Nick Strong Feb 2015
Watching a seagull floating lazily
Through an invisible blue ocean
Effortlessly soaring on invisible waves
Course dictated by winds currents
Piercing eyes watching, senses alert
Casting a moving shadow, cross the deep
Tracking a path none knows
Swooping, surfing ocean’s rollers
Wingtips gently kissing wave peaks.
Beautiful bird in flight, a nuisance  around fish and chips ....
Josh Morter Mar 2013
A solitary seagull sits bobbing on the waves
the waves culminate together and generate cascades
The seagull stays determined he will not be dragged down
yet one little misjudgment of a wave and this poor fellow will drown.
Written on 15/03/13 by Josh Morter ©

Walking along the promenade in Bisceglie, Italy I saw a single seagull sat on a wave. Painted this image in my head.
nivek Jun 2014
a seagull singing so late at night
is unusual;
But remembering a book once read;
Johnathon Livingston Seagull;
nothing is unusual with seagulls
Sarah Meow Apr 2012
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.

The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.

The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.

The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.

The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.

The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.

The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.

The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.

The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.

The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.

The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.

The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.

The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.
Christine Agro Apr 2014
I can never tell
if you are laughing
or if you are crying,
Sara L Russell Dec 2014
Sara L Russell, 19/12/14 00:58am*

White gulls fly against darkness of winter trees
swirling in a reeling easterly;
bare branches stand in earthbound traceries
behind the birds that dance weightless and free.

There is a rhythm in this circling flight.
a lazy, slightly tipsy minuet;
a majesty in gliding wings of white,
a sign that better times are coming yet.

The dew has barely faded on the green,
two fountains bend before the icy breeze,
as seagulls, with a grace I've rarely seen
swirl heavenward, like flights of fantasies.
The Terry Tree Dec 2014
In glorious flight owning daylight
You magistrate freedom across
An ocean with your own box
Of twilight that you share
In a land of fish
A moonlit wish
With wings that
Kiss the

Throughout your expeditions to ground
Your voice is a dynamic sound
None can ignore your presence
What would Pandora say
When you sing that way?
Higher you fly

Instruct us to use our heart compass
Open our eyes to perspective
Show us potential to live
When self-doubt is about
Like a grain of sand
May our cares be
Found without
A need

The liberty of our latitude
Is the length of our attitude
The way the wind blows effects
The direction we go
Our choices to be
Ebb and flow

Behold a new dawn of bright feather
Consider the stormy weather
Notice how cloud and sun
Witness the Mother
Nature at play
Survey to

May we find our way as you have shown
Limitless unbounded and flown
So shallow is the worry
No longer a fury
A calming has come
Soaring above
With truth in
Our hearts

Riding the currents of emotions
Soaring aloft mental oceans
Wings spanned in physical worlds
Discover us great pearls
Of wisdom and poise
Joyful in noise
Good solid
Gifts of

Cleansing our spirits of past trifles
Being careful not to stifle
New growth with every gust gained
A quill, a crest, a quest
A mountain peaked with
Knowledge like the
Pier we are

A gate to become the best versions
Of our outstanding self-landing
Into the stars we have been
The fringe dust of pinion
Divine with the wind
Beginning free
And renewed
With no

Poetic Form | the Nonet; The nonet poetic form is a 9-line poem that has 9 syllables in the first line, 8 syllables in the second line, 7 syllables in the third line, and continues to count down to one syllable in the final (ninth) line.
SøułSurvivør Oct 2014
There Is a nasty seagull
Oh yeah.. his wings I see
He's come to take small pieces
From different parts of me.

He's come for my body
He's come for my brain
He wants to take my spirit
'Til none of these remain.

I'm always finding feathers
All inside my head,
So I'm gonna get a shotgun...

And shoot that sucker DEAD!!!

Catherine Jarvis
I'm really going to get rid of
This depression!!
I don't have time in my life.
i saw a little seagull he was emerald green a seagull such as this i have never seen a friendly little chap as friendly as can be he just stopped and stared and looked up straight at me then he carried on followed in the tide hopped up on a wave and took a little ride then he flew away and gently waved goodbye underneath the sun up in to the sky.
Chloe Sayre Sep 2012
Oh, Laridae,
all feathers and beak,
how we do adore your screech.
Granted, puffy, squawking bird, anything you may beseech.
Our sweet
Kleptoparasite of beach. House it anytime we meet,
with brute force and shellfish plea,
you'll be the king
of seas.
Kayla Boyd Nov 2014
As a young child and father search for crabs
stare at cloud
so beautiful it can't be real.
I look out at the edge of the world
like a lone wife waiting for her sailor
to come home
stinking of sweat and brine
but feeling alright.

My mind wanders carelessly away
back to a place so enchanting
I dare not stay too long.
I should let my thoughts disappear to
the end
until all I feel is this expanse of clouds
blue and gray and white.
there was a little seagull he got lost at sea
miles away from home very sad was he
he had lost his course and he began to roam
many miles from anywhere he had lost his home

he was all alone with no land anywhere
feeling very frightened he began to scare
suddenly a crow who was passing by
saw the little seagull alone up in the sky
seagull he told crow how he was lost at sea
dont worry said the crow just you follow me

crow began to fly with seagull there behind
hoping seagulls home.  together they would find
after quite sometime flying over sea
crow he saw some seagulls a great big family
seagull he was happy home again once more
back with all his family just like he was before
i saw a little seagull he had hurt his wing
now he couldnt fly poor little thing
he was in distress i could plainly tell
everytime he flapped his wings he began to yell
i took him home with me to see what i could do
i nursed him back to health then off again he flew
then he flapped his wings as if to say goodbye
then off in to the air into the bright blue sky
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