Best Gobbling Poems
In November I write of winter
for I am weary of the old year and tired bones
I visualize all hardships blanketed with fresh snowfall
geese in a "V" as they flee on trade winds to the south
season's celebrations, toasting in the new year
senior couples delighting in a luminous sunset
knowing it might be their last together
In February I write of spring
for I am weary of the bone-chilling cold
I envision the circle of life resurrecting dormant earth and tired souls
zephyr winds teasing nascent flower petals and young hummingbirds
mayday flower crowns adorning laughing children
young lovers sharing kisses, dreaming dreams of
infinite possibilities
In May I write of summer
for I am weary of the bone-soaking rain
I forecast cloudless skies and longer days
Santa Ana winds dismissing every chill
a lark's lilting lullaby lulling loons on the lake
vacationing families basking in the warm outdoors
brides and grooms viewing limitless horizons
In August I write of autumn
for I am weary of the bone-dry heat
I anticipate bewitching fall winds tantalizing neon maple leaves
turkeys gobbling, ducks wobbling, thrushes warbling
harvest home throbbing with the aroma of fresh pie
middle age couples cuddling by the fireplace
giving thanks for all that lies behind and ahead
Lord, help me to view the past with grace,
the future with hope,
the present with contentment,
and to write of November
in November.
written 25 October 2021
I Heard Mother
(to tune of "I Saw Mother Kissing Santa Clause")
I heard Mother scolding Santa's elf
As I prowled the house on Christmas Eve.
He'd hid in St. Nick's sleigh
And then sneaked out to play
After having waited for his boss to fly away.
Mother caught him gobbling all our snacks
After he tore open every gift.
Oh, when she glared down at his face,
He went scrambling from our place
Screaming, "Santa, stop the sleigh-
I need a lift!"
For Silent One's 'Your first poem on Poetry Soup' Poetry Contest
I believe it was Dec. 23 of 2009 right before Christmas!
A pond sits in the glen
bright fish dashing about
casting silvery shadows
ducks chasing after them
eels making their way to sea
flying birds circling back and forth
green frogs croaking for a mate
herons gobbling them up
in the depths a pike floats
jutting out its pointed head
keeping hidden as it prowls
lurking between the rotting logs
minnows swim by unharmed in shoals
newts eagerly snapping them up
out in the reeds lays up a catfish
playing dead it patiently waits
quick to react to its prey
reaping the bounties little fry snack
sticklebacks swim lazily through reed beds
trout leaping catching fly's and midgets
under the calm waters life abounds
vivid rainbow trout spawn
while the blue waters thrive
xanthine filled plants floating
yellowfin cutthroat trout dart by and
zander perch fill a fisherman's net
He loved a drink did ol'Johnny McBeal
And offered to cook the thanksgiving meal
All the trimmings with turkey
For their friends and family
His wife agreed but no drink was the deal...
On the big day he was up before five
But with no drink knew he wouldn't survive
Found a bottle of sherry
Then started to get merry
Guests arrived and the bird was still alive...
Johnnys wife said " you have ruined thanksgiving
The turkeys gobbling and it's still living
There is no main course
I want a divorce
I'm upset and I won't be forgiving"...
She then reached out for a sharp carving knife
Johnny was shaking in fear for his life
She wanted the turkey dead
Who ran out the door and fled
Johnny thought she is one demented wife...
Johnny was determined to save the day
And phoned Mcdonalds for a takeaway
Ten turkey burgers arrived
Ol' Johnny's marriage survived
Then before dinner they knelt down to pray...
And what became of the McBeals turkey?
He was found terrified up in a tree
His poor life was spared
By someone who cared
Now lives in peace in a bird sanctuary...
Written 16th November 2021
The power of nature has ravaged the Japanese shore,
Leaving in its wake devastation and unimaginable gore.
The mettle of this gentle people has been tested, it is true,
But next spring, they know that cherry blossoms will bloom anew!
Alas, whole villages along that rugged coast were torn asunder,
As the raging tsunami raced inland gobbling up its plunder.
When all hope was lost and they thought they'd surely meet their doom,
They were cheered knowing that cherry blossoms once again would bloom!
This stalwart people who'd suffered the ravages of falling shell and bomb
Dropped from silver birds, faced another holocaust with great aplomb.
With little but hope they vowed to rebuild their lives ever keeping in view,
The cherry blossoms that would bloom come next spring with dainty hue!
Alas, the 'quake leveled schools, ancient temples and magnificent torii,
But this patient people will restore them once again to their former glory!
They will persevere again and again as surely as the rising sun at dawn,
To enjoy another season of delicate cherry blossoms 'til their scent is gone!
The brotherhood of nations rallied as one to provide succor with speed.
It was neighbor helping neighbor in keeping with the Master's creed!
Even though the nation was rocked with misery, shock and searing pain,
Out of the depths of disaster the cherry blossoms will bloom once again!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 8 in Deb Guzzi's "Tribute To Japan" Contest - May 2011
Down in the meadow, bees are buzzing away
cows laze about, after feeding all day
Wildflowers attract butterflies, in pastel arrays
lapping up nectar, in the warm sunny rays
Down in the meadow, lambs frolic and play
ladybirds climb grass tufts, that gently sway
A farmer wipes his brow, whilst loading hay
midges swirl about, as young horses neigh
Down in the meadow, goldfinches come to lay
gobbling down thistle seeds, without delay
Baby spiders spin webs, in more than one way
none of them mind each other, so all’s ok
Down in the meadow, an old donkey brays
don’t think he’s cross, just dislikes his dray
The residents don’t care, what this ass says
all have things to do, and ignore me anyway
In the woods no right of way, no right to live, no right to play.
I travel quickly, as dusk is beginning. Woods are thick, on this day.
Wood tick and spider heaven, I walk gingerly, on wet old leaves.
Dog has deserted me, long gone, chasing things she thinks she sees.
The air is thick, the sun is dying. I trip on a twig, I end up crying.
My ankle feels sprained, my knee is quite broke, maybe dying.
The woods are silent, but my hair is on end, something is watching.
I will be devoured, through my tears the woods are blurry blotching.
I scoot my sorry sore body over to a stick, hoping it is not a snake.
Pain shoots through me with every single sad boot step I take.
The dog is probably back at the house gobbling up a fancy steak.
My husband has no boundaries when it comes to our lab, Big Jake.
I inch my way to the steps in the forest, built of railroad ties.
Each laborious step, has me feeling the terror of unseen eyes.
A wolf? A coyote? A predator, of some sort no doubt.
Landing hard on first step I scream, shriek and howl all about.
An answering shriek comes from the forest to my immediate left.
It raises the hair on my arms, and it quite takes my breath.
A woman is being murdered in the trees next to me.
A woman is being raped, and cut up into threes.
Bristles on my arms curl my toes and frighten my face.
Whatever makes that devilish sound, is not of the human race.
I stop and I think and I realize at once, I am clearly beaten.
I sit and I wait for the mountain lion who has probably not eaten.
( A bit of drama in the garden last week)
The seed was scattered, and not long to wait,
a Blackbird was the first upon the scene,
moments later followed by its mate,
I could tell the former wasn't really keen.
It chased the female off across the grass,
a sharing bird it definitely was not,
Pigeons arrived, they couldn't let this pass
and started quickly gobbling up the lot.
Until a Magpie swooped upon the crowd
from left to right it jinked, chased them away,
to dine with such a bird was not allowed,
it smugly strutted, having won the day.
Just then, a blur of feathers from above
as bravely wading in on the attack,
unlikely was this foe, a Collared Dove
surprisingly, it drove the Magpie back.
Harassing the Magpie 'till it was gone,
leaving the field of battle with a squawk,
The combats all concluded, now just one-
but one was enough for the Sparrowhawk.
Swallowing starlight, thirsting
on ether that roars through
the cosmos as fine, icy fire.
Nibbling moon-dust, gobbling
comets that streak through the
heavens from heaven knows where.
Digesting mysteries older than time,
inhaling the dew, grateful for tastes
that are forever ancient and new.
Missing the days
When I was the craziest person I knew
This mad world
Has incredibly gotten madder
Radios TVs blaring panic
Humanity gobbling it up like candy
Social distancing
Because society hadn't already
Become distant enough
Do you know your neighbor's name
Do you dare knock on their door
No
Cell phone at the ready
Why is no one touting "fake news" now
So much easier to believe
Words that raise the blood pressure
Society is being restructured
In front of our blind eyes
When the smoke clears
And the ash settles
What will remain
Will the best or worst
Be revealed
Will you slow down
Realize you've been ignoring
What's most important
Or will the social unrest
Already so out of control
Use this fuel to engulf the nation
The future is in our hands
04/02/2020
Coronavirus COVID-19 Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Team Poetry Soup
Swooning…somnambulating apple hunt,
sweet and sour scenes of climbable trees.
Dreaming…swinging, branches confront.
Palm filling, chewing…night’s day to seize.
Scent of white or red flesh in Autumn, squeeze
delicately its outer dress of green, yellow, red.
Gobbling to bones…cores surrounded by bees.
Juice runs down my chin as I wake up in bed.
9/26/2021
An Ode to Turkeys
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
I
There was a time, year one thousand A.D
U.S. turkeys faced a brand new plight.
Usefulness seen.
Native American's hunting delight.
The white meat of a turkey is quite lean.
So much healthier than man knew before,
Nothing one ever could say,
In any way,
Would make Americans free turkeys anymore.
II
Thanksgiving comes and goes.
Wild turkey gobbling slows.
Ben Franklin watched their plight.
Nominated, though laughter did flare.
Turkeys beneath the moonlight
Were beautiful out there.
Ben suggested, turks as the nation's bird.
But eagles know, it was not so.
And turks in history endured this nations birth.
III
Although wild turkeys can run fast and fly,
Toms might in spring be found.
Fluffing, dancing around.
Caruncle and waddle shiny, bright red
Courting the hens, showing off, prancing, not dead.
Although turkeys fly strong,
The hunters by day kept watch in the fields.
Until, Old Tom, no more sang passion's song
And hens under bushes sat on eggs long.
When chicks hatched out and played their mother shields.
But on Thanksgiving Day...
Run away!
Note: Carolyn, thanks for the video suggestion. It is very funny. I decided to post the link
here. The HISTORICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1213z9KHNs
(TIME HEALS ALL: We do LOVE you, MOTHER ENGLAND... from you we were BORN.)
The HYSTERICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnLyqBtU_F8
ENJOY the FUN!
Ah, Red Macaw, you are the pestilence
of impatience
in my day, soaring far, far overhead
squawking and screaming
your face overheated and red
beak too portentous
for sweets, gobbling and demanding
if ever you stop, but the leaves
have no leavening, you’re all feed
and poop and mar my day.
Even though I seek you out
you escape, Scotch-free,
wearing a tartan of betrayal.
Who you seem to be
righter of words, merely mimics
what experience I bring
with my heart and days. I want to
wear flames, gold, drink juices
that drip from the blues of my mouth.
You wear my head where I have shadow.
You wear my flight, straight and narrow
Branching and diving and soaring.
You wear my hunger for the sweetness
of truth, but follow only my path
Where is yours? Where is your course?
Of course. Your caw, screams
Why don’t you speak your own language
Know your own. Your home.
Instead of mine.
Gargoyles of deepest night in an island strangest
Preys of mangled bodies they can't digest
Rounded, popping eyes craving with long nails
Caveats of animals eating their own flesh
Villains of Capeesh roaming as beasts
On tables and floors, scratched and feasts
Gobbling maudlin juices of live carmine
Spilling on throat and skins of grapevine
Brutes of cursed and mythical roots
Flutes of cold bodies tootling in boots
Carcasses of narcoleptic nerves in tears
Taunted and pierced by tusks and smears
They say there is a rose garden that blooms inside us now and again.
I remember how your breath was so sweet I wanted to swallow it
Whole – gobbling up your gasping wind – to drown my screaming
Passion, ignited by your soft molasses coated tongue, with the scent of rose
Blossoming inside me, where my blood rushed your love home – yes!
Later I thought how strange it was, that it could last for so long, with me,
Still breathing after you had left – for three days – I was exhaling your fumes!
But, that memory was not distressing, no! Mildly hallucinogenic; it was swirling
There in my blood, like the alcohol that washes away your scent – sometimes –
Life is like searching a beer garden for a bottle of aphrodisiac potion you’ve lost.
What’s more troubling is that all the other flowers continue to bloom.