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Kieran Mar 2019
If you ride the wind,
Or at least motor yourself,
On a schooner out to ten pound island,
You may have the luxury of meeting Mooch.
He is the seagull who likes Cheetos.
Life for Mooch is simple,
All he has to do is sit on the arm of Owen,
The boy who pulls the sails
Or Captain Harold,
The man who built the boat,
And eat enough Cheetos to stuff his throat.
He never tells any of his friends,
For fear of missing out on Cheetos.
Oh, to be a seagull.
Oh, to mooch off of others
And still be loved.
Written about a trip in Gloucester harbor on a schooner.
Arisa Mar 2019
sand sticks onto my legs
as i crawl out of the water.

stench of salt in my hair,
as i walk the shoreline.

french fry in gull's beak,
as i toss my food away.

god i love the beach.
- anyone who hates the ocean needs to fite me >A<
Still Crazy Jun 2014
the seagull diddled
when he perched on my dock,
though no invitation extended,
no offense was taken,
when in observation,
of the foolish humanish varietal,
did it opine

"dude,
u need to move more
and exercise those legs,
eat right,
many small meals,
like me,
write your-poetry
while in airborne motion."


all this was spoke
while he speared and swallowed
a little river perch,
in my face,
flying off contentedly,
just to drive his point home -
directly into my gut

so should the next
pedestrian creation,
be typo'd plenty,
though,
I can walk and talk,
even chew gum simultaneously,
advice from seagulls,
who defecate on my dock,
should be taken as well,
in small sized portion control

poetry is best served,
proudly prone-ly
though I did thank him kindly,
and went back to bed...
Donna Sep 2018
I looked at grey sky
A quiet seagull flew by
And I felt its peace
Hi all :)
was Inspired whilst I hanged out washing on washing line :)
Take caste all **
Sean Achilleos Jul 2018
I long to be alone
A modest cabin by the sea
Where the days are quiet
Where no television, radio or phone is permitted
No unnecessary words of explanation
Where the afternoon sun bakes warmly on my cat in the windowsill
A gentle purr of content
By day I will walk along the sandy shore
Cast away my formal shoes
Roll up my pants and place my feet in the crisp waters of the salty ocean
The wind ... The crashing of the waves ... A seagull's cry
A dog and its owner passes by ... An occasional hello
They say people need people ... But I don't know
Natures own form of conversation seems to be a better companion for me
With the competitive world locked outside
Where money is God and the race is fierce
A ray of light catches the colourful bottles in the window
Creating a prism on the floor
I could take a photograph ... Capture the moment
But if I send it to you
Will you feel what I see
Written by Sean Achilleos 09 July 2018©
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
Amazon: Sean Achilleos 'An Affair with Life' The Philosophical Poems of Sean Achilleos
YouTube: Sean Achilleos

Sean Achilleos' Music is also available on the following platforms:
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sunprincess Feb 2018
Alas, Mr. Seagull was more than enjoying his meal
each sweet bite, each tender morsel
He was in what they call "Food Heaven"

When along came a a Raven in a black dress
At his breakfast table, she smiled
Then softly cooed, "May I have a bite?"

Mr. Seagull never responded to her charms,
And so with a daring plan  she waited
until Mr. Seagull took another big bite

Then quickly before Mr. Seagull could blink
Raven left with food in beak, away she flew
Into the  far yonder's wild, wild blue
The sea was
a shade of the
deepest blue,
the waves,
moved by
strong winds
made thousands
of white strokes,
as if touched by
a painter at work,
a seagull, with
black tipped
wings flies
in the sky,
home to the
sun, reflecting
upon the ocean
the brightest
shade of pure
diamond,
touching
my feet,
clear and
the bringer
of colorful
stone
treasures,
I allowed the
waters to take
me over,
I closed my
eyes, within
my heart and
soul, still it
echoed,
the endless
music of the
waves, asking
for my embrace
and calling
me home
z Dec 2016
twin gulls at the ready!
resting and fidgeting atop a rock outcropping
sister galactic spaceships from cowboy bebop
ancient cutters of the sky, cloud divers and dividers
efficiency is key, swiveling in crisp circumferences
feathered razorblade acrobats
mother nature’s surplus fish-killers
spend their days as lazy air athletes
never in the sea deeper than their beaks
Marília Galvão Mar 2015
With chords, thoughts and moves
There laid two flying creatures, they
had abandoned their shields at the front door
when the wine started playing down the walls
soaking pole to pole, they drank it
with arranged wings, the two seagulls.
Little did they know
how falsely wary were their bodies already soaked

The blue one fluttered to the north air
She looked to the sun and knew
Too late, the shield was no more in her care
When the rain started falling from conflicted clouds
in the absence of her rig
the seagull languidly tried to cease the drops.
No logic to coat the sense
All the way deceived by her ghost defense

With blurred movements in the sea carpet
there came to her sight
a savory brown trout murmuring wine memories
to the seagull and the only drive in her mind:
dip into the water;
gently slip her claws through the fish;
fiercely devour it;
until it's no longer a wish

For long she was flying up and down,
viciously all around,
the blue seagull would see images of the trout
in every fish when she was drowned.
Little did she know
the true brown to go down her throat
was by then a far away memory
of the one seagull soaked in wine
And the moves, thoughts and chords.
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