Best Goose Poems
There once was a fox, as wise as can be,
He lived in the hollow of an old oak tree.
Not so very far from an ol’ Farmer’s Farm;
A farmer he knew would do him great harm.
Also, on that farm lived a lively young goose,
And he caused the fox’s dry mouth to juice.
Without a care, the goose gandered about,
Causing the fox great apprehension, no doubt.
One day they met at the edge of the farm:
The goose knew, for sure, the fox meant him harm.
Mr. Fox, I know you can eat me, he said,
But, I know a better way you can be fed.
The farmer has many an egg you can eat,
and they are more juicy than feathery meat.
I’ll tell you just how to gain your supply;
as quick as a wink, or the blink of an eye.
The farmer is rich and he doesn’t have need
for all of his wealth, and all of his greed.
We poor of the earth, he cares not about:
We should take eggs from the lecherous lout.
Sure, he feeds us, and quite well in fact,
But he profits from the sweat of our back.
We animals are brothers, and should take heed
About each others wants and each others need.
You can sneak around by the ol’ mill gate,
while I distract the hound, down by the lake.
His threat to you I shall circumvent,
and you can then eat to your hearts content.
The sly ol’ fox, he surmised this odd tale:
Hen’s eggs were delicious, he knew quite well.
Oh, this we will do, he quickly agreed:
Eggs, he knew, were quite delicious indeed.
So, the goose set off, the hound to distract,
And also the fox, to the mill gate out back.
But, the goose had another plan in his mind;
A problem solution of a far different kind.
He enlisted the hound in his subversive trick,
To solve the fox dilemma finally and quick.
He sent the hound round to the ol’ mill gate,
Leaving himself to just piddle and wait.
Then suddenly upon him with claw and tooth
Pounced the fox, ‘fore he could honk or hoot.
In this moral lesson we all can deduce,
Why no-one says: “he’s as sly as a goose”.
The SLY fox knew: “If the goose would betray
the farmer that feeds him, he will betray me too.”
Lionel
When you come home late at night
Open the door and turn on the light
You had better be extremely quite
Or your goodly wife you may excite
And I'm sure she will not be polite
When she orders you out of her sight
There is no use trying to be contrite
The dog will have company overnight
Your goose is well and truly cooked alright
What folly is fancy free and footloose
Please don't be fooled, tis but a ruse
If you think about it you will deduce
Freedom's never free, you silly goose
Fancy free beneath a flag of truce?
Cling to liberties while still profuse
Avoid the ropes hanging from a spruce
Those knotted and dangling in a noose
Stay clear of those who tout fancy-free
and the falsehoods in what they decree
They complain and whine like a banshee
with an attitude to stubbornly disagree
You can take your Debbie Downer attitude
stuff it if you think you've been screwed
Don't enter contests. You're not pursued
to write if you don't have the apptitude.
For P.D's "Going Haiku Crazy" Contest
How Many?
going to St. Ives
met folks on that smelly bus
more than I could count
Just Sleep Walking?
Wee Willy Winky
caught outside a boy’s window
in a night garment
Got Wool?
naked in the lane
three bags-full of wool sheared off
baa baa black sheep fleeced
She Didn’t Know What to Do!
Kids’ cries from inside -
outside an old woman’s shoe
child welfare people
Clean Your Plate!
Licking their plates clean
Jack Sprat and wife do their part. . .
kids starve in China
The Treacherous Hill
pail of spilled water
Jill’s body sprawled over Jack’s
one big bloody mess
What a Ding Dong
good deed for the day
boy scout Tommy Stout by well. . .
scratches on his arm
Not Even a Bone
old Mother Hubbard
Social Security cut
dog needs a new home
Yellow Georgie
victims of Porgie
confront him in the playground
his true color shows
The Original Blonde
Bo peep loses sheep
birth of a new tradition. . .
blonde jokes being told
The Schemer
some spilled curds and whey
spider near a fallen chair
supping happily
Making the Best. . .
Humpty takes a spill
the whole army can’t fix him
omelets for lunch
Baby Catches On
the church and steeple
and now you show me people?
those are just fingers!
They Say He Couldn’t Keep Her!
gossip in the town
pumpkin shell big as a house. .
where is Peter’s wife?
Bye, Hushed Baby
the sound of wind’s rush
baby’s cries abruptly hushed
broken branch on ground
*I'm choosing this series of haiku for several reasons.
First, it's the only post I made named "Twisted" so it
is an obvious choice. Second, I do have other poems
I consider a bit twisted, but, I simply cannot
remember the titles of some of these really old poems
to look for them. Finally, this series was inspired by
a long ago contest of PD's in which I got the idea
to take nursery rhymes and twist them, and so
I'm reviving this series which can no longer be
viewed by anybody here unless it's in a contest!
I accidentally let one loose
A ripe for roasting, fattened goose!
The ganders in Orwellian mode
Honked out the news in gaggled code.
Rash Farmer Giles, blood red with rage
Would not be easy to assuage
And goslings flapped their wings in fear
As if to say ‘Get out of here!’
The rooster crowed with all his might
To publicize my sorry plight
And terror-stricken piglets squealed
As rifle cocked, he left the field.
I turned and fled: there’d be no grace
For farmer Giles had picked up pace.
But then, a crack, a curse ; a whopper!
Old Farmer Giles had come a cropper!
This close escape I did embrace
For he had run a wild goose chase!
And as I raised a thankful sigh
A cackling form went flying by!
Competition entry : I accidentally let one loose : Charles Messina 22 July N/A
Applicable Not Applicable Contests Poetry Contest : sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
19.05.19
- The Goodbye Goose-
Winter polishes at four o'clock, shining all the rocks aglaze.
Reflection, stretching shadows.
Longer thinner men - longer thinner still.
Shadowy tall , feeling small.
Sunmangled window in a diamond quadrant.
Keyhole orifice and creeping becomes nostalgia.
Why dont you just shut up and call?
Home going geese-slipstream in a vee.
High honking traffic, trailing vapour leaves you exposing me.
Cascading spirits slipping down the walls, swirling eddies
and smoky waterfalls, draping over furniture like slimy octopi...
Drunken weekend metaphors , Monday morning remorse.
Up and down the ladders of my memory, tinkly piano playing on my spiny vertebrae.
Permeating lies of my story told not of voice or tongue or lips-no.
But of crafty bits that left unsaid, untold encyclopaedia of me.
T'would be so simple to top you up, yet dark forces warn me ,
to pimp me out to you is to forfeit martyrdom and victory crown,
deprives the joy of shooting you down, shifting the blame.
Denies the stature as abuser , distracts my winner into loser.
Never be a frontal goose .
After the third day
She stopped saying "you must go"
And his kept saying "NO"
Her wing was broke- couldnt fly
Looking up ,saying goodbye
Migrating flock ,noisy and way up high
Overwintering has but one outcome
She tries to think of them, thought of him
Who follows her on scaly webbed feet
Slipping on the ice, painful wing
Frozen lake,sheet of ice and bleaky mist
He tries to shield her wing
From gusty wind, it little helps
The snow fox came to steal the egg
She slapped and missed
Broken wing broken egg
Still he waits for the larger meal
Just out of reach but sure to come
Two dead geese for the price of one
Once last plea for him to go
One of us must live
But he says no
As dead she lies
His hungered honk
Defies an invisible foe
Nowhere to go, it all looks like snow
Too old to live, too cold to care
Slowly walks toward the fox
Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
Sunkist in Macy's window
then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide leaving
proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
while kissing thing kith
darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed
expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)
inducing said personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously
maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously
incriminating, hellaciously,
desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election
toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
arrogant simian with sass.
I van (terribly hard pressed)
to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
gnashing false teeth
Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination
(pa hill a reed) as sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
sans presidential outcome a shame
bullying with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool
birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash
for his kitty, as if that cachet
to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
like "Stormy Dan" yells
leering oafish ill pout
while hair rum
(of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock
of bronzed sea gulls mocks
heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.
Below within the dwelling deep,
while tumbling in fitful sleep;
the rumble-hum of furnace keep;
the mouse and Cat Lord Bo-peep.
Fluttering lids and labored breath
below within the dwelling deep,
furious dreams do waken sleep
attributes of childhood’s bequeath.
Horrors rise on temporal tides
a stew of insanity bides.
Below within the dwelling deep,
the cat fiddle-screeches life’s weep.
Dali cobbles retinal creeps
the mind dittles and cows moo oon,
The nightmares ending none too soon
below within the dwelling deep.
Mother Goose and Father Time
All together had children nine.
Love ruled hers,
His were let free.
All wound up productive, happy and fine.
oh deer how *****,
wimmen problems slide,
the gander wants the goose,
better seeming be tonguetied,
then let the wrong words loose,
ive tried ...n fried ...now footloose..
whats the use :( poor ol Johnson tried. 9-aug-11
My friend Grey Goose
flew by today
honking loud
in mournful greeting.
Poor goose, poor goose
alone you fly, as two by two
your flock glides by.
Did hunter’s aim
or beast of prey
Steal your life long mate away?
It matters not what wicked blow
Suffice, you fly alone.
Then as I watch, you soar in flight
skim low down river’s canyon
I bow my head and pray next year
you’ll fly with a companion.
This morning, as each year around this time, a small flock of Canadian Geese flew down the river bed. About four years ago one of the pairs lost his mate, and, as many of you know, geese mate for life. So this lone goose remains with his flock, always flying alone behind, calling. . . . . and each year, it breaks my heart. . . .this year I decided to write a little tribute to my friend, The Grey Goose.
Goose Fair
I really do love Goose Fair
It’s such a great feeling just to be there
Carousels going round and round
With your feet not even touching the ground
Or Dodgems bumping into one another
Leaving your heart all of a flutter
Candy floss, sticking all over your face
Tucking into hot mushy peas, while round you race
Some rides just too scary to go on
If like me, you are getting on
But that does not stop you having the time of your life
Especially when you have had, Countless years of Agoraphobia and strife.
A novice goose farmer named Sanders,
Once wrote for advice from Ann Landers.
He'd encountered a block
To increasing his flock:
He didn't know gooses from ganders.
A mathematician, I am not
How to figure I forgot.
Forget the hypotenuse,
For it ain’t no use.
Pythagoras, keep your theorem,
For it causes me delirium.
A mere child said he’d explain,
With a smirk to cover disdain.
“Three 3s are 9; four 4s are 16.
Stay with me, and see what I mean.
Add 9 and 16 for 25.
And then the hypotenuse comes alive.”
By this time I was feeling quite glum.
So, I chimed in, not to sound dumb.
“The square root of 25 is 5,” I smiled.
“You’ve got it, Mister,” replied the child.
Right then I knew without doubt,
When my wife and I ride about,
Our traveling miles will greatly reduce,
When we take the slanting hypotenuse.