Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
SøułSurvivør May 2017
Chickens live
within a coop
Scratch and peck
in their own ****
Their nests are
low down to the earth
They scream and squack
for all they're worth!
Afraid of storms
they have no dreams
Afraid of everything
it seems!
Their young are squabs
Their eggs are beaten

In the end
they are eaten!


Eagles build their
lofty nests
So their chicks
will withstand tests
They are made with
rugged sticks
So in the end
they pinch and *****
They line their nests
like softest cloud
When baby's grown
they pull it OUT!
The center nest
no longer soft
Babe sits on edge...

AND IS KNOCKED OFF!

Should, in flight,
the fledgling lack
Mom will catch it
on her back!
The little eaglet
has to try
So in the end
they learn to fly!

Eagles dream!
They are reborn!
They will fly into a storm!

Eagles wings
are built to soar!
They will fly

FOREVERMORE!


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/3/2017
I'm taking a break from HP.
I have pressing business.
But I'll be back soon!
Steven L Herring Jan 2017
Sharp words shouldn't be spoken
Nobody's perfect
When everything comes out broken
Choking on every syllable
Soaking up every last "I'm sorry"
like a sponge that's full already
Steady, aim, fire another round across his bow
Give her another volley of misunderstanding champ,
because your fowling out over fences topped with razor wire

Sometimes a simple smile seems better
Than a string of wrong words that leave your mouth bitter
Sometimes still tongues touch more hearts
and wagging ones turn burnt ears into quitters
Sometimes stepping out's better

Why stick around and frown?
Why let it all bring you down?
Needle and thread your squack box
Turn keys on locks
And give it up, will ya?!
Try it again tomorrow
There'd be a whole lot less sorrow....
Maggie Bartolome Jun 2012
Sometimes I think you're a druggie.
Because when I'm with you
I feel like we are
Redundant noises and images
And snorts of laughter
And we are holding each other tongues.
And I feel like
There are stars in your eyes
that are buzzing further into this dark hole.
In my mind thinking of you in a heavy coat
smoking when you're away.
You'll never know I write in cursive.
Because you want my words
From my lips instead
And you choose to peel them off
by typing letters into your phone
By thinking of what each letter in my name means
And you put the phone in your pocket
And think of the squack of a voice I have
And you picture my legs
thick with an ivory curtain surrounding them.
And the red on my lips speaking
Of the thing I know least of.
And that is love.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/if there is but one use for Freudian theoretics, for a man who has jargon for dreams, or a man who rarely summons a need to dream, for a man who does not have the luxury of a dream worth interpretation, for a man who has not dreamt a recurring dream...

it is far easier to summon
a woman, within the hour,
to the confines of a brothel
room,
    unshackeling her
from the vengence of
artimesia and binding her
to: breaking the sacred
taboo of swallowing
a kiss...
      
        than it will ever be...
to summon a woman to the liberty
of equal fortitude in
playing the role of atom,
  father, son, brother...
      
far sooner a woman from a *****
comes, than a woman
from the ivory tower, cold cut
marble, halo labyrinth,
spotless "madonna"...

   for whatever the need for Freud these
days, i am adamant on
this one church gong echo...
   that Hades could only shed tears
when Cerberus died,
and Charon replaced him in
claustrophobic confines of deity...

after the wake, having slyly laughed
at my great-grandmother's funeral,
i gnashed my teeth hard enough
to scrub off a chip off my incisor,
and toyed with a red rose,
tickling it with a candleflame,
until i, managed to persuade
a bozo cardinal to step into a role
of a humble bishop,
    attired in a rare hue of burgundy,
namely a blood-purple
      mishap of what would otherwise
become: that glaring,  ******* red
of those would-be Kippah donning
Vatican mafiosos...

however much the tedium of a German
thinker, as far removed he might have
been from the airy fairy pancake square-i.e.i.e.  
starry ******* stay-ree?
    squack-diddly- a ******* toobah boo -
Belshezar receiving the paranormal
scribble in Timbaktu?
     squarry... rhombus... alias:
   some sort of etching resembling 90 x 4...

nonetheless: even the most tedious german
thinker.... will be more fathomable
to me, in techniqlaity over style,
over the hot-air balloon contra
zeppelin London bombardment of
french thinkers...
          
          as ever: building on national
stereotypes...
                       sure, had I been native geboren
und spreschen...
the French would appeal to me...
as novelists? hands down...
      no tin drum (perhaps
due to the eng'flush)...
                  or suma summarum
ping (cogito) | pong (sum)
                       Thai for:
**** 'ou lon' thai'm,
                       and then the *******
juggle and gamble
asking for a new version of
the niqab to, expose
the feminine parts...
     chubby Arab mama's hands...
who d' pretty niqab fwend eye
if not rottweiler hazel...
   swarovsky inorganic crystal
blue... hence the Madonna
and the halo labyrinth...

   far easier to stomach the tedium
of a German technician,
than a fence-tinkerer...
   namely gilles deleuze
                      and félix guattari,
since no one is about to call
out names,
   the western plague of premature
depression...
   ontologically old age is predisposed
to melancholy...
    the joy of building a home,
and the sadness, of settling in it
up in completion,
   but depression, and so early?
synthetic, unnatural,
                            cognitive malnutrition.

far easier to summon a woman
from the depth of prostitution,
than it is to summon a woman
from the height of the ****** birth,
and countless the number of
ways a woman can show her honesty,
than act out a juggling act...
how close am i to the materialistic
reading of Oedipus,
   by prodingoutside
              the siamese gene pool?

not far from the mantra of the mantis:
to stand a woman,
a man must disappear...
    hence the madonna reign...

monogamy among animals is more
mysterious than the thought
of god in man...
                   each to his harem and
a pound of flesh each night, thoroughly
funfaired...

      a woman from the depths
of prostitution, even if for an hour...
    it's enough that I have to stand my own
thinking, let alone
            to act in devistion from it...
that I'd have to submerge beneath
   the caucus of agony aunts and astrologers
to amplify,
    what remains,
     otherwise hidden,
   an executioner's transaction...
                    as the remnant daughters
toy the nest.

perhaps this is all but a puritanical
cleft of exhausting youthful swoons prior
to the plunge into responsibility...
     odd... i don't seem to recall ever
signing a contract,
     whereby I,  as an "individual" stressed,
was somehow to rationalise
the efforts of the collective in continuum,
who, somehow, magically found
Genesis Africa...
      but... somehow... can't tell me...
whereabouts, that Dodo Rock actually
fell and made such a great indentation...
dunno... maybe Sahara was
a great mountain range akin to
the Himalayas, given the transition
period of:

Himalayas - Dead Horse, Utah - Sahara.
wordvango Dec 2014
In the bin I buttered her up
I thought funny for I find loony
insane but never duck  her incoming flight
nor pluck any downy plumage stuck
I elongate my neck
even when temporarily flightless
with grog of fish
my wide beak grins
holding slippery food items
but, geese are rather appealing,
I squack,
so out again,
of it,
I extend my breast proud..
Jay earnest May 2020
the duck goes squawk squack
with green crackers,
"SQACKK SQAACCK WITH GREEN CRACKERSS!!!"
you toss
a biscuit in its mouth and it chokes it down

''SQACCK SQACCKK. GREEN CRACKERS!!" as it charges towards you and rams its head into your kidney

''SQACK SQACK!!!''
then you pull out of your silver switchblade and stab the beast
and its entrails spill out and cover you in red blood and you wrestle its neck while it pecks your eyes with its dull beak SQACKKINNGG

as you stand over its corpse, you tap its gentle body and say a prayer and place some pennies over its eyes
it was a fine adversary but too much for an afternoon
  at a petting zoo

— The End —