Best Clucked Poems
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttered after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.
The cow was playing cowbells,
Giddy Goat joined in on his guitar,
The horse was hoofing bongo drums.
Animals started coming from afar.
The chicken clucked an egg out,
Pig was oinking right in time,
Duck was tinkling on her triangle
While dog was hammering on his chime.
Pussy picked up her piccolo,
Goose was flapping on his flute,
Donkey brayed on a big trombone,
It really was a farmyard hoot!
-more poems like this can be found at:
kidscomedypoetry.com.au
The Three Little Pigs
The three little pigs
Had lost their wigs
So now all the animals saw
Was three little bald wiggly pigs
They had pen and paper
Pigs writing poetry
They said oinking and inking was in their nature
We have to change the laws of the legislature
Pigs and poetry was made a crime
The horses sneered, well it was about time
They wrote dirty prose and broken verse
Why even Orwell felt this was totally perverse
The ducks just clucked
As ducks normally doo
They chuckled at pig poets going to the loo
They would soon fly away, or else they would be forced to sue
The three little pigs
For their poetry stew
Nuwas rode in on his donkey grey
Looked at the pigs and said oh no don’t you stay
When Abu yelled to the sheep over there
He said bring me a sheepskin and a little of him
Wine flowed as he spun his tales from jail
Of the young couple Mary and Joseph, he laughed and he wailed
Why he said of the three little pigs
Thought themselves Royals cause they wrote with pig-pens
At the wave of his glass, is said be off to your dens
I of antiquity, shall cheer and dance with my fellow turkmen
Seeking justice the pigs went to the owl
However the goats looked up and cried that’s a fowl
Now the farmer was away paying his taxes in town
When he came back to the farm
He found three little pigs had drowned
Notes: This was inspired by a combination of ideas concepts, the first being George Orwell’s Animal Farm, then the controversial proclivities of Abu Nuwas, and the common thread, other than the bizarre, is the freedom to question all things, the failure to do so, only slows down the advancement of science and new ideas.
The eighth of May, is mother’s day,
My son keeps chickens, eggs to lay,
Kids came for lunch, love them so,
Told us about their chicken Flo,
Laying not easy, Flo clucked loud,
Hungry after her feat, was proud,
Greedy for seed put neck through pen,
Just too far, now a beheaded hen.
Competition Entry: A LAY FOR A DAY IN MAY
SPONSOR: ANDREA DIETRICH
DATED: 08/05/2022
As a poet, I'm not bound by rules, only my imagination.
There's ink in my veins, gathering visions for inspiration.
I paint words on paper, instead of on canvas with a brush
Poetry is my aphrodisiac. It provides me with such a rush.
I write about dew drops on the velvet petals of a rose
Smiles of a newborn touch me enough so I will compose
a sonnet of fourteen lines, in rhyme...well, of course
I've written about wildflowers and the gait of a horse
I've written of rolling waves, tossing about on the sea
Tears fell as I wrote, "Autumn leaves fell from a tree."
and I couldn't wait to jot down the feelings in my heart
when I finally found my one true love, or so I thought.
I get a little help when I can't seem to concentrate
My muse is a busy bee, hoping she can pollinate
my mind by throwing out synonyms, word after word
She makes me laugh because so many are absurd!
I told her I wanted to write about the moon and sea
She clucked her tongue and said, "You Listen to me.
You have to set yourself free. Open your garden gate
and breathe in the fragrance of life before it's too late."
Often, I do it her way. Bereft of muse, my poetry wanes.
I don't want to stop the ink flowing through my veins.
I woke from a dream and quickly wrote it in a verse
or by morning I would forget, and that's a poet's curse.
Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Post Date: July 29, 2020
Written by Gail R DeBole
on July 19, 2021
Updated September 4, 2021
A baby who lived on a farm
Would coo and gurgle with charm.
She completely amazed
Her family each day
With all of her sweet, lovely sounds.
She would hear chickens, cows, and sheep
As she fell into a very sound sleep.
Then she would awake
To the noise roosters make
And would listen to chicks as they peeped.
She heard many oinks, moos, and neighs.
The animals talked lots each day.
Chickens cluck-cluck-clucked.
She heard quacks from each duck.
The animal sounds never waned.
When she made her talking debut.
Her parents didn’t know what to do.
You might think it absurd
As to what her parents heard -
She sang out a melodious moo!
Next was a loud cluck-cluck-cluck!
Then she skillfully quaked like a duck!
She then gave a neigh
As she giggled and played.
Her parents were completely awe-struck.
She saved her best vocals for last.
Giving her parents a proud vocal blast.
She called her father “Papa”
And her mother “Mama”
And that was her first baby rap.
Science improves things, so they say,
can't prove it by me, take the clock
once it swung, and cockco's played
now it's silent, no tick or tock.
Old clocks clucked each tick and each tock
tongue to roof, they made a clapping.
Once they had arms and hands and locks
now they don't even aid napping.
Mum's the word with digital clock
zipped are those lips, no face, no brow
no sinister tock from Hook's Croc
no moon shaped face, no leaping cow.
Flashing red numbers, fanned peacocks
neon in trancers, with tin man hearts
lipless automatons in stock
toss them all from your K-mart cart!
Live I say get a grandfather clock
one with a face, two arms and heart
with a pendulum swinging tick tock
tick off the sleepers screw K-Mart.
I once nodded off and found myself on a farm,
I was met by a horse who said I’d come to no harm
His name was George, he was tall and ‘jet black’
and he knelt down right gentle as I climbed on to his back
As we strode through the yard there came a small cry,
it was a piglet named; Norman who’d got mud in his eye
Mother hen clucked and her little chicks scampered,
flossy the kitten just wants to be pampered
In through the gate there came a lot of sheep
and a collie dog called Jimmy, behind them did creep
Mildred the cow lay down for a rest,
and the flies thought her ear would make a good nest
Billy the goat looked nervous as he went for a stroll,
George and I both wondered if he was in fear of a troll
As we crossed over the bridge down by the stream,
there came a loud bang as I fell of my bed,
and there ended my dream.
My feet are stuck in the muck, cried Chuck the duck.
Sean the swan came to his rescue across the lawn,
Chuck, grab my wing, and we’ll swing into the spring!
Chuck used his beak, as chic feathers tickled his cheek,
They flew out of the muck, we’re now unstuck, Sean clucked.
Chuck felt happy, Sean felt scrappy as they fished for crappie.
Chuck felt struck with luck as he caught one, but it stuck,
Sean the swan, brave and brawn, caught the prawn.
Now a pack, enjoyed their snack, as they happily clacked!
The farm was nestled deep in the country,
down a dusty road was a lovely house and barn;
where horses ran and jumped in a meadow beyond,
and fat cows mooed and chickens clucked, and
a rooster welcomed each dawn and strutted proudly.
Farmer Hector Cuckleburr, Hec for short and his,
wife Josephine Cuckleburr had many other animals;
oh yes many, like pigs and sheep, and babies too
and the delight at having lots of jumping baby lambs
which brings me to a little dog called, Smidget Puggily.
Smidget Puggily was the smallest of the Pugs born,
and the other Pugs pushed her away at play;
squeaking you are too small, Smidget Puggily, go away,
so she did, wandering the barn yard she saw something,
that bleated and stretched from a curled up sleep.
Hello, said Smidget Puggily, gosh you are pretty,
thanks, was the reply, and I am smart too, a leader;
I could teach you things, be your guru, your teacher,
your guide around this farm, see how high I can jump,
and with that, she jumped in the air and bleated loud.
I will name you Prettisome Guru, and I am your student,
show me how to jump, soon Smidget Puggily was jumping;
lets play follow the leader said Prettisome Guru, just follow,
Smidget Puggily, listen to me, I have excellent vision, hearing,
and smell, but best of all I like to cuddle up and get touchy.
Well, from that day forward those two walked the farm yard,
with the Smidget Puggily following her Prettisome Guru faithfully;
farmer Hec and his wife Josephine would stop and laugh,
when they found those two curled up asleep, all cuddled up,
and that was often- those two slept most of the day actually.
_________________________________
March 1, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/The Smidget Puggily and her Prettisome Guru
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1119-309-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, The Smidget Puggily and Her Prettisome Guru
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger
Second Place
One day I chanced to walk by a spirit of a dead man,
And he looked unto me with wizened eyes
And he asked "Child, what is life to you, this darkness and this light?"
And to him I said:
We rise into the light when we are born -
- And we fall into the dark when we die.
And to that he shook his head and clucked his tongue
And said this ethereal to me:
We are thrown into the light at birth -
- And we are shoved into the dark at death.
And so left me this dead man, left me wiser than my smooth unwrinkled face would show.
© Samir Georges
2010
I had a fat goose and she clucked
Each time a soft feather got plucked
The goose then got old
And could not be sold
So into my oven – you’re ‘cooked’!
Thanks to Andrea Dietrich for her invaluable advice in helping me with the ending of the poem
04~25~17
When Clive was nineteen years old
he graduated from high school,
it had taken him five years,
but he would not become a fool.
He’d seen why not two years prior
when is brother John had gang-banged
and was shot down in an alley,
not found until his corpse stank.
The same fate had met his father
back when he was a baby,
and despite all the evidence
his mother cried,”Conspiracy!”
Clive would not allow himself to
be subjected to the same end,
if high school brought a crummy job
then he would work, unlike his friends.
So he set out that summer day
wearing the best clothes that he owned,
and went about from place to place,
to all types of shops did he go.
Most of them were not hiring
despite the strong economy,
a restauranteur even said,
“I wish I could help you buddy.
“But the city raised base wages
to fifteen dollars an hour,
I had to fire all but two,
and I still can’t pay the power!”
Frustrated, Clive started on home,
when he walked part a fast food joint,
and what he saw at the counter
made the young man rather annoyed.
A Latino man took the orders,
so Clive asked,”What is your pay?”
The man looked nervous, then he choked,
“Sorry senior, no anglaise!”
Clive was pretty furious
when he reached his mother’s flat,
she sighed deep, then she just clucked,
“Didn’t I warn you about that?
“They’re all looking to keep us down,
they like seeing our people wrecked.
We’ll go to welfare tomorrow,
see about getting you a check.”
Clive’s fury then boiled over,
and a hot raged marred up his face,
he balled his fist and seethed out loud,
“Now let me get this all straight...
Freddie the goat was as wide as a boat
His hair was long, tangled and whiffy
He asked Maisie the cow could she help him right now
And she mooed she would in a jiffy
Joey the horse said with some force
My tail is also quite smelly
So Maisie mooed here I’ll make it real clear
I can also shave your big belly
Daisy the hen clucked from her pen
Could you take a look at my feathers?
Maisie then mooed you’re so very rude
I do all three of you nitwits together
September 6th 2016