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Make sure better than cock-sure.

Bajan proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Song at Cock-Crow

1918 -- Ille autem iterum negavit.

The first time that Peter denied his Lord
He shrank from the cudgel, the scourge and the cord,
But followed far off to see what they would do,
Till the cock crew--till the cock crew--
After Gethsemane, till the cock crew!

The first time that Peter denied his Lord
'Twas only a maid in the palace who heard,
As he sat by the fire and warmed himself through.
Then the cock crew! Then the cock crew!
("Though also art one of them.") Then the cock crew!

The first time that Peter denied his Lord
He had neither the Throne, nor the Keys nor the Sword--
A poor silly fisherman, what could he do,
When the cock crew--when the cock crew--
But weep for his wickedness when the cock crew?
. . . . . .

The next time that Peter denied his Lord
He was Fisher of Men, as foretold by the Word,
With the Crown on his brow and the Cross on his shoe,
When the cock crew--when the cock crew--
In Flanders and Picardy when the cock crew!

The next time that Peter denied his Lord
'Twas Mary the Mother in Heaven Who heard,
She grieved for the maidens and wives that they slew
When the cock crew--when the cock crew--
At Tirmonde and Aerschott when the cock crew!

The next time that Peter denied his Lord
The Babe in the Manger awakened and stirred,
And He stretched out His arms for the playmates
He knew--
When the cock crew--when the cock crew--
But the waters had covered them when the cock crew!

The next time that Peter denied his Lord
'Twas Earth in her agony waited his word,
But he sat by the fire and naught would he do,
Though the cock crew--though the cock crew--
Over all Christendom, though the cock crew!

The last time that Peter denied his Lord,
The Father took from him the Keys and the Sword,
And the Mother and Babe brake his Kingdom in two,

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Cock And The Fox: Or, The Tale Of The Nun's Priest

There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow, somewhat old, and very poor;
Deep in a dale her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatched, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A simple sober life, in patience led,
And had but just enough to buy her bread;
But huswifing the little Heaven had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinched her belly, with her daughters two,
To bring the year about with much ado.
The cattle in her homestead were three sows,
An ewe called Mally, and three brinded cows.
Her parlour window stuck with herbs around,
Of savoury smell; and rushes strewed the ground.
A maple-dresser in her hall she had,
On which full many a slender meal she made,
For no delicious morsel passed her throat;
According to her cloth she cut her coat;
No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat.
A sparing diet did her health assure;
Or sick, a pepper posset was her cure.
Before the day was done, her work she sped,
And never went by candle light to bed.
With exercise she sweat ill humours out;
Her dancing was not hindered by the gout.
Her poverty was glad, her heart content,
Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant.
Of wine she never tasted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely cheer;
Brown bread and milk,(but first she skimmed her bowls)
And rashers of singed bacon on the coals.
On holy days an egg, or two at most;
But her ambition never reached to roast.
A yard she had with pales enclosed about,
Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without.
Within this homestead lived, without a peer,
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer;
So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass
The merry notes of organs at the mass.
More certain was the crowing of the cock
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
And sooner than the matin-bell was rung,
He clapped his wings upon his roost, and sung:
For when degrees fifteen ascended right,
By sure instinct he knew ’twas one at night.
High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
In dents embattled like a castle wall;

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Couple Of Chicken Religious Meal

The couple of chicken religious meal
On the ruwatan of my mother
Offering to me

8. Couple Of Chicken Religious Meal
I left the hen one at my grandma house
and bring the cock going home
after arrive at home
that cock
I bring everywhere
aver meet the another one
keep fighting with my cock and win
sometime meet with the cockfighter
neighbour, who have gerobak repair house
where they iron for
and teakwood for
in the center field
they fight my cock and theirs
the winner is always my cock
Their face look very regretful
And they offering to bought my cock
I avoid
And tomorrow eveing, when I went home from school
I found my cock foot
He stay and asleep in my house corner
My cockfoot had injury was harpooned
I care with garlic, not yet recover
I care with peniciclin, not
a week after that cock dead
I cry for the whole day
I don’t understand adult will won theirself
they dont understand, that is not just a cock
But a cock for religious meal in the ruwatan of my mother
My grandma gift

poem by Prasetya Utama
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Mishmash! Wish-wash! A LONELY FISH Washes Away in Troubled life Seas!

Among twinkling stars – blue, red, yellow, I am blue with lonely flu!
Among the glossy stars, I am a dark space, a black hole, a black dwarf;
My life sucks for lonely bucks, everything sucks by lonely heat blue,
Squashed inside, packed outside by lonely gravity sucks – it kicks me off!
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!

Night has started, brain is heated – a lonely man repeated word ‘awful’;
I read lonely book full, It can be harmful, and it can be dreadful;
My heart is filled with empty space, my mind killed in the rat race!
Life dies inside me; hope dies outside as no one is beside my face;
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!

Alone I am in blowing wind as I stood in dark ravine of lonely ground!
Alone I am, I heard a baying sound – a tiny translucent gray cloud;
Alone I am, it is the loudest noise in the silence – a howling cry!
Alone I am, it echoes everywhere – I can’t explain any more – I’m dry;
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!

Alone I am wherever I go; alone I am whatever I do, I’m a lonely flower;
Alone I am in depression, alone I am in frustration – oh lonely sparrow!
Alone I am in today, alone I am tomorrow – all the time in sorrow....
Alone I am – lift me up, alone I am – help me out of the lonely river.
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!

poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Sugar We're Going Down

Am I more than you bargained for yet
I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear
Cause that's just who I am this week
Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum
I'm just a notch in your bedpost
But you're just a line in a song
(A notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)
Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
Is this more than you bargained for yet
Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans
Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him
I'm just a notch in your bedpost
But you're just a line in a song
(Notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)
Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
[x2]
Down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
We're going down, down (down, down)
Down, down (down, down)
We're going down, down (down, down)
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it

song performed by Fall Out Boy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Danger

[Intro]
The brotha's got this complex occupation
The brotha's got this complex occupation
The brotha's got this complex occupation
[Verse 1]
Me and this baby
Gon' be up all night long
Walkin this wood flo'
'Till my man gets home
I'm at the front do'
I'm listening by the phone
But I'm gon' be here
With my make-up on
I'ts been a long time
Since my man been gone
But when he get here
You know I won't be gone
Because I love him
Love him strong (N'Dambi)
Me and this baby
Gon' be up all night long
[Chorus 2x]
Because they got the block on lock
The trunk stay locked
Glock on cock
The block stay hot
Block on lock
The trunk stay locked
Glock on cock
The block stay hot
Talking
What she say?
I said,
Block on lock
The trunk stay locked
Glock on cock
The block stay hot
[Verse 2]
Got a box of money
That I keep under my bed
But we don't spend it though
Might need it for more Yeyo
We need this money
Just in case we need to
Make a run
Gotta keep the clip in mama's gun
Or run...
We like to keep the car runnin'
We try to keep the bitch humin'
In case the sweeper boyz are comin'

[...] Read more

song performed by Erykah Badu
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Paper Windmill

The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out
at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of the square
glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced and pranced,
and shook drops of sunlight like falling golden coins into the brown water
of the canal. Down stream slowly drifted a long string of galliots
piled with crimson cheeses. The little boy thought they looked as if
they were roc's eggs, blocks of big ruby eggs. He said, 'Oh!' with delight,
and pressed against the window with all his might.

The golden cock on the top of the `Stadhuis' gleamed. His beak was open
like a pair of scissors and a narrow piece of blue sky was wedged in it.
'Cock-a-doodle-do,' cried the little boy. 'Can't you hear me
through the window, Gold Cocky? Cock-a-doodle-do! You should crow
when you see the eggs of your cousin, the great roc.' But the golden cock
stood stock still, with his fine tail blowing in the wind.
He could not understand the little boy, for he said 'Cocorico'
when he said anything. But he was hung in the air to swing, not to sing.
His eyes glittered to the bright West wind, and the crimson cheeses
drifted away down the canal.

It was very dull there in the big room. Outside in the square, the wind
was playing tag with some fallen leaves. A man passed, with a dogcart
beside him full of smart, new milkcans. They rattled out a gay tune:
'Tiddity-tum-ti-ti. Have some milk for your tea. Cream for your coffee
to drink to-night, thick, and smooth, and sweet, and white,'
and the man's sabots beat an accompaniment: 'Plop! trop! milk for your tea.
Plop! trop! drink it to-night.' It was very pleasant out there,
but it was lonely here in the big room. The little boy gulped at a tear.

It was queer how dull all his toys were. They were so still.
Nothing was still in the square. If he took his eyes away a moment
it had changed. The milkman had disappeared round the corner,
there was only an old woman with a basket of green stuff on her head,
picking her way over the shiny stones. But the wind pulled the leaves
in the basket this way and that, and displayed them to beautiful advantage.
The sun patted them condescendingly on their flat surfaces, and they seemed
sprinkled with silver. The little boy sighed as he looked at his disordered
toys on the floor. They were motionless, and their colours were dull.
The dark wainscoting absorbed the sun. There was none left for toys.

The square was quite empty now. Only the wind ran round and round it,
spinning. Away over in the corner where a street opened into the square,
the wind had stopped. Stopped running, that is, for it never
stopped spinning. It whirred, and whirled, and gyrated, and turned.
It burned like a great coloured sun. It hummed, and buzzed, and sparked,
and darted. There were flashes of blue, and long smearing lines of saffron,

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Hen laid eggs

Hen laid an eggs, between legs two,
No small, no big but not in zoo,
Ran after those who made slight dig,
Dog, cat and crow planned very big,
Hen laid eggs……

Hen becomes heroin when find egg,
With big noise run after with one leg,
Even scare pig and allow near no body,
How to protect eggs that is only worry?
Hen laid eggs……

Make no fun when she may have kitten,
Beautiful scene seen when run in garden,
Children love to see and catch with fun,
Prefer little kitten and make gentle run,
Hen laid eggs……

Small kids ask, what will be her task?
How to protect them, by putting a mask?
Often they look at them and draw on page,
night take them all to stay in simple cage,
hen laid eggs……

Papa and mummy, where from kittens came?
Who laid an eggs and how she played game?
Simply they observe and ask funny questions
Why kitten become cock and not small hen?
Hen laid eggs....

What a lovely fun? I couldn’t answer one?
It was more confusing than work undone?
Answered few more questions but not in full,
Avoided by telling you may get it from school
Hen laid eggs.....

How to answer questions? When faced many?
Simple they may look but nature seems funny,
better not answer question any more,
It may not be ending but more and feel bore,
Hen laid eggs......

It is not the hen but cock steals show,
People get irritation when shouts crow,
Kittens and children happy and steadily grow,
Cock serve as alarm when mighty voice blow
Hen laid eggs......

Cocks find preference and first depart,
When runs after hen even looks smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Cock Up Your Beaver

When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town,
He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown;
But now he has gotten a hat and a feather,
Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver!

Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu' sprush,
We'll over the border, and gie them a brush;
There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour,
Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver!

poem by Robert Burns
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Price Of The Cock

THE PRICE OF THE COCK

A WOMAN STOLE A COCK AND TOOK IT TO THE MARKET TO SELL IT, WHILST AT THE MARKET, SMARTER THIEVES STOLE THE COCK FROM HER AND SHE WENT BACK HOME SOBER!
ON HER ARRIVAL AT HER HOUSE, AN INQUISITIVE NEIGHBOUR ASKED, DEAR NEIGHBOUR, YOUR COCK WHICH YOU TOOK TO THE MARKET, HOW MUCH DID YOU SELL IT? SHE ASKED AND THE SOBER WOMAN REPLIED, IT WAS SOLD FOR EXACTLY THE SAME PRICE FOR WHICH IT WAS BOUGHT!

poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Poor Man

The hen has no breasts; poor cock.
The hen has no lips; poor cock.
The hen has no hair; poor cock.
The cock can rape hen; poor man.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sugar

On the vermont transit bus I leaned my arm into alittle chink of sun,
Going somewhere older than I was,
Strapped into something tight, keeping me small.
I dug into you like rock climbing;
Too scared of coming down,
Too scared of going up,
Too scared of rockface.
I shouldve split my sides or spilled my guts or hit you or something,
But I was good, and your fathers little pancakes
So round and perfect and me sitting up too straight,
Laughing in wrong places, kissing you,
Kissing up, kissing too soon.
When the cock crows
When the morning comes where will I go?
When the cock crows
When the love is gone where will I go?
And when you got me pregnant I stopped the party and
I stopped the typewriter and I stopped your dumb ball game in the red barn and i
Stopped your father and bled instead.
And I felt the lie - something sticky on the inside,
A bitter wind in my throat,
Stopping me wanting,
In my stomach, in my head and you said
Sugar sugar, you couldnt come come
Sugar sugar, without your mother
Sugar sugar, you couldnt taste it
Sugar sugar, in my throat.
When the cock crows
When the morning comes where will I go?
When the cock crows
When the love is gone where will I go?

song performed by Heather Nova
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prequel..cock Robin.

PREQUEL..COCK ROBIN.
THE DAWN MIST HANGS LOW THROUGHOUT THE VALLEY
CREATING THE SHROUD WHICH ALLOWS TIMID CREATURES TO VENTURE OUT
IN THE DISTANCE, THE WOOP OF A DOVE, RAT-TAT-TAT OF WOODPECKER RINGS OUT
SOON ALL LIFE TAKES THEIR PLACE, MAN AND ALL.
WOODCUTTER SAM COPPICES IN A SUSTAINABLE WAY
AS SOON AS HE IS GONE THE ANTS AND WOODLICE ARRIVE TO CART THE CHIPS AWAY
LIFE CAN BE SWEET HERE, HARMONY ENDURES
THE SQUIRREL AND THE JAY ARE ONE..THESE ARE MINE..THOSE ARE YOURS
BUT THERE'S SOMETHING MISSING, ROUTINE HAS FINALLY RELEASED THEIR MINDS
WHERE IS COCK ROBIN'S CHIRPING OF THE TWITTERING KIND?
HE MUST BE IN THE SOUTH OF THE VALLEY, SAY'S JOHN CROW
OH NO, THIS ISN'T THE DAY HE'D GO
SOON THE WORD HAD GONE OUT, COCK ROBIN HAS NOT BEEN SEEN
HE'LL RETURN BEFORE LONG AND TELL US WHERE HE'S BEEN
THE HOURS WEAR ON, THE RUMOURS ABOUND, ALL ARE LISTENING FOR THAT CHIPPY-CHIRPY SOUND
IN THE FOLLOWING DAYS WITH NO MORNING ACLAIM FROM COCK ROBIN
THE TEARS SHED ARE HIDDEN IN THE MISTY WETNESS OF THE MORNING.

poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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Biznite

Biznite... Biznite...
Nothing but it

I'm dippin' in a black milleny benny sittin on twentys
Top off when the city's windy me and pretty Cindy
She dressed up in pretty Fendi and she sippin remy
I'm Iceburg nuttin but whenny all the way to my tinny
I'm hotter than a semi' cause this girl she
and plus my head is spinnin from drinkin this fifth of Henney.
I stop at any deli cause this freakin with her penny
and aint no tellin how many she umm already been in.
We get inside the room and she gigglin plain grinnin
Slowly the lights dimmin and I'm slippin on my jimmy
I'm feelin with her titties this is only the beginnin
I stick it in her kitty now she screamin come on gimme
I'm flippin this chick over and I caught her slowly bendin
I'm hittin got her twistin this is my ninny you hear me
And when its time to quit I got her soakin wet and drippin
She asked me for a kiss ah... .

[CHORUS]
Biznite is you trippin
Biznite is you trippin
What
Biznite is you trippin
What
Biznite is you trippin
He he he Wha..
You nothin but a sack chasin cock chasin biznite
Your never gonna amount to anythin but a biznite
cuz all I wanna do is hit it from... I don't even wanna talk
if your baby come born with braids I aint the pa
nope I aint the pa
hell no I aint the pa
no I aint the pa
hell no I aint the pa
nope I aint the pa
hell no I aint the pa
if your baby come out saying wha.. I aint the pa

I ride up in a Porshe Boxter see this fox her name was Tasha
I got her when I stopped her at McDonalds with her partner
I jocked the way she rocked her lil Versasce and her Prada
I'm Iceberg (?? ??? ??)
I jot her my phone number later on gave me a holla
I popped up by her mamas so her nigga wont know nada
She took thirty minutes play me like a some kinda coward
Now hopped up in my car and started talkin bout her doctor
She said she started ridin it in her babys fathers Honda
She wish that he would trade it in and cop a brand new Mazda

[...] Read more

song performed by Lil' Wayne from Lights Out
Added by Lucian Velea
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Saltbush Bill's Gamecock

'Twas Saltbush Bill, with his travelling sheep, was making his way to town;
He crossed them over the Hard Times Run, and he came to the Take 'Em Down;
He counted through at the boundary gate, and camped at the drafting yard:
For Stingy Smith, of the Hard Times Run, had hunted him rather hard.
He bore no malice to Stingy Smith -- 'twas simply the hand of Fate
That caused his waggon to swerve aside and shatter old Stingy's gate;
And being only the hand of Fate, it follows, without a doubt,
It wasn't the fault of Saltbush Bill that Stingy's sheep got out.
So Saltbush Bill, with an easy heart, prepared for what might befall,
Commenced his stages on Take 'Em Down, the station of Roostr Hall.
'Tis strange how often the men out back will take to some curious craft,
Some ruling passion to keep their thoughts away from the overdraft:
And Rooster Hall, of the Take 'Em Down, was widely known to fame
As breeder of champion fighting cocks -- his forte was the British Game.

The passing stranger within his gates that camped with old Rooster Hall
Was forced to talk about fowls all noght, or else not talk at all.
Though droughts should come, and though sheep should die, his fowls were his sole delight;
He left his shed in the flood of work to watch two game-cocks fight.
He held in scorn the Australian Game, that long-legged child of sin;
In a desperate fight, with the steel-tipped spurs, the British Game must win!
The Australian bird was a mongrel bird, with a touch of the jungle cock;
The want of breeding must find him out, when facing the English stock;
For British breeding, and British pluck, must triumph it over all --
And that was the root of the simple creed that governed old Rooster Hall.

'Twas Saltbush Bill to the station rode ahead of his travelling sheep,
And sent a message to Rooster Hall that wakened him out of his sleep --
A crafty message that fetched him out, and hurried him as he came --
"A drover has an Australian bird to match with your British Game."
'Twas done, and done in half a trice; a five-pound note a side;
Old Rooster Hall, with his champion bird, and the drover's bird untried.

"Steel spurs, of course?" said old Rooster Hall; "you'll need 'em, without a doubt!"
"You stick the spurs on your bird!" said Bill, "but mine fights best without."
"Fights best without?" said old Rooster Hall; "he can't fight best unspurred!
You must be crazy!" But Saltbush Bill said, "Wait till you see my bird!"
So Rooster Hall to his fowl-yard went, and quickly back he came,
Bearing a clipt and a shaven cock, the pride of his English Game;
With an eye as fierce as an eaglehawk, and a crow like a trumbet call,
He strutted about on the garden walk, and cackled at Rooster Hall.
Then Rooster Hall sent off a boy with a word to his cronies two,
McCrae (the boss of the Black Police) and Father Donahoo.

Full many a cockfight old McCrae had held in his empty Court,
With Father D. as the picker-up -- a regular all-round Sport!
They got the message of Rooster Hall, and down to his run they came,
Prepared to scoff at the drover's bird, and to bet on the English Game;

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Mark (Chapter 14)

With Feast of the Unleavened Bread,
(Passover) to take place in two days’ time,
The scribes and chief priests planned to arrest Him
By treachery and send Him to the cross;
They feared a riot during festival.

While at the house of Simon, the leper
In Bethany, a woman came and poured
A jar of oil perfumed over his head.
‘Why’s there a waste of perfumed oil? ’ Some asked,
They seemed to be angry with her because
It costed some three hundred days’ wages;
But Jesus asked, “Why do you trouble her?
She did something really good for me.
You can do charity for poor all times;
But you will not have me always with you.
She anoints my body for burial!
What she has done, the Gospel will tell you.

Then Judas Iscariot set off quietly,
To meet the chief priests to hand Jesus o’er.
They promised him money for doing so;
His disciples wanted to know where they
Were to prepare for eating the Passover.

Jesus sent two disciples and told them,
“Go to the city where you’ll meet a man
Carrying a jar of water; follow him.
When he enters a house, tell the master,
“The Teacher wants to know the guest room where
He may eat the Passover with the twelve.”
Then he will show an upper room quite large
And furnished; Make the preparations there.

The disciples found things as He had told.
When evening came, He went along with twelve.
As they were eating, Jesus said to them,
“One from amongst you will betray me soon.”
Distressed, they said, “Surely, it is not I! ”

Jesus said, “One of you who dips with me! ”
Woe to that man by whom I’ll be betrayed.
’Tis better that that man be never born!
He blessed the bread and broke and gave to them,
“This is my body that I’ll give for you.”
“He took the cup, gave thanks, all drank from it.
This is my blood that will be shed for you.”
“Amen, I say to you, I shall not drink
The fruit of vine until the day I drink
It new in God’s Kingdom, that is Heaven.”

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Roosters

At four o'clock
in the gun-metal blue dark
we hear the first crow of the first cock

just below
the gun-metal blue window
and immediately there is an echo

off in the distance,
then one from the backyard fence,
then one, with horrible insistence,

grates like a wet match
from the broccoli patch,
flares,and all over town begins to catch.

Cries galore
come from the water-closet door,
from the dropping-plastered henhouse floor,

where in the blue blur
their rusting wives admire,
the roosters brace their cruel feet and glare

with stupid eyes
while from their beaks there rise
the uncontrolled, traditional cries.

Deep from protruding chests
in green-gold medals dressed,
planned to command and terrorize the rest,

the many wives
who lead hens' lives
of being courted and despised;

deep from raw throats
a senseless order floats
all over town. A rooster gloats

over our beds
from rusty irons sheds
and fences made from old bedsteads,

over our churches
where the tin rooster perches,
over our little wooden northern houses,

making sallies
from all the muddy alleys,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Foolish Cock

cockooo-cockooo
the cock wakes us all up
today is a special day
my new sister is been outdoored
they quickly bath us children
and wear our best kente for us
mother feels proud and pampered
father sits by the palm wine pot
slowly pulling his beard and looking stern
i heard someone whisper
hel, d have prefered another boy
as we dance around the compound
the foolish cock joins in
he flaps his wings
lifts his beak in the air and sings
whats the occasion he seems to asks
the woman put water on the fire
cock, s still celerbrating
father takes out his hunting knife
cock does a pretty dance
little did he know
he was our meat today

poem by Yvonne Selase Nyahe
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Musician's Tale; The Mother's Ghost

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade;
I myself was young!
There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid;
Fair words gladden so many a heart.
Together were they for seven years,
And together children six were theirs.
Then came Death abroad through the land,
And blighted the beautiful lily-wand.
Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade,
And again hath he wooed him another maid,
He hath wooed him a maid and brought home a bride,
But she was bitter and full of pride.
When she came driving into the yard,
There stood the six children weeping so hard.
There stood the small children with sorrowful heart;
From before her feet she thrust them apart.
She gave to them neither ale nor bread;
'Ye shall suffer hunger and hate,' she said.
She took from them their quilts of blue,
And said: 'Ye shall lie on the straw we strew.'
She took from them the great waxlight;
'Now ye shall lie in the dark at night.'
In the evening late they cried with cold;
The mother heard it under the mould.
The woman heard it the earth below:
'To my little children I must go.'
She standeth before the Lord of all:
'And may I go to my children small?'
She prayed him so long, and would not cease,
Until he bade her depart in peace.
'At cock-crow thou shalt return again;
Longer thou shalt not there remain!'
She girded up her sorrowful bones,
And rifted the walls and the marble stones.
As through the village she flitted by,
The watch-dogs howled aloud to the sky.
When she came to the castle gate,
There stood her eldest daughter in wait.
'Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine?
How fares it with brothers and sisters thine?'
'Never art thou mother of mine,
For my mother was both fair and fine.
'My mother was white, with cheeks of red,
But thou art pale, and like to the dead.'
'How should I be fair and fine?
I have been dead; pale cheeks are mine.
'How should I be white and red,
So long, so long have I been dead?'
When she came in at the chamber door,
There stood the small children weeping sore.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I Have a Gentil Cock

I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to stay

I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet

I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde

his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale

his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber

poem by Anonymous
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