Poetry Of The Pig

The Project - Make Your Own Flying Pig - Poetry Of The Pings - Support Team - Press

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Outside of Normal

Of a pig that I know, pretty big, name of Joe, who was always a quick one to laugh,
He did like to gamble and smoke big cigars, and read newspapers while in the bath.
I loved Joe, we used to walk out in the fields, and two times a year in the evening,
He would smile at me and without explanation he'd do something beyond believing.
Joe was normal, you see, except for these nights, when a fey mood swept into his bones.
He personified levity, grew small white wings, and flew into the sky all alone.
I would laugh as he rose up and clap my two hands, how that wild pig ride did defy me.
It was proof, in my youth, that no matter the evidence, nothing in life can define me.

Taxi Trix (Karl Saliter), Cornwall Bridge, CT, USA


Untitled

A flying pig brings silly images to mind
As you've undoubtedly heard
Like soaring and swooping and cruising about
And loop-the-loops done backward
But I'll bet if you eyed a big sow overhead
Floating as free as a bird
That you would have a huge grin on your face,
Making you look equally absurd.

Lynne Sosnowski, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada


Roaring

Though Eunice wore glasses, she was a proud pig in her stubborn yet obstinate way.
She could put Mojoroller the dog on her back and fly right from the farm to the bay.
Where the two would have picnics with cheeses and fruits, with good cocoa and crackers and jelly.
Because Eunice was also a biker pig chick, she had saddlebags strapped to her belly.

Taxi Trix (Karl Saliter), Cornwall Bridge, CT, USA


Untitled

I once witnessed a bewildering sight,
'twas the strangest I'd ever seen!
A sow had taken to the clouds in flight,
Oh, whatever could this mean?
After much inquiry and scientific might,
of the answer I found I am keen.
From what I can gather,
she'd climbed up a ladder,
and fueled herself with lentils and beans.

Scot Free, Vancouver, BC, Canada


No Need for Reasons

This kid painted flying pigs through the livelong day
Never going out, not even in good weather
She would stretch her own canvas and roundpink it up
And watch colliding colours come together
Her life became a study in the brushagainsting dance
She purpled, pinked, skyed, winged and snouted
From Mardi Gras morning to twilight on Kwanzaa
She never second guessed herself or doubted
You could question her why she obsessed with the sky
Why she painted and painted pigs as they flew
There would be no remorse no concession no excuse
She would look at you replying "cause I do."

Taxi Trix (Karl Saliter), Cornwall Bridge, CT, USA


Untitled

Higgledy-piggledy
Angel pigs
Driving clouds and sunbeams,
eating figs and bad dreams.

Bev Isaac, Melbourne, Australia


Festival Day

Have I told you my friend of the magical day when I went to the West Cornwall Fair?
There were hot air balloons, and carnival rides, and booths with such wild things to wear.
There were jugglers and dancers and magic magicians and even an acrobat pair.
I tell you the place was alive with sweet wonder, and many's the time I did stare...
At the gypsy caravan wagon train carnival riddled with theatre rare,
And at Ripstop the comical handwalking talespinning clown with the crazy red hair
(Plus his partner old Mr Jinx Funbones the bouncing calliope player was there.)
But of all these sweet sights my good fortune bestowed me I must say I most truly care
For the mystical light leaping vision of pigs lifting off with their wings in the air.

Taxi Trix, Cornwall Bridge, CT, USA


Untitled

A pig will fly on wings bright pink,
A cow may jump over the moon,
But they'd better wear diapers, I do think,
Or we'll be buried soon.

Lynne Sosnowski, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada.


Snack Request

"There's a pig in the birdbath, Harold, son, what kind of a farm do you keep?"
Harold looked out the window, sure enough, on the lawn, head up, butt deep,
Sat a big pink pig with small white wings, a scarf and safety goggled.
What a bog of a hog Harold cogitated in the fog: I'll be frogged, my memory's joggled,
To that sorry old story Cory McNory told Morry on mid-summers eve,
about the little guy who tried to fly high and that nobody seemed to believe.
"Could this pig be the one?" muttered Harold that day, (what an oft repeated query).
As he slowly approached, the pig lifted a trotter, and asked "Hoy! You got a muffin there, dearie?"

Taxi Trix (Karl Saliter), Cornwall Bridge, CT, USA


Untitled

A child who assembled some things
(Mostly paper and glue and some strings)
Started forming a pig
'Round a balloon oh so big
And topped it all off with some wings.
Said she as the figure did dry
"My hardest I really did try.
Though my piggy looks real,
It's likely, I feel,
That this paper pig won't fly."
So tired now she was near reeling,
She kissed pig goodnight with much feeling.
But when she awakened
Just as dawn started breakin',
Her piggy she spied near the ceiling.
As the smile dancing on her lips grew,
T'was then that she suddenly knew:
If she worked hard enough,
(Though doubts made it rough)
Then secret dreams often came true.

Lynne Sosnowski, Waterloo, Ontario Canada


Salute

Our pig Fobster walked from the front to the back of his tidy but undersized pen.
He tried it north south and he danced it east west and he walked it all over again.
With a lingering sigh in the moonlight last night I was watching him out by his fence.
As he climbed to the top and he stopped on one trotter I found myself nervous and tense.
So I walked out the kitchen door right then and ran to his pen to give comfort and love
Thinking if I played clown he'd hop down to the ground from this dangerous perch up above.
"Fobster, I've just made you tea look and took out your two favourite books and my flute."
My only reply, as he took to the sky, the proverbial sphincter salute.

Taxi Trix, Cornwall Bridge, CT, USA


Untitled

I lie outside this sunbright day
and watch the pigs soar above the ridge away
and envy them their freedom.
Listen to the brook trip-gurgle
(rolling into something Bigger) moving.
Feel the sun
warm soothing
full upon my bald face
(the wind plays so recklessly with grace)
And nature ('s bounty) flows past
past me
where I cannot catch it.
From inside my prison skin
I sup
(starving)
dreams that have yet to be met
but those pigs who have those wings to fly
beyond that ridge
(that sky of hawks)
or even
trip down streams that talk
to hear us moving dreams.
And so
I lie outside
this sunbright day
and maybe pray for rain tomorrow.

Robert Nelson (Butterfly Man), Venice Beach, Cal, USA


Untitled

You saw a flying pig today?
Well then it must be true'
That dreams and hopes are the way
To see a problem through.
For no-one hopes quite like a pig,
Who wants out of his sty.
He squints and grunts and thinks real big,
While aiming for the sky.
I guess there are a lot of folks,
With goals that loom as great,
As a wishful pig who wants to coax
Some changes to his fate.
The fact you saw a pig with wings
Is proof enough for me.
Good tidings come from faith and bring
A chance you'll fly as free.

Lynne Sosnowski, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada