Bombing Run, poem

Circling gracefully
Just out of reach
They ply the air
O'er Bronte Beach
White and Grey
Their markings are
Their raucous squawk
Your nerves do jar
They glide and turn
In aerial delight
Their eyes in constant
Searching sight

The target marked
They arc and plunge
The Bombing Run
Has now begun.
With accuracy
Uncannily true
The Bombs released
In a whitish spew
To splatter wettly
On those poor few.

Amidst the curses
And the cries
They swoop aloft
And gather there
Just waiting for
The unaware.

Camac.

I don't think your talking about the ball game here but the technic of bombing they use to do during WW1 & WW2 and I think in Vietnam and probably in Iraq.
This was quite sneaky to drop bombs and dangerous as well.
And the effect was extremely devastating.
I can imagine under how much adrenaline the pilot must be during this kind of mission.

LOA

LOA;

My Lady if I may make so bold. Tis not bombers nor pilots I wrote of but Terns, Seagulls, of which the Greater Toronto Area has the largest urban population. Well over a million of the pesky things.


Camac.

I love the things. I'd be Seagull and not Stormy if I'd known how to spell the word for them in gaidhlig when I joined this site.

It's a nicely crafted poem, and it does justice to a certain inconvenient truth about them. But you know? I've never been "blessed" by the ones I feed, including one that stalled 10 feet over my head and took chunk after chunk of bread that I threw straight up at him. Those yellow eyes looking down at me, and the scream of him! The shivers.

In the cold they hit their essence -- two great wings and a cry. I lived down near Brighton Beach years ago, and I would go in winter to give them stale bread that I soaked with the water and oil from canned tuna saved up in a jar. They would mob me, but I tell you nary a poop on my head or shoulders. They know which side of their bread is fish-oiled.

I love the things. I'd be Seagull and not Stormy if I'd known how to spell the word for them in gaidhlig when I joined this site.

It's a nicely crafted poem, and it does justice to a certain inconvenient truth about them. But you know? I've never been "blessed" by the ones I feed, including one that stalled 10 feet over my head and took chunk after chunk of bread that I threw straight up at him. Those yellow eyes looking down at me, and the scream of him! The shivers.

stoirmeil;

Be thankful you have not been blessed. I have on many occasion and believe me its most unpleasant. Here in Ontario we can't even retaliate as they are protected under law. Most frustrating.



Camac.

Camac,

Well then, your poem have two meanings here or maybe I haven't read it carefully.
You're right it describes the birds for in the end you talk about the "witish spew" which I interpreted as chemical bombs.

So for me there is two meanings to it.

I'm sorry about all the birds problems but we destroy all of their natural habitats so there is no place for them anymore then to adapt in cities and bug us.

LOA

I love 'em, but I'm not fooled by their ways. They have habitat a-plenty, just about everywhere in the world with a coastline. They like it where we are because we dump so much food for them everywhere! Why battle with a live crab for a meal when there's a mountain of garbage free for the taking? Total opportunists.

It's true there's lots of birds that have to fight for a mouthful with shrinking habitats, I'm not minimizing that concern at all. But gulls? Probably in New York anyway they could be added to the Four Eternal Species to make five -- rats, pigeons, roaches, humans and gulls.

[/QUOTE0 LOA;

My Lady if I may make so bold. Tis not bombers nor pilots I wrote of but Terns, Seagulls, of which the Greater Toronto Area has the largest urban population. Well over a million of the pesky things.[QUOTE]


Damn rats with feathers!!!!!!!!!!!! We had to eat under cover in basic because when they saw the chow trucks come out to the ranges they would descend by the thousands! If they would have let us practice our "full auto" on them we wouldn't have NEAR the numbers of the damn things!!!!!

Dogshirt;

I didn't think my little poem would envoke such reaction. A few years ago here in Toronto at a Blue Jays game a seagull was hit and killed by a baseball. The police went onto the field and arrested the pitcher and he was charged. Needless to say that stirred up the old you know what. Damn birds are a menace but you can't touch them.



Camac.

I love it!

Having fell victim to many “Bombing Runs" during my time. And the two runs that stand out the most are: When I got nailed by a Pigeon. While standing in line, (in my Holey Communion Whites), at Saint Michel’s in Brooklyn, (I thing it was at that point, that God and I got off on the wrong foot.)

The second time was a Sea Gull, who was very good at hitting a moving target, because I must have been doing at least sixty on a motorcycle, when he got me. (Hey, did you know that stuff burns you skin!)

Keep them coming,
JC

When they get their daily rations from a szechuan restaurant dumpster, yeah, it sure does.



http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/S/Seagulls.asp
Here's a bunch of cartoons about gulls.

When they get their daily rations from a szechuan restaurant dumpster, yeah, it sure does.



http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/S/Seagulls.asp
Here's a bunch of cartoons about gulls.

J.C;

When I had my sailboat it never failed that right after I scrub the decks down the bombing runs began. That stuff will disolve Gel-Coat in no time so skin is no problem.


Camac.

I live 25 miles from what was once the country's largest man made lake and they know all the fast food restaurants and dumpsters in town.

Slàinte,    

Patch    

Camac,

If I may be so bold in return of a suggestion here.
You should've called the title " Bird droppings, a poem."

LOA

LOA;

You are propably right but every time I see them they remind me of old war footage of dive bombers circling their target.


Camac.