Best Barbecued Poems
My Chicken Adventure
Authored by Chuck Keys
I found a chicken at my door
barely moving on the floor
kind of bony in and out
dirty stinky not proud nor stout
what brought him to my door today
with nothing in hand nor able to lay
I asked "where came you"
replied he "a land away true"
I asked "friend or foe this fine day"
replied he, "I am here to dine n' stay"
another mouth to feed and care for
maybe I need to show him the door
thinking of dinner for myself, " hmm" said I
"should I eat the chicken with potatoes and peas?"
so happy and gleeful he smiled so free
Thinking maybe wouldn't be eaten by me
Hungry as I was, riled at my noisy uninvited guest
i looked at him, thinking, maybe he should be my quest.
Fried, baked, barbecued or soup?
He was destined to my food group.
I ate him.
Categories:
barbecued, funny, life
Form:
Free verse
No Toilet Paper
My mind is boggled.
What is with the Coronavirus mania?
Why is everyone going freaking nuts over this?
From what this writer understands,
It is much like the regular flu,
Which is killing thousands as we speak, and
Hospitalizing even more. And this has been going on,
As long as I have been alive since 1952.
But this particular microbe is novel, and
Since little is known about it apparently,
People are afraid they will “get it.”
So off to Costco they all go, and
Buy as much toilet paper they are all permitted to buy,
Take it home, store or hide it with the other family treasures,
And then realize, inexplicably, that now
They are all magically immune to “getting it.”
Is that what these crazed souls are thinking?
I can think of a fate worse than “getting it.”
Worse than sports games being cancelled;
Worse than concerts and plays going on indefinite hiatus;
Worse than school classes and Sunday services finding the exit door, for now;
Worse than millions of vacations being cancelled, and
Entire industries being brought to their knees;
Worse than the world economy taking a complete nosedive
Into depression and financial paralysis;
Worse than millions of human beings dying
Horrible, agonizing deaths due to this little microbe.
No, I can think of something even worse.
Imagine going to Steak Corral - All You Can Eat,
One night soon, and you wanted your money’s worth.
So you load up your plate with:
Whiskey-laced, barbecued baked beans and garlic bread;
Two breadcrumb-laced quarter pound char-burgers,
Each smothered in a half dozen beer-breaded onion rings,
With ranch dressing dripping over them like lava.
Then you go get some more beans on french fries with
Big raw garlic chunks nestled in them, and then,
You wash it all down with three beers.
Imagine the next morning.
Imagine the horror, the horror,
Of voiding all that Steak Corral stuff, and then
Having the absolute worst possible thing
Happen to you in today’s crisis times.
No toilet paper.
Categories:
barbecued, america, angst, anxiety, fear,
Form:
Free verse
In summer, we grill them in our backyard.
Preparation of spare ribs is not hard.
Just light the charcoal, and let it get hot.
Is there a special brand of barbecue sauce you've got?
Spread the sauce on the ribs and let them cook away.
Barbecued ribs make a special treat on a summer day.
Make sure you get your share before they all go away.
inspired by another member's poem
Categories:
barbecued, food, summer,
Form:
Light Verse
There is no right way...
there are only wrong
ways – there is no
Luke-warm love, for
love is not a portion
nor temperature...not
a two-step – but a toward
You Step. And we know love
when we see it...let it
happen~yes, free it!
Too often we flee it;
failures leave a lasting
mark – making us Leary
of future spark – once a
flame ignited, and then
smothered out, can leave
a nasty ash; better to make
the dash~yes, run. Before
the heart is barbecued~
overdone....
But no one has ever won
if not a wager on the board
of life – just ask my very
wise wife – who made a purse
out of a sow's ear...her headlight
on my deer.
Categories:
barbecued, cute love, dedication, destiny,
Form:
Free verse
Written: February 26, 2025, for Antony Biaanco Contest
*************************
City hum drifts through spurious ways,
teeming in a wild, woody ward.
The jasmine vine twists down to
a jagged sill for a moment before
sinking into a cool, katabatic pit.
Early rush-hour sounds—farts and snorts—
cram the air, moments blending
into the drive-by without a stroll,
as rain-soaked, worn stone slabs
Mark the corner store—
where you used to grab milk,
soap, or other staples.
The chill of an icy night—
gives way to a sun-kissed morning glow.
Sitting at my desk, chatting on the phone,
canceling appointments for the boss.
He’s staying a little longer in Honolulu,
musing over which states—
the neighbors moved to.
Do they remember how
crabgrass took over?
The streets are empty except—
for a fridge that somehow
made it to the avenue,
lingering there,
its story is low and uncertain.
Does this questionable life count?
We can’t amend it,
it won’t yield precious plums,
only a mournful structure,
shadows lurking,
and worn trousers that tell tales.
The horizon lies obscured—
by haphazard highways,
stretching into stark,
barren spaces,
where even the flowers have wilted.
Countless scorched dreams,
strained savings,
and buried letters—
linger in forgotten corners.
The fire hydrant no longer
cries out for the world.
"Honky Chateau" continues to compel—
as it meanders the sporadic streets,
streets cloaked in anonymity—
and emptied of life.
The dwindling dirge of
a forsaken place hangs heavily,
with dreams dangling—
in line for food stamps
and community cheese.
Buildings shatter, splinter, and crumble—
crashing, crushing, collapsing
submerged with rivers of fire within.
Crisis tamed,
calamity curtailed,
the police stroll in pairs,
collecting discarded shopping carts.
Dust gently falls—
as yesterday's laments hush
the pigeons to sleep,
mold mingling with the memory—
of barbecued ribs,
those hardened bones
left since last year.
Categories:
barbecued, angst, city,
Form:
Free verse
Food, ale, smoke, sleep, and solitude—
these are the things which I live for.
Provide for me lamb barbecued,
and I'll demand of you no more!
O lovely lass, whatsoever's the matter—
why so downtrodden and alone?
Be not vexed, if you feel so much fatter
than most, dear, for we love our own.
Sweet lass, let me tell you a secret:
if I were a young lad again,
I'd chase you for your gorgeous asset.
But as I am three-score and ten
years old with wife not dead, then never
could I be your white knight with steed.
So have hope, lass! For time, however,
in its fullness will meet your need.
Categories:
barbecued, beauty, character, child, depression,
Form:
I rode a longhorn steer clear across Texas
this summer and no one noticed until
I rode into New Mexico."That is strange, senor"
A vaquero said standing beside the road.
"Don't people here ride cows?" I asked
innocently but amused. "Oh, yes, we ride
cows, but not on Sunday, senor."Taken aback
somewhat by his insolence I continued my search
for water - having been dry for a good portion of
this journey. I found an old man at a water hole
with a collie dog and a Mustang stallion.
He approached with a serious look saying
"I will trade you this fine Mustang for that
longhorn. Then you can ride what should be ridden
And I can eat what should be eaten." Surprised by his logic
I agreed if he would throw in the collie
as part of the trade.I took the horse and collie
And the town barbecued my longhorn that night.
I was glad I had never given that steer a name.
As I was leaving town, a strange man spoke.
"You are entering Jornado Del Muerte..Dead Man's Walk.
Along this trail are those who will eat your dog.
They will also eat you and take your horse. It is
too late to return to Texas. You are a dead man
and this is your last walk."I travel that path
without fear for some strange reason.Will the dog
be first to go or do I taste better than he?
10/16/2016
For contest Give Me Your Best James Tate
Categories:
barbecued, humor,
Form:
Verse
I feel like a portly and bearded
Hemingway
in a bulky fisherman's sweater
after a bullfight when
I ingest barbecued pork.
A bona fide man
clutches the ribs
with his creased
and hard-working hands,
sinks his incisors deep
into the roasted flesh,
and with a quick
forty-five degree
snap of his head,
shreds the dead
animal’s brawn
from its bone.
And like the full-bellied lion
who rests in the verdant shade
with gazelle blood
dripping from his lips,
the man leans back in his chair,
rub his enlarged stomach,
while not realizing
that he’s wearing
a moustache of
barbecue sauce.
Categories:
barbecued, africa, animal, art, funny,
Form:
Free verse
Okay I am going to write my twiddling poems while I am waiting on God
Is that a word?
I don't care
I am inventing new words if it doesn't fit me
Why does He make you wait forever?
Does anyone know the answer to that?
What could be taking so long?
It's not like He has to think or something
Does He have to talk to someone?
Nah
He is the only One
You can just see it
He is sitting there looking at you
twiddling His thumbs
And no one moves
Time wasted
For what?
I have no idea
Okay if it's going to be like this
I am going to make use of my time
I am going to write some funny poems
until you know whom gives me a 'let's go'
Okay ready?
Why do we need oxygen to breathe
when it's in itself is flammable?
Because we are fire and we need fuel
Haha you like that?
Why do we like things that are barbecued?
Because we are primitive deep down
Ya ya
What do you look at when you look at a person?
Ha I don't even know
Never pay attention
Just look
Heck if I know
So don't be mad at me if you ask me what you look like
You should know
So I don't need to tell ya
Okay
That's it for this one
Going on the next one
lol
Categories:
barbecued, faith, fun, funny,
Form:
Free verse
Sizzling sausages spit at the sun
Yes, the summertide season’s begun.
Salads,barbecued fish
And a charred veggie dish,
Summer cooking, what feasting,what fun!
Roasted pineapple next for my sweet,
Then bananas and cream, what a treat!
Melting marshmallows too
With a chocolate fondue
Summer cooking is just up my street!
I’m beginning to rue my excess.
I have over-indulged,I confess.
Summer cooking is fine
But one must draw the line
Or put up with digestive distress!
2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 24 Poetry Contest -sponsored by Mark Toney
Categories:
barbecued, food,
Form:
Limerick
If you were a chicken, how would you handle
The fear of being barbecued at somebody's castle
Would you fly the coop
Planning to paratroop
Drop some poop bombs, their party to cancel
Categories:
barbecued, humor,
Form:
Limerick
What came first, the chicken or the egg?
The answer is still relatively unknown.
Which tastes better, the egg or the chicken?
It depends on the person, so really, who knows?
Little baby chickens taken from mother hens
Still wrapped in their little hardened cocoons,
Ignorant to the fact that they are about to die
Slaughtered by plastic forks and silver spoons.
Ol’ poor little unhatched chicken embryos
Bet you didn’t know you’d end up on my plate.
Your parents procreated and made such tasty treats.
Sorry lil’ chickies, you shouldn’t taste so great.
You are so multitalented, you come in many forms:
Hardboiled, poached, over easy, eggs benedict,
An egg salad, an omelet, or have you sunny side up,
Maybe even scrambled for something really quick.
You get me going for the day with you for breakfast;
Have you in the morning to provide my body fuel.
I apologize for eating you before you were able to live.
I sincerely don’t mean to be thoughtless and cruel.
If we should place the blame, it should go to your parents,
To that loud, cocky rooster and that little red hen.
Your taste pales in comparison to the both of them
Because I can eat them over and over and over again.
Sometimes they live long, sometimes they don’t.
Either way, they taste awesome on my plate.
Barbecued, grilled, fried, or on a stick
Boiled, rotisserie, roasted, or baked.
Either way, little chicken, you were born to die
And unfortunately, that is your earthly fate.
Take pleasure in the fact that you are enjoyed
And that my stomach is your final resting place.
Categories:
barbecued, animals, funny,
Form:
Rhyme
( To be sang to the tune of " Fernando " by the famous
pop group ABBA )
When we met that night in Nando's
As we waited for a while standing in that hungry queue,
It was my first taste of Nando's
Crispy fried sweet chilli chicken chunks and thighs
You chose barbecued flavour sauce in which to dip your fries.
We ordered take away at Nando's.
And we ate whilst we went walking through the park.
It wasn't far from Nando's.
We enjoyed our chatter and our laughter out until the sky went dark.
We paced beneath the stars, the moon, along the path
To the beat of our hearts.
(Chorus...
We got more than what we ordered there!
Love filled the air
In Nando's!
Everyone else simply blurred away,
My heart you swayed
In Nando's.
Though we only went in for some food,
We felt something new.
If we started on this path again,
Would it begin
In Nando's? )
How we remember Nando's
Celebrating our special wedding anniversary!
We got a take away from Nando's
And went back to the park where you etched into a tree
The outline of a chicken round the names of you and me!
( Chorus )
Yes if we started on this path again,
Would it begin
In Nando's?
(NOT a true story)
Written 13th April 2022
Categories:
barbecued, funny love,
Form:
Lyric
THE FOURTH OF JULY HAT
We used to celebrate July the Fourth when the kids were young—
Till they grew up and moved away and life became far-flung.
Yes, once we toasted freedom’s day and shot off big fireworks—
Now I sit here in this dark bar surrounded by some jerks.
We used to ride our horses on this Independence Day,
We barbecued and downed a few and for our nation prayed.
Then the show of fountains, Roman candles and Black Cat—
Till judges and town laws ruled: “You aren’t allowed to do that!”
Slowly the country lost its way and now it seems insane—
Shredding our constitution with rights of eminent domain.
Now Addie’s gone and I’m alone to tend to this old spread,
Till slickers come and crowd me off and I’m just left for dead.
Now holidays don’t mean too much and good times just don’t last,
I wonder if folks understand sacrifices of our past?
So on this Fourth I watch fireworks upon a bar room screen,
My wrinkled skin like leather now, but oh, what I have seen…
They’re playing our nation’s anthem and I’m sure liking that,
When some young tough rudely yells: “Cowboy, I can’t see through your hat!”
But I feel a bit stubborn and cling to what I have left
And sit there till he says, “Old man, are you a little deaf?”
Slowly, I take that hat off, and feel for something inside—
Then put on an old folded army cap with deep love and pride.
Then as the last fireworks fade, and loud rockets burst and whir—
That young man shakes my hand and says, “Happy Fourth of July, sir.”
Categories:
barbecued, cowboy-western, faith, friendship, inspirational,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Usually prefer pussycats to dogs
Though we have a Golden named Annie
Guess it might be a real tossup though
Annie's pretty special and uncanny
This gal can smell barbecued chicken
From at least a couple of rooms away
Comes bounding into the kitchen
Ready for whatever comes her way
How can I resist this gorgeous animal
Got me tied around her paw
Zoe the cat is a real sweetheart too
I'm torn between these two pets-in-law
Guess I'll just spread my love between both
Annie can show fits of jealousy
Chasing Zoe and threatening her life
But really they get along quite famously
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
barbecued, love, pets,
Form:
Quatrain