The seagull and the jackdaw
took flight one day,
as only a seagull and a jackdaw may;
following the currents
that flow in the air,
lifting their wings
to where all eagles dare;
carousing and calling
in utter delight;
‘til they called it a day
at the coming of the night.
Golden, and yet white;
the Icelandic Gull
shines so bright.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Gold, #Gull, #Icelandic, #Language, #NonHaiku, #poetry. #poem
I looked out upon the world,
and the world looked back at me;
I saw a seagull flying by
heading for the sea;
I called out ‘Gull, where be you to?”
he looked a while at me
and answered “I be off to Looe,
it’s time now for my tea.”
And I was happy at that.
Gull.
From wingtip to wingtip,
from beak to tail feathers,
from back to claw;
the gull is complete,
and ready to fly
into the yonder blue sky.
The seagull flies,
and, having flown,
espies a chip, a pasty, scone;
whereupon, said gull calculates the angles
required for a heist,
and gains a Vegan Moroccan pasty,
very tasty, yet quite spiced.
.
The gull had never heard
of Montezuma’s Revenge –
until now.
And gull pledged to gain his own revenge upon
the silly people whilst the Sun it shone.
.
So, flying high, it chose its victim
aimed, and released, splattering poor Tim
from Sunderland,
who wore his badge of pride
with warmth inside,
and white-splotched coat
that in the Sun it dried,
forming a new pattern for e’er to be,
of his being a target
at Looe-on-Sea.
This is the ongoing tale
of a seagull called Flap;
not a chip-stealing seagull,
but a nice kind of chap –
.
here’s the thing…
Flap, only has one wing.
.
He was born that way,
many years ago,
so a one-wingéd life
is all he does know;
.
and, ‘Yes!’ I’ll answer,
before you do ask;
Flap ‘can’ fly,
but it’s a bit of a task;
he needs a good run up,
and a following breeze;
there must be a springboard,
to flex out his knees;
and when he is airborne,
by leaving the ground,
he doesn’t fly far,
just around…
and around…
and around.
.
However, Flap is of being an inhabitant of Looe,
as many fine seagulls are wont to do –
East? West?
(East is better, but West is best –
that should keep all the Looevians happy,
for they think that their side of the river
is the only side that is truly blessed).
.
Flap’s home should have been Looe Island;
where, at night, most other gulls went;
but, being unable to fly there,
walking the quayside was how he spent
his time, eating a crumb or a stale bit of crust; which was sufficient,
if rarely sublime;
but, needs must.
.
He did get to the island once in a while;
(as the crow flies it was less than a mile)
and he could cross the short distance from Hannafore on a very low tide;
or wait for the offer of a ferry-boat ride;
but, then, being stuck on the island
was also a pain;
for once he had got there…
getting back again!
.
Flap was a bit of a loner;
though he did make friends with a chip-shop owner,
who put a few tid-bits his way once in a while;
which treats Flap loved,
it caused him to smile
at the kindness of strangers,
of those with a soul;
for, not everyone hated seagulls;
but, Flap still felt a hole.
.
Flap wished for a mate,
a gentle gull to call his own;
not just for a date,
but for a family to raise,
on their island home…
and then in walked Phlip
a gull just like Flap,
one-wingéd,
what on Earth are the chances
of a thing happening like that?
.
Phlip was a pretty Polperro gull,
that had travelled to Looe for a change;
the posh people of Polperro
had pitied poor Phlip,
but told her that she looked, ‘much too strange’;
and, so, she had headed east;
east to find a mate;
and the day that she arrived in Looe
her life was to change,
it truly was an auspicious date.
.
Flap and Phlip
when eyes did meet
they knew they’d met the one;
and Phlip and Flap
did dance on feet
in the shimmering rays of the setting Looe sun.
.
But, how to get to the island?
.
Flap had a left wing;
Phlip has a right;
by holding close together,
together…
they took flight.
.
And now they live upon Looe Island,
where they have made themselves a nest;
and do they have plans for babies?
well, I think you can guess the rest.
.
Blurry Gull
up in your blurry sky,
I watch your progress,
as, blurrily, you fly by.
I saw a Gull
on the way to Hull;
I saw a Ghoul
on the journey to Poole:
where I met a Loris
whose name was Doris;
and I heard a Yak
upon the way back.
I’m becoming a seagull,
one that sees dogs,
or a dog,
or no dogs at all.
I’m becoming a seagull,
with a yearning for chips,
and an inordinate desire
to follow certain ships.
I’m becoming a pest,
pinching pasties at will,
and pestering people
and all for the thrill.
I’m becoming a seagull
I live by the coast
and in the morning at breakfast
it’s leftovers on toast.
I’m becoming a seagull,
with wings tried and true,
I lift off of the ground
and soar into the blue.
—//—
.
‘ “Pob-bob-bob!” I said’
.
“Pob-bob-Bob!” I said.
“Yes.” the seagull replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as they have ‘two’ dogs.
“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” I said,
correcting the error.
“Precisely!” said the seagull, ‘“You’ll probably get it right next time.”
“Pobbbbbb!” I said, which I soon found out, really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.
©️graemesandford.com
“Pob-bob-Bob!” said the gull.
“Yes.” I replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as I have ‘two’ dogs.
“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” said the gull, correcting its earlier error.
“Precisely!” I said, ‘“You’ll get it right next time.”
“Pobbbbbb!” said the gull, which really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.
Graeme Sandford 