"stork" poems
My Sister, I Watched You Fall-2
My little nephew, I was sorry for your sorrows
When the whims of your mother stormed your tomorrows
You didn't know who your father was
Or why the branches of your tree sagged its paws
For you walked thru the halls of life mauled
By a lost paw that grabbed your mind and sadness walled
I could see it in your mind's eyes, the question marks
Of why other families have fathers at the parks
From the time you were a little child of two
You would love to go with uncle to the zoo
Then as the wheels in your mind started to click
Seeing other kids with fathers, it made you sick
You were young seedling lacking the nourishment
The parts of the puzzle missing fulfillment
But hear this, my little nephew, your uncle tried
And ... at the mercy of your mother's whims, I cried
We'd play the role of father and son
Fish a dream, toss the past, paint some fun
We'd **** weeds while wrestling through a reservoir of tears
Aborted in time, a lake, two swans and a duckling in good cheers
My nephew, I would take you around the world if I could
But hear this you were never, never driftwood
For I had spent as much time visiting you
In absence of a fathers touch, you never knew
I shed more tears today as I catch wind of your child
For its teeth bites and gust of whims, again, run wild
Do I offer congratulations knowing the lake is devoid
Of future swans and a duckling, walled in my mind's void
No. My nephew, I'm choked in tears that crawl
On the face of the earth, I sprawl
I thought you learned, child uncorked
On wings of albatross and not the stork
Logan Robertson
8/16/2018
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
"While I sit at the door
Sick to gaze within
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.
"How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown
Squandering their sweet breath
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the tree of death.
"Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden,
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.
"I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another,
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover;--
O wanton eyes, run over;
Who but I should grieve?--
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!"
Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.
The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station;
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;
The kind hart's tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.
Only the serpent in the dust
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and ******
His tongue out with its fork.
13.4k
Today trees play the role of minstrels
with the wind aiding to their songs.
Birds fly and chirps
and whispers among themselves
perhaps they too feel,
what a beautiful day it is.
Sun burns bright and exuberant
filling each corners and every curve
with it's best of the lights.
And every now and then
flocks of stork wander tirelessly
and soar low and high
in this radiant ocean of serendipity.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
A new babe on the way,
Does she arrive today?
The stork is on standby,
Is she coming down the slide?
A star in heaven's berth,
Winging her way to Earth,
Now an atomic cluster,
Has she got a dust buster?
Her future unplanned,
Soon in Earthling's band,
When is she coming down the slide?
Right now, the stork is on standby!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
On the water's edge
a stork in meditation,
reality faces illusion.
Under water fish
peck at stork's reflection
reality tastes illusion.
Flying stork's shadow
swims on water plane
in competition, fish chase.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
Mother superior had dropped the gun,
Seeing the victim was her very own son.
There a saint was made to run
Drowned before the rising sun.
Messiah born on the first day of June,
Posing as a religious boon.
Preaching that the end is soon,
All in a tone resembling Sinatra’s croon.
Superiority held in the form of prayer,
Faith maintained at the behest of a dare.
Professor Lodz has lost his bear.
The Omega deemed this loss as fair.
Tammuz is smoking all the vegetation
Asherah has stopped all gestation,
Coming from a fit of ************
Working on a new form of taxation.
Jesus just took one huge dumb,
In the sink after snorting a quick bump.
The man had reached quite the slump.
Catching HPV from Fergies’s ****
Mohammad is eating all the pork.
Using hands, forgetting the fork.
******* chicks, with all kinds of torque,
Misinterpreting the path of a wayward stork.
Dinning on delicious swine.
And the finest forms of delicate wine.
Prophets of the world align.
And drink from the deceased Christopher Reeve’s spine.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
me? these days?
i have to bribe bonsai tigers
to fall asleep by giving them
excess treats,
drink myself to a limit
and then take insomnia tablets,
glance at the stars
and gag up a bolshevik black hole,
think about russian
newly-wed millionaires
spending so mcuh the taxes go up,
testifying: well when the full circus
with elephants and missing acrobats
comes... and there's no french revolution
versace... we're in bigger crap
we thought we were...
so i took to peddling, keeping heart
rate with feeling rather than
a heart-rate keeper on the wrist known
as apple / iWank...
you'll never believe the amount
of creativity that comes from Onan...
it's like that story of onan and samson
like it's that story of cain and abel...
you'd have to be a mozart to find a creative
continuum in women rather than
beethoven in the hive of being deaf...
say rich and thus say spend...
say poor and thus say like a primate
with two flint stones... what the hell is this?!
japanese crow reduced their beak for
nut crushing purposes into a car tire.
FIRE! FIRE! PROMETHEUS!
so came the world favouring thought
from prometheus' liver
when in diaper-shelter postman pat delivery
by a stork... but each of us that got the slit
of liver never claimed origins in the apple
adam ******* out when eve forgot
that satan's singularity was expressed in
a pluralism: eat this apple, depilate,
and you and adam will be like the gods...
but then the metrosexual emerged
with shaved legs and a shaved chest...
down the drain that dream went:
as long as you eat the apple and know
you have hairy legs... i'm sure whatever you
say he will be ordained with pleasure to perform...
eve - i need a hammer
adam - here babe
eve - i need a nail
adam - here babe
eve - i need five planks of wood, four legs one like an abdomen
adam - here babe
eve - mash it up
adam - hey babe, what's that?
eve - a ****** table, tapestry for porcelain!
adam - woah! that's great!
eve to god - this adam is a ****** robot!
satan to eve - well... get ready for ******
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
i
a wee shaft of beam
across
a sea of chilly darkness:
dashing on, dashing long
a chain
of disturbing crispy waves.
a haunting pitch
of sirens, of winging gulls.
…then
a whistle in the dark
ii
i have bled.
and ever bleeding
is resurgence.
the stones are stained now
not all are stained yet.
but i can hold no more.
no more.
iii
to listen would have been enough
but spoke i
to deaf-mutes, clayey forms.
and every uttered little word
faded like receding undertone.
and then
conspiracy of silence,
misquotations,
sharing of once
too friendly shoulders.
a nod would have been enough,
or a pat,
or any like gesture;
they turned askance
and i fled… fled away.
iv
back to my chambered shell
back to my cradle
where there are many whispers.
and every fateful swing
of the pendulum
i reel and ride the wheel of fancy,
embrace false idols
like one fearful of his god
if only to escape the haunts
of conscience;
tremble at approaching footsteps,
shriek at every shadow.
v
i shall walk barefoot again
past leafless stumps
windborn, heated, and bowed,
‘cross an oasis grown desert dry,
past anthills now dunghills,
‘neath rapid flutter
of widespread murky wings,
past cliff edges
where resound pampered echoes,
while arched in deceitful hues
a rainbow.
…i scan the blue… i pause…
vi
i await a lily-white stork
or there shall be no curtain speech.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
On the top of the Crumpetty Tree
The Quangle Wangle sat,
But his face you could not see,
On account of his ****** Hat.
For his Hat was a hundred and two feet wide,
With ribbons and bibbons on every side
And bells, and buttons, and loops, and lace,
So that nobody every could see the face
Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.
The Quangle Wangle said
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, --
"Jam; and jelly; and bread;
"Are the best of food for me!
"But the longer I live on this Crumpetty Tree
"The plainer than ever it seems to me
"That very few people come this way
"And that life on the whole is far from gay!"
Said the Quangle Wangle Quee.
But there came to the Crumpetty Tree,
Mr. and Mrs. Canary;
And they said, -- "Did every you see
"Any spot so charmingly airy?
"May we build a nest on your lovely Hat?
"Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that!
"O please let us come and build a nest
"Of whatever material suits you best,
"Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!"
And besides, to the Crumpetty Tree
Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl;
The Snail, and the Bumble-Bee,
The Frog, and the Fimble Fowl;
(The Fimble Fowl, with a corkscrew leg;)
And all of them said, -- "We humbly beg,
"We may build out homes on your lovely Hat, --
"Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that!
"Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!"
And the Golden Grouse came there,
And the Pobble who has no toes, --
And the small Olympian bear, --
And the **** with a luminous nose.
And the Blue Baboon, who played the Flute, --
And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute, --
And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat, --
All came and built on the lovely Hat
Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.
And the Quangle Wangle said
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree, --
"When all these creatures move
"What a wonderful noise there'll be!"
And at night by the light of the Mulberry moon
They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon,
On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree,
And all were as happy as happy could be,
With the Quangle Wangle Quee.
3k
Thus the Mayne glideth
Where my Love abideth;
Sleep ’s no softer: it proceeds
On through lawns, on through meads,
On and on, whate’er befall,
Meandering and musical,
Though the niggard pasturage
Bears not on its shaven ledge
Aught but weeds and waving grasses
To view the river as it passes,
Save here and there a scanty patch
Of primroses too faint to catch
A weary bee…. And scarce it pushes
Its gentle way through strangling rushes
Where the glossy kingfisher
Flutters when noon-heats are near,
Glad the shelving banks to shun,
Red and steaming in the sun,
Where the shrew-mouse with pale throat
Burrows, and the speckled stoat;
Where the quick sandpipers flit
In and out the marl and grit
That seems to breed them, brown as they:
Naught disturbs its quiet way,
Save some lazy stork that springs,
Trailing it with legs and wings,
Whom the shy fox from the hill
Rouses, creep he ne’er so still.
2.6k
Look at the clouds
Look how they move for you.
Look at the crowd
their words they're saying to you.
Parking full, so no cars to chase
but still let's lie down here
make the world stationery in our heads.
Let's just forget all common sense and
leave elephants about the place.
Words that lack sentiment
yet need to validate.
Look at your verbs,
so in demand, so imperative!
The notion of emotion
is unable to compute.
A cacophony of love without solitude.
Signs without direction
on a two way street.
Let's go to outer space
as our bodies collide like the big bang
The moon will be too modest to shine in
the presence of your face.
Look at the clouds
look how they move for you
so the stars can disperse through
through for you.
When I look into your eyes
I see the world as it should be
before mankind got to grips with machinery.
Your ****** expression reads like a deer in headlights
as you make headlines on the evening news,
my daily summary of events that happen
in the life of me, myself and caffeine.
I'm aware that I'm the legs to your table
but I'm not so stable, I'm about to break.
I'm the root the keeps your grounded
but the soils getting dry.
Sun-lights long shone from our skies
and we can't photosynthesise
when your stork lacks a spine of support.
It's a cycle that needs to change,
If our fruits to ripe.
So, put a pipe in your gripe
and learn the twelve letter word.
So the ship can get a sail.
Look at the crowd
the words they're screaming at you.
Look how they turn around wearing my face
then disappear.
When I look in to your eyes
I see the world before it lost it's
innocence.
What do you see when you look in mine?
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Strike a mark on a sun kissed shrine
Cheek bones, dance within the sand's light -
Lambent spore sprig -Rot - beneath the mine
Lay the tourniquet fused, marble eyes.
Center stark stork - wracked to atomic bliss
Forked tongue minotaur, auric troubadour -
Machinations of bellowed amethyst,
Composed the flowered Aum, raising thy *********
Arachnid's webbing - strung of turquoise beads -
By what are the viscid lines severed clean
That they convolute binaural progeny,
And lure the soul to breathe?
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
Away from the white Stork feathers
Often seemed to be gentle breeze
On Kans grasses
Superficial white clouds
Small dinghies on the river
To navigate the life
Far away on the bridge
The Silent movement of the Brahminy kite
Southern breeze blew
Tilting the tall grasses toward the North
Leak of the light fell into the Kans,
Into the Soft green grasses
Sunlit mingled with light fog
Seek heavenly feeling
Without the knowledge
The lips Stir of
Walking beside the river
Barefooted
In the air Kestrel's mystic music
The river running with full of chime
What are the forms of you!
Thee bind me with deception!
What a Strange tune!
What those thirsty words!
So that I draw your image
Moving away from the shadows
Soft light blended with the estuary
Away,
Little by little,
To see your face
Like the rig of Ship
Behind the path
A magical dream
Seems like a White Shirt
That I had left in the Kans grasses
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
for the karens of the street.
The karens of the world,
you ruin out the people's peace.
Your hair is frizzled like a you got electrocuted,
your feet smell like vinegar and your *** hole smells like ****
but wait, not the one at the bottom, yet the one at the top right in front of your lips, that's right it's your mouth and all i ever see from it is the garbage that comes out.
So please kindly would you do,
shut your ******* trap,
everyone will be happier when you're out
with a clap!
Hurray, hurray,
the karens are out,
But wait, here they are coming back again,
to see what's in store for them once more.
Pitches and forks and all things that stork the time between
a karen and the normal people who just want to live free.
**** you, **** you
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
I'm a pepper ******
from the mild
to nuclear,
I'll eat them all.
BBQ chicken wings,
roast pork,
baked stork
& tacos,
just pile up the
jalapeños,
ghost pepper,
maye a habanero or two.
All my kin
know how delicious
thay are going down
& how fiery
they are coming out.
But no matter,
I don't care about
the bewares
& shout for more
of those hot
mouth-watering
stemmed
explosive gems.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Sat here, awaiting the arrival of grandson number four.
The darling daughter rests downstairs, as I wait for the stork to call.
A posing question, is he a Maribou?
Hope he's not a Maribou; for they are carnivores.
Got to hope he isn't hungry, as he lands outside my door.
Think he's just a cartoon character escaped from world of myth.
I'm just taking the pith (with a lisp).
Does he attend with infant in beak, wrapped in a ***** at the end of next week.
I think not!
Hope he doesn't sling him down my chimney, because it's all blocked off.
Can you ever imagine an infant **** in the chimney ***
Oops I forgot, how could I ever?
Poor Laura has to do hard labour before her chap is born.
(C) Livvi
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
I
duchess in labor;
trusted royal storks on call;
where is the baby..?
II
duchess delivers,
trusted royal storks receive;
a charmed boy or girl...?
III
duchess is relieved,
royal baby is conceived;
it's a burly boy!
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
The Blue of which night where did you burn and for whom? The thick of which black did you live in and dissolve? The midnight of a reed-pipe where its song exhausted? You were a dream,really a forlon,lone cloud The very nostalgic moon-light that sought my soul and my self // The land of flowers had wept along and so did my birds and also my words The songs of my green paddy-leaves where the noon-sun melted Expected your coming after the hot-days The presence so much needed for so long! // A visit shaking the bamboo- field with leaf-long hands fluttering,you smiled With your eyes of a black serpent A fragrance you did drip a in my nerves Hearing a crackling moor-hen afar! Whose tear-drops are there for my thirst? // A wind is coming on so friendly my girl Where have you gone,leaving me as one lost Like a stork in the water-way I have been waiting here for you The knife-tongue of a rigorous plough Cut through sweetly my youth so hard May my spirit for ever be the spirit of my black and deep earth Wont you be here to reap what you sowed? We must ever be here and for ever!! (translated from MALAYALAM language ,INDIA, by the poet (girish puliyoor) himself. the original tittle is OTTAKKINAVU.)
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Hues of gold hug the horizon,
The air is heavy with the scent of a rainy day,
A pride of lions moves its limbs with a motion of might,
A motion of magic precedes the pack.
A dragonfly bounces along the river of relief,
The sun sets its final shimmer of sophistication
Behind the silhouette of a striking baobab.
A pocket of air holds the wings of the stork in a mathematical manner,
as it sweeps over of the plateau of promise.
South Africa,
A nation in progress,
Where each combination of skin tones each have a story to tell of its own,
a story of history,
a story of might.
Long live the pride of lions,
the Giants of our Rainbow Nation who sow seeds of sunshine in every corner of the soil.
Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
1 A little girl of eight
Was leaning on the gate,
Pondering the miracle of birth.
From her parents’ attitude
She thought it might be something rude
And was neither cause for sorrow nor for mirth.
2 By chance along the road
A little lady strode,
Hurrying from the vicar's after tea.
The girl thought, There’s Miss Price,
She is wise and nice,
She will solve my mystery for me.
3 Miss Price approached the gate,
The little girl in wait
Called out, Hallo, a lovely evening, too.
If you can spare the time
There's a problem on my mind,
A question I would like to ask of you.
4 The lady, coming near,
Said, Yes, of course, my dear,
I'll surely try to put your mind at rest.
Although I'm not a sage,
With the wisdom of my age,
You can rest assured I'll do my best.
5 I’ve a brother now, you see,
He was born at five oh three,
He's upstairs in the bedroom now with Mum.
And now I’m full of doubt,
I've tried but can't find out—
Please tell me, miss, from where do babies come?
6 Miss Price, a little shocked,
Thought she was being mocked.
Good Lord, she thought, what can I tell this child?
A spinster all her life—
No experience as a wife
This subject always made her feel defiled.
7 Miss Price looked all about
Seeking a way out;
Anything to stop this sinful talk.
Then, clutching at a straw,
With her dim old eyes she saw
The poor bedraggled, drunk and gasping stork.
8 She pointed at the roof
And in a tone aloof
Said, There is how your brother came to you.
I’m surprised you haven't heard
That all babies come by bird,
And now I must be off, so toodle-oo.
The little girl turned and looked up at the stork.
And the stork, to his eternal credit, winked.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
A whippoorwill &
some mourning doves,
the gutteral croak
of the wood stork,
chasing squirrels,
a dying cricket or two.
Who knew
the splendid call
of a hawk circling above
could be such a sweet sound,
part of the greatest symphony
ever composed
& played for us
by the master,
conducting
beautiful harmonies
from the pulpit
above.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:11 AM UTC
They have been in a romance since I was a teen
There’s an explanation to what I mean
You are probably surprised in what Dolls can do
Yet it is beyond ****** in how far what Barbie and Ken romance went through
Barbie and Ken are like the flavor of Popcorn with sugar added
Love with the everlasting kiss
Eye to eye contact that the world has never missed
Barbie and Ken being the well known couple the world knows
The spotlight that shines on both
Is there a wedding in the works?
Rumor has it, that there might be a baby stork
Well Barbie and Ken where romance may not end
It will be a new life to begin
The name of the couple alone always responded on can
But the world a waits on a wedding but don’t know when
Barbie and Ken has always been a couple to follow
The future will be a surprise one day and could be tomorrow
Well that’s the story of Barbie and Ken
A couple that truly stands out
One can only shout
But I will let you figure out.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC
'I'm going to run away Miss - I'm taking
a t-shirt and a pound of ham with me,'
he wanted his dad, how very sad - that
little boy was barely a lad, treated bad.
My dad said that I shouldn't show anyone
my private parts, only my sister saw me,
she said: 'What's that?' I said: 'It's my willy,'
'It's got a hat on and looks so silly.'
'Where's daddy gone?' 'He's in heaven Billy,'
'Do they have a pub there?' 'No, only holy water,'
'Where do babies come from? Does the stork
bring them, is that why they have a big beak?'
'He hit me in the 'smalls' Miss, and that
boy who smells said that he wants to give me a kiss.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
I watch this bird up in the sky
I see it sail further to the high
Spreading all the love and feeling free
Looking down, smiling at every tree
I watch this bird spread her wings
She rides above and she sweetly sings
Her focus reigns down on mother earth
With a unique beauty of jewel worth
She's proud, her wings flap aloud
Her mates come gathering a crowd
Tenderly she swerves not so far away
I love solitude, she seems to say
She stops to flap as the winds start to blow
Lifting her higher, she seems to glow
The little her beauty says means a lot
I fall in love seeing how she keeps afloat
She's neither a kite, nor an eagle
Yet she dons their stunning ego
She sails above for over an hour
I'm puzzled by her super power
I watch her till the wind calms
While slowly down low she comes
I get to know her mates are gone
It's obvious she's lost her aero tone
About me everyone watches
While on a high tree she softly perches
"I know that red neck",a lady spoke
"Was all that beauty a Marabou stork?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
The boats are
like constellations from up here
and all
I can think about
is being on one
sailing south
to Love
to you
back where I came from
the stork in the sky
back where I came from
a love keeping me so
high
and down here, I want to
tell him how the smoked salmon
on the grill mixes with
the fog of the ocean
and how it tastes dipped
in pine.
I want to show him the smiles
of happy old lovers and their wine,
having the time
of their
lives.
I want to stare into those
matching eyes
of sea grass
paired like
a pie-in-the-sky
I want to tell him everything
and nothing
but show him
everything stung by Love
Show him the ways my eyes flutter
with thin ocean stained glass
waiting for
a light house
a seagull
a message in a
card, bottled with his Love
humid warmth sticky like
melting popsicles and kids in the
summertime with
sticky eyelids wanting to open only to
the trace of his skin I want him
to peel
like onions the layers
away
reveal
everything I am and spin me on the deck
of this dock
like a top.
I want him to taste
my Love
in my sweet tomato basil alfredo pasta
or my midnight cinnamon toast
or my
sea salted lips
I want him
to feel this
sweet sea **** entangled
in my heart
I want him
to know this
everytime I come Home
to him,
I've come back to where
I came from.
All things rewound-
among this sea
I am
Lover Bound.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC