Tag Archives: #Gulls

Six seagulls in Morrisons car park

Six seagulls in Morrisons car park!

That’s six in number,

and not sexy gulls!

Anyway,

they were patiently waiting

for a bite to eat,

pacing nonchalantly

on their twelve gull feet;

calling to each other with the latest news;

and hoping for a morsel

to light the fuse.

Never share your lunch with a seagull,

Never share your lunch with a seagull

never even offer him a bite;

never share your lunch with a seagull,

because you know he just might…

.

take more than his fair share,

he might just take the lot;

and when you look at what he’s left you

you might not have a jot.

Offering: a Conversation

So, what’s that then?

It’s an offering to the gods.

What that?

Yup!

The knob end of your pasty?

Sorry, I meant it’s an offering to the gulls.

Oh, now that makes a bit more sense.

Yup.

SFX Echoing Gull squawk

The silent seagulls soaring skywards

“ ‘The silent seagulls soaring skywards—‘ “

“Ooh! sounds like a poem!”

“Could be.”

“What’s the next bit?”

“The next ‘bit’ is,

‘aloft, upon the breeze, breathless blown—‘ “

“No, it’s a bit too frilly for my liking. Can’t you make it into a Limerick? That would be better.”

“I could, but it would lose any noble quality that it has.”

“That’s as maybe, but it’ll be a lot funnier.”

“Oh, dear. ‘There was a young seagull from Looe,

Who got caught in a ‘How-do-you-do?’,

It welcomed all sorts,

to one of Cornwall’s fishing ports,

and only stopped when the season was through.’ “

“Needs work.”

“Thank you Mr. Poetry Critic.”

“You’re whelks!”

“I suppose I am.”

‘This way or that way’

This way,

or that way?

That way,

or this?

I never can tell.

And, sometimes, I miss

a chip being dropped,

a pasty passing by,

or an old man with an ice cream.

I sigh.

This way,

or that way?

That way,

or this?

“Plant your Seagulls early!”

“Plant your seagulls early,

and plant them in a row;

then they’ll be ready for Spring Harvest!”

said nobody I know.

A seagull’s lament

I may think a pasty is a crab

I may think that a dace is a dab –

it’s all food to me.

Do you see?

You may call me unhip

for my love of a chip;

or names worse than that

that you call –

I’ve heard them all.

You may shoo me off,

when I’m walking about

like a toff;

or lash out with a foot

but, I gracefully put

to flight,

and line you up for a present from aloft,

“Bombs away!”

Revenge is sweet,

and my landing is soft.

The gulls did gimbal and gyre

The gulls did gimbal and gyre,

ever higher and higher;

with sky-flight’s desire

beating strong in their hearts.

‘Where have all the people gone?’

Where have all the people gone?

I walked through the town

where eating is spare,

there wasn’t a single person there!

I sat on the beach with no cool ‘99,

the sun shone brightly,

the sand was so fine;

but, ne’er did I hear the cry of:

‘Watch out, he’ll have your food!”

No, not a person to be seen,

how very rude.

I wish the people would return,

I would dive-bomb a snack;

oh, where, where are the people?

I do hope they will soon venture back.

Where have all the people gone?

I’d love a fresh pasty, a lolly, a scone;

I need the people to take their share,

my diet is ruining me beyond repair.

Oh, where, oh, where, have all the people gone?

©️graemesandford.com

“Happy Oyster-Catcher!”

I wished them a ‘Happy Oyster!”

they didn’t catch my drift;

they just stood upon the shoreline,

waiting for the tide to shift,

it reminded me

of the gulls I knew

when I was just a lad,

they treated me with ridicule

as I was such a cad.