian strippers -
or worse...
a dozen of english rhetoricians,
notably gay;
**** what a gamble.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
There are many beautiful things here
On earth. Places and persons we may
Visit, never going far from home. It
Is our choice. In nature there are what
Is called "Acts of God"that we have no
Choice about but must get thru them
As best we can. But for much of life
We go to places we would not by an
Act of choice. To be fair there are to
Be sure reasons: to prepare against an
Evil foreseen; to learn from- so to avoid
A next time. We go to war to defend
The peace-afraid to do otherwise would
Be cowardly and invite aggression. There
Is no end of rationales for our sorties near
To the bad place we would not go-whole
Segment of our society and many of our
"Finest"have it in their job description,
Are duty bind to look deeply into hell.
Is there something wrong with this?
Almost certainly. Should we rather be
Like ostriches burying our heads in
The sand. Be liked the three monkeys
That see no evil; hear no evil; speak no
Evil. We should at least be allowed to
Doubt bad news-Knowing Satan is a
Liar. We should doubt the benefit of
Being warned about evil as it so often
Lead to self fulfilling prophecies and
Errors of judgement repugnant to our
Conscience. It is a morass. A world we
Would not and it is all too much for us.
Our world is not as we would have it. If
It is the truth we say unto our God: Let it
Not be so. I give up; it is up to you to make
It better. For my part let me do my best
To contemplate your Grandeur-Oh and
Thank you God for all the dappled things.
Acknowledging my debt to Gerard Manley.
Hopkins and his two famous poems
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
My face growing
like a sunshine
because
my chickens grew
up like ostriches
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 8:43 AM UTC