"pelican" poems
Breaking News
A Robinson’s affair
It has been called party goers in beware
The Pelican Club know fore shoot outs
There are also fights to talk about
The Chef’s have been making guest sick
The Pelican Club is not a good pick
The ratings of the club had been very low
Business is certainly somewhat slow
As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go”
The Flamingo Club is the place to be
When you walk inside this is what you will see
Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties
Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance
The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance
Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance
All kinds of drinks for you to sup
However don’t forget to leave a tip
The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself
The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else
This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know
It goes too show
Take in the Flamingo Club and just let senses go.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
I am the flightless pelican.
I’ve found myself with my mouth full,
my stomach full, and so much still on my plate.
Possessed by an inhuman hunger,
I will gorge upon pure potential.
I will yowl on and on, without sleep.
-
I have sand between my toes.
My shoes are glued to my feet.
Keep on running ‘til the calluses come.
There has to be a point where I stop to sweat,
and I’ll finally get my sigh of relief.
I have one ride left on my bus pass.
-
I have a tendency to ramble
and languish in my own stench.
People tend to forget this at first;
lured in by the false face of a genetic fluke.
They want to know the impression I left,
not the procrastinator; the cud-chewing goat.
-
I can’t sleep being held,
or if I feel someone’s breath in the still.
I start to feel the urge to burrow
into the quiet quilts; patchwork Promised Land.
I cater to the crowd that caters to themselves,
but I’m no Utilitarian. Fox and Lion.
-
I have cousins like brothers,
and I have brothers like strangers.
Stray cats with names
and a copy of The Mahabharata that I stash my money in.
I’m sitting on a sunny pier with my hook in the water;
avoiding conflict with no bait.
-
Paper cuts from the gold leaf
on the edges of hymn book pages
with burgundy leather covers.
These guilty cuts, bleeding for what seems like hours,
while we steadily forget that anyone was singing.
Alone with our thoughts in the crowd.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Pecan-Pelican, feathery nuts
Pelican-Pecan, shells and guts
Could fly away, most likely shan't
For a pelican can but a pecan can't
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Standing perplexed
Vigorously stabbing button
Scowling at passing traffic
Prodding repeatedly
Slapping neon display like
a defective vending machine
Arms flailing in impatience
Fidgeting on kerb edge.
He's the cross crossing man.
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 3:40 AM UTC
Birds of a feather flock together. It's what the saying reads. But a lot of times I feel like I have no one of my feather to flock with, I am just a pelican alone at sea.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 12:07 PM UTC
Breaking News
A Robinson’s affair
It has been called party goers in beware
The Pelican Club know about shoot outs
There are also fights to talk about
The Chef’s have been making guest sick
The Pelican Club is not a good pick
The ratings of the club had been very low
Business is certainly somewhat slow
As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go”
The Flamingo Club is the place to be
When you walk inside this is what you will see
Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties
Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance
The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance
Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance
All kinds of drinks for you to sup
However don’t forget to leave a tip
The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself
The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else
This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know
It goes too show
Take in the Flamingo Club and just let your senses go.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
He was never your daughter,
not since the day he was born.
He was an identical twin to his sister, sure,
but your daughter? No.
I am dating your daughter, sir.
He has an assortment of ways to please me.
I love him, and he knows it;
he orders his ***** online to please me.
He was never your daughter.
Couldn't you tell from the way he looked
awkward in dresses?
The way he always cut his hair short?
He was never your daughter;
I am dating your daughter, sir;
but he is not, never was, a sister
to the brother who just wanted a hug.
"She feels like she's wearing the wrong decoration;
how would you like it if I put you
in a dress and paraded you around
in front of your friends?"
He was never your daughter, ma'am,
but you knew it.
He is not a lesbian, he's something different.
He is not your daughter, any more.
Certainly we all know
he wears things to hide his *******
And while I know what's down there in his pants
he won't let me see it.
He was never your daughter,
but I knew that.
I knew when he said, "FtM,"
that he was something different,
something special.
"I want to be a pelican
and have a bag for a face."
"Baby, baby, baby."
"Where's my ****
I've spent a month with your daughter,
and he cannot wait to tell it to your face
that he's moving out.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
Mesmerize me
With your pelican eyes.
Isn't that funny?
I thought you might laugh.
Oh me? Not much.
Just everything, you know.
Lots of stuff going on.
Lots of stuff going on.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Like a plane in the
fog
looking for a place to
land
Like a man in a
homeless shelter listening for the rapture
A pelican on a pier
eyeing his next meal
the last apple on a
tree all ready
to fall
Remember I started with blue
skies in front of me
I studied my flight plan well
I knew I'd be landing
I knew for sure
it wasn't going to be hell
I always tried to do so well,
focusing in on innocence
when ever I was able to
But there are failures of compass
The phantom captain takes
a nap
The instruments may keep on
saying you're right on track
But
the only trust I have is
in the Northern Star
and in Mars high
in the sky.
It seems impossible
to be so lost
Like a plane in the
fog
looking for somewhere
to land.
Like a woman working tables
until two a.m.
Her fitness app keeps saying
a hundred years this shift
The fuel is evaporating
The miles to go before zero
keeps hopping
Like a whale without a culture
no one to talk to
The sky is a 300 mile high
air ocean
I thought I was free
to get from here to there
Like a window with a view
of a brick wall
Phoenix in the summer
A tsunami on dry land
A river without a name
A cougar and no game
Like a lover whose left
and no way to find their name
So many aspects of this life
Departures and arrivals
a one way ticket
There is a great darkness
out in the distance
I know it's getting closer
but
I keep on drifting
Like a plane in the fog
looking for a place to land.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
Pelican
Slurps on
What its
Belly can
Put stay
Whole day
In the sun
On the run
Just wish
Big fish
One stuff
Big enough
It can pick
With its beak
That can hold
Manifold
Bigger than
Its belly can
Wonderful Pelican
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
Though it is such a beautiful pristine night, puffy fluffy sky
a pelican had soaked spaghetti like limbs mangled and dangled
thrusting thyself forward to comfortably drown in wet frozen crystals
[I am a life I am blinking] Your feathers were flapping frosted and numbed
Oh I bet the water was stinging yet pleasing - 656 55 3-4 the elderly woman said
her kind soul with a phone number for SPCA wildlife rescue and rehabilitation
the pelican is near death, I divulged with envy for that wave drowning you in warmth
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
What a marvelous bird is the pelican,
His beak can hold more than his belly can!
he can hold in his beak,
enough fish for a week
But I'll be ****** if I know how the hell he can!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing
a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards
The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”
on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet
Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone
I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement
“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask
“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.
“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five. The ******
******** took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”
She went back to
tilling the sand.
Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf
standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche
the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting
seaside symphony
the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes
grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary
Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo
Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
*Smile and lay your sorrows at the foot of the Earth ,
Climb the highest tree and shoot across the blue like your favorite bird..
Grab the Crescent Moon , swing like an Olympian effortlessly ,
Swan dive with confidence into warm tropical seas ...
Swim to the Coral reefs to say hello , saddle a dolphin at the surface then off you go ..Blue seahorses and red catfish , float like a Pelican to the white sand beach ..Tip toe through the green grass , dance a jig , find another tall tree and do it again* ..
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
A pelican glides by
Making a long, lazy slice through the air.
The look of an ungainly and awkward bird
But a more graceful glide and flight
You will not find.
Catching the updraft right off the surface
And that pelican rides along
With barely a movement.
It is effortless.
Inches from the blue-grey waters.
It pulls up and lands on a rock outcrop
To watch as a lonely boat cuts
The water of the harbor
Heading out to sea.
Five knots in the entrance channel.
Soon it will gear up and find cruising speed
En route to who knows where
In this weather.
I hope they get there before
Those rains on the horizon arrive.
Because alone at sea in a boat
Is no way to ride out a storm.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
hey little bird you dive in the ocean's waves to exhilarate your tongue
you swim through the clouds, feathers a-flutter with joy
you hide in the trees and bushes, all winky and coy
i'd love to fall hands-first along your side catching my little bugs and my little birds
i wish i could fly
i wish i could fly
oh ** oh i wish i wish i could fly
no wings, no plane, no parachute
so thanks, bluejay, crane, pelican,
all the birds,
for letting me come along
(what a way to die)
so happy i can fly
so happy i can fly
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 11:12 AM UTC
~
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions out in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Presenting a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at the porcupines playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering piccolos play the piano
Pure as a pelican’s prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores they perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
Bluebell and Blossom were two little girls
One had straight hair the other curls
Their eyes were different shades of blue
And they both loved going to the zoo.
Bluebell liked the Panda bears with soft tummies
And lots of fur
Blossom's favourite was kangkeroo, she fed it leaves
And a chocolate chew.
They got on the red train and raced around
Faster and faster till they found
The cage with the Giraffes big and small
Sticking their heads through the open roof floor.
Back to the train then the pelican's van
Pink and prissy making a stand
Then the penguins joined in the fun
Lots of fishes for their tums.
Two little girls growing tired
Their feet wobbled, and heads bowed
Time for home with cake and cheese
And a drink of milk if you please.
For Evelyn and Florence
Love Grandma ***
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
Alice is being put back into the basket
The last thing she saw were pelican wings
She’s being shipped off to Africa, Alaska, Antarctica
Where all her ideas won’t mean a thing
Barrel of monkeys, household deities
Ballerina idol figurines
Empty harvest, ashen dreams
Scapegoat of all mystery
Send her to Babylon, Venus, New York
Build her a temple for the deported
Cause she’ll never be destroyed
Just atrociously unemployed
While everyone back home
On their counterfeit thrones
Saturate the seventh day
Plagiarizing her decay
So keep the lid on tight
Say your prayers as you fight
Off chaotic thoughts
And warnings made in tears
As Alice is being put back into the basket
We continue bobbing for apples
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 8:52 PM UTC
I rather have the world hate me
Because I am fat
Those horrid few extra pounds
That are not in my head
I rather want them to see me as a monster
With the body of an elephant
With the claws of a lobster
And with the head of a pelican
Than a person with Autism
I rather have the world hate me
Because I am a witch
A disgusting heathen
Who befriends spirits
I rather want them to see me as a heretic
Who dyes their hair with unholy colors
Who's style is alternative
Who's had multiple lovers
Than a person with Autism
I wish I was normal
Because I'd rather be all that above
Than an autistic individual
That no one loves
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
Sunset whispers to itself
~No time outlives time~
The meltemi winds crackle the wild millet,
Graze-feed upon the stalks of Greek plains,
The pelican scoops up the honeyed Aegean,
Waves of sunlit anise and almond in refrain,
Vestigial as the sweet persimmon from Egypt,
The hammered warmth from the flat anvil of Africa,
Sunset whispers to itself
~No time outlives time~
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC
based on the painting “Loving Bewick” by Paula Rego
He would feed me sardines perched above me
every night before we ****** in the big white lighthouse
I never bled more than I did that summer;
his beak digging into my back as I pulled handfuls
of feathers – but I loved the thrashing of his wings
and the uneven wood beneath my arched back.
He covered me when
we finished and I could smell the oceans he had swam
over on his neck. In the morning, he would open his gull and I
climbed inside as he flew me back to the city.
He would never let me sit atop his back to see
the flush of green or the meeting of mountains. Only inside
his mouth did I belong. I wished more than anything to be
a sardine – to be dangled above others, to have their adoration
proved to me before I slid between their teeth forever.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
By Joseph Childress
I have a few free words
To say
Before I'm closed off
In Pelican's Bay
Unnatural Life
An imprisonment threat
To society
With a promise
Kept
Behind steel cages
The metal ribs dishearten soul
Confined solitary
On compounds
That house double dorms
Of noise and solitude
Silently roaring
In a single cell
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
Is that a flying pelican?
Or is it a pterodactyl, I can
see a flying pelican,
It's like Pleistocene history,
Not evolving? That's a mystery,
Look, a flying pelican,
Its beak holds more than its bellycan!
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
1000 pieces of a puzzle
from 1000 different sets.
Hours of mutilating work
decoding an uncoded message
from a bottle that was broke
by a steel nosed pelican.
Senseless waves of awe
washed upon the shore
roaring with speechless sound
to destroy your ingenuity.
Brand new state of mind:
let the illusions run wild
through a forest of mystery.
Full of Trees of Creativity
that stimulate the leaves
that rustle with your ideas.
In lieu of staring at confusion
let confusion stare at you
and make sense to yourself.
Brand new state of mind:
let your intwined thoughts
rewind like a fishing reel.
See the puzzle for what it is;
not a contorted story,
but the story of your life.
Put them in perspective
and look in a kaleidoscope
to see the pieces of the puzzle
magnificently arranged together
to paint a splendid picture
engraved in your brain forever.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC