Tag Archives: #Gull

Why do they call me Jonathan?

Why do they call me Jonathan,

when my name is Syd;

is it because of that book they read

when they were but a kid?

.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull,

by Richard Bach it was;

and how do I, a gull, know this?

Well, you may ask,

and I should not tell,

but, suffice it to say,

I’ve read that book as well.

A drawing-gull

I drew a picture

of a gull,

it had flown from within my mind,

and not from Hull

(or another place

that does not rhyme)

and there it was

upon the page,

looking sad;

because,

after an age

of standing there,

it hadn’t flown off anywhere.

The Seagull and the Rainbow

The seagull flew

across the sky,

and spied a Rainbow

passing by;

the seagull asked

‘Where do you go,

when the Sun and rain are through?’

The Rainbow replied,

‘When they have gone,

when the rain has fallen,

and the Sun has shone,

I follow after,

in their wake,

until another bow

I should take.’

.

The seagull flew,

the Rainbow faded,

life carried on,

though now slightly jaded.

I’m just a seagull in a car park

I’m here,

and this is where you’ll find me;

and I know you just have to remind me

that this is not the beach,

and that the seaside is out of reach;

but, to tell you the truth,

ever since I was a youth

I have been a seeker seeking follies;

and, here, I can chase the trolleys.

The Day a Jackdaw Pinched my Pasty

I’ll always remember the day:

it was a Saturday,

the day

that a jackdaw

pinched my pasty.

“A jackdaw?” you ask,

“Was it up to the task?

It’s normally a gull

that, perceiving a lack,

will snaffle your snack!”

“‘Twas not a gull,

from Looe or from Hull,

that pinched my pasty,

it was a jackdaw,

of that I am sure.

Black and shiny,

sleek and smart,

was the fearless jackdaw

who practiced his art

to take possession of my lunch,

a wholesome pasty,

on which ‘it’ did munch.”

That day has now been circled

on the calendar of my strife,

as a day I’ll remember

for the rest of my life.

The Seagull and the Jackdaw

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.

The Icelandic Gull – NonHaiku

Golden, and yet white;

the Icelandic Gull

shines so bright.

‘As I looked through a window’

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

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

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.