Oh where, oh where...
Said the bird “Pray Sir, to where have you flown?
Away when I left and yet to come home.
Are you musing on stuff, transcendental
Or fighting for causes, environmental?
Perhaps you’re bosun of some old barque
Sailing the Cape for a bit of a lark?
Perhaps you have been sold by gypsies afar
Or finally succumbed to the Pinot Noir?
Are you off in search of some treasure
Or serving time at Her Majesty’s pleasure?
It’s probably dull, whatever occurred
But I’d still like to know”, insisted the bird.
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© J Cosmo Newbery
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i love this!
ReplyDeletei think serving at her majestys pleasure.
but looks like you can go wherever you like...thanks for taking me along.
green. i like. fresh like the poem.
Lovely pic and lovely verse, jcn. I'm sure the bird is glad to see you back, as am I.
ReplyDeleteyou are mighty green here today J Cosmo! Are you missing someone? Green with envy? (perhaps over the thought that they have succumbed to the Pinot Noir! *wink)
ReplyDeleteHave a good weekend!
Cosmo, I haven't been over in a while and have to say I enjoyed reading through many of your work, you truly are the master of words.
ReplyDeleteNag, nag, nag ....
ReplyDeleteIs the glorious creature male?
ROOM: if (IF) I understand your question, the glorious bird is a female. The post is a response to a comment to the last post. The one without bugles, of course.
ReplyDeleteBugles?
ReplyDeleteShmoogles.
Where were you, anyway?
Nag, nag, nag .....
Good heavens woman! It's enough to drive me to drink...(squeak, squeak, pop, glug, glug...)
ReplyDeleteEnough of the prevaricating Mr. J. Cosmo Newberry.
ReplyDeleteWHERE WERE YOU?
I grant you, it is a fair question.
ReplyDeleteServing time at Her Majesty's pleasure? Are you telling us taht you enjoy your Pinot Noir shaken, not stirred?
ReplyDeleteMoi? I'm not telling you anything!
ReplyDeleteThats for sure.
ReplyDeleteAnd, HOW short are your ears?
Van Gogh was short one ear, is that what you mean?
ReplyDeleteNo
ReplyDeletehow clever - for we still don't know, now do we?
ReplyDeletea delightful verse - makes me chirp and sing
and
flap/flap/swoosh and soar!
Are you gone again?
ReplyDeleteShould we put out an APB?
ReplyDeleteA Pint of Bitter?
ReplyDeleteA bit like putting a saucer of milk out for Rudolf.
Better than a slap on the belly with a wet fish.
ReplyDeleteWell, I don't know. I've heard about some of these party games. A lot would depend on dress and demeanor of the slapper.
ReplyDeleteAnd the warmth of the fish.
Beware the feesha bearing geisha.
ReplyDeletehave you been out at belly-slapping parties then cosmo?
ReplyDeletehmmmm...
whatever will they think of next.
I'm about ready to shoot the feathered, green creature.
ReplyDeleteI didn't do it, your honour.
ReplyDeleteI swear on my dead grandmothers life.
I also have an alibi.
I am being mostly confused. Why it it that the bird is being so deadly presented? And where is it that you are to be being found Sir? Are you perhaps leading us up the path that can be found in the garden?
ReplyDeletebeautiful pic
ReplyDeleteoh dear! threats to shoot the bird! and now this!
ReplyDeleteSQUAWK! SQUAWK!
SCREEEEEECH!
Well, I WAS going to rave about yer new post, but, now my simple mind's floating in seas long from a familiar shore.
ReplyDeleteI thought it simply a reincarnation, but, no?
Jealousy ?
BELLY slapping ?
Ah...
so much comfort wrapped in my dark wrap of ignorance.
And, I liked the poem even if I don't get it.
Mr. Newberry .. It is time to bury the bird.
ReplyDeleteWhen is the Resurrection?
ReplyDeleteTime to get up off your buns, gird your loins and sally forth ...
Or fifth, if you like.
Oh come on jcn ... don't be so stingy ....
ReplyDelete