Best Hog Poems
Let me tell you a story
From a time gone by
The tale of a greedy butcher
And a pig that could fly
In the little village of Piddle Brook
There lived a butcher named Mr.Ham
He was bearded, bulky, and a belcher
And was rumored to eat his own toe jam
A lover of all meat
Pork,beef,duck,chicken, and mutton
All this gorger did was eat
He was a professional glutton
But Mr.Ham’s appetite was not satisfied
He longed for some thick greasy bacon
Just a few strips, nicely fried
Served with pickled daikon
He peeked through his window
And with one beady eye
Spotted his neighbors hog
And pictured a flaky pork pie
His mouth watered
"What a delicious midnight snack!"
"I will barbecue,braise and fry her"
"But first I will launch my attack"
"Oh but I shan’t become a thief!"
"T’was only a whim!"
But Mr.Ham’s thin scruples vanished
His growling belly got the better of him
He grabbed a pitchfork
And the hefty hooligan set out
He advanced on the sleeping hog
And grabbed her by the snout
Her piggy eyes shot open
And in a flash
She darted past the butcher
And ran past the fence in a dash
Mr.Ham bellowed in rage
And waddled after the beast
But the pig was too quick
Yet Mr.Ham never ceased
And so the chase continued
A wild game of cat and mouse
They ran through the streets
Row upon row,house after house
Finally the swine was cornered
The escaped pig let out a squeal
And great feathery wings sprouted from her back
Said the pig “Thou shalt not steal”
And with one final snort
Two leaps and a hop
The winged sow flew away
And Mr. Ham collapsed with a plop
"I suppose it was a sign from above"
Mr.Ham sighed with defeat
From then on the rotund carnivore
Gave up on eating meat
HOG KILLING TIME
There's a chill in the air
And holidays are near,
Thanksgiving's just 'round the bend;
There's a feeling amongst country folks
That's absolute prime,
Everyone senses it's hog killing time.
Oh what a spectacle!
Oh what a show!
You'll find nothing like it,
If you look high and low.
From sunup to sundown,
It lasts the whole day;
And once it gets started,
Horses couldn't pull you away.
Everyone has his own part to do,
With all the commotion,
It feels like a zoo.
The poor victim for this occasion
Has long been picked out,
And soon will become food,
From his tail to his snout.
There's a shot and a squeal
And he's out for the count;
A cut of the throat,
And blood spews like a fount.
In a barrel of hot water,
He's cleaned and de-haired;
Amongst all the men,
This giant task is shared.
A skillful knife separates all parts of meat,
Including pig ears, pig tail, land pig feet.
The women's task is always chittlin's to make.
There's a boatload of goo and muck
They must rake.
When night time falls,
All surround the black pot;
Where the oil is bubbling,
And boy is it hot!
Pieces of skin are stirred with a surge,
And after some time,
Crisp cracklings emerge.
Sweet potatoes are roasted,
Right in the fire;
And of these simple treats,
No one ever does tire.
When it's all finally over ,
And the day is all done;
The grown-ups are weary,
But the kids just had fun.
Copyright 2008 Patricia Neely-Dorsey
from Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia
#southern #southernlife #southernfood #southernculture #southernfoodpoems #countrylife
ANTS HOG GLEN
Fiery red burns
Autumn orange
Army ants learn
How to hog Glen
High winged pigs
Fly blue in tune
Suctioning mouths
Pulling helium
Balloons
© Kim van Breda—18 November 2015
Ground Hog Day
We know every year comes the day
We see if our Winter will stay…
The Ground Hog will show
By shadow we’ll know
If we can put snow gear away.
If he sees his shadow at all
Then Winter will stay here on call…
No shadow means great!
Spring’s right at the gate!
Let’s dance and go have us a ball!
However I heard from good source
Phil Ground Hog will have no remorse…
He will not come out
You better not pout
If Springtime goes far off its course!
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
~NA~
Contest: Punxsutawney Phil Speaks
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 02/02/2015
Inspired by a family member
"The building of a so called crystal stair"
When he was a young boy
and first put his feet on the block,
He was gritty on the grind[hustle]
for much cheese[money] on the block,
When the alphabet boys came through
he was smart & start leavin' the block,
and he witnessed homicides
and seen many people grieve on the block,
Raised up in a family of dough[money] cravers
So dough chasin's how he spends his hustlin' days,
Sometime a whole week with no sleep
would depict his hustlin' ways,
Somedays it's a struggle tryin' to bubble[get rich]
but he knew that hustlin' pays,
So from age 13 to 19
he stayed hiking through the hustlin' maze,
See he wanted his pockets to have a gang o' green,
He sips Heem[Hennessy} with his main team,
He hooks people on a product
with no remorse & receives what the game brings,
His favorite chant's, 'Get the Paper, Get the paper
with the photo of the dead guys',
He's head wise,
and all night episodes
has him huggin' the traps[hustle spots]
with goons and they all have red eyes,
Where he dwells
it's a place where they idolize & respect those,
who keep their necks froze[diamond necklaces],
and they wear fresh clothes,
with alligator toes[shoes]
and bouncin'[climb] out o' Lex doze[Lexus doors],
So this motivates him to go hard in the square[game],
Even though he gets messages from certain pastors
and from the guys wearing bowties
and have the parts in their hair,
He's in his own space though
So he blows out cigar smoke & his nostrils flare,
He whispers out one of his favorite quotes
''The world is mine, but it show aint fair'',
So he tries to build a crystal stair.
I am a careful driver who stays in my lane
Except when I think doing so would be insane
Like when a crazy fool
Is stubborn as a mule
And has an ego that is totally inane
I humbly and wisely take the high road...except
When another driver is doubtlessly inept
I'm not the one who crashed
and don't need to be bashed
Do not assume I am wrong, when I am adept
A driver who thinks he's better is a road hog
Some folks might even consider him a hotdog
Mouthing off like he's right
Like a poet on a site
Bragging like a fat bullfrog, squatting on a log
Let’s stay at Oinkington Inn the easily pleased relative said.
Her husband looked at brochure and said I’d rather be dead.
The pigs are lovely, she replied. There is nothing to dread.
He told her to go to her family reunion with her cousin Ned.
The sows and hogs were truly placated and fine.
We visited them near an old abandoned crystal mine.
You should come next time to the reunion, she said.
Best part is, a sow ran off with my mean cousin Ned.
Black-eyed peas and hog jowl
That's what my grandma said.
Ham or bacon, but never foul.
And don't forget cornbread.
People up North may eat sauerkraut.
But in the South we eat collard greens.
The young and old, without a doubt
Know what this lucky meal means.
The more beans you eat
The more luck and good cheer,
A 365 bean gastric-atomic feat…
Tooting beans we all welcome the year.
Each in the family fully stuffing his face,
The well wishes soon squeak their way out.
Some of us eat at a very fast pace.
Then, “Happy New Year and Good Luck!” we all shout.
© January 5, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for the Poetry Soup Member Contest: Good Luck Meal
Sponsored by Russell Sivey
Last night I showed my humble gratitude
To a sweet sow with pulchritude
She served as a shield
Or I would've squealed
When the farmer wanted me barbequed
Now, all she eats is pizza; Totino's
Whines that she needs help with the bambinos
But diapers are crappy
Not a chore for pappy
I'd rather gamble at the casino
Need to step back and rethink things here
Living high off the hog, too high it appears
Must reassess
Do with much less
Get back to my roots and sanity reappears
He's laid back, off packs of haystack,
while he plays tracks,
of James Browns It's the Payback,
and A Mans World,
clutchin' his money makes his hands curls,
after all this time his plans are still thorough,
and smoke in the air billows
because the blades in his fan swirls,
He remembers when his time came,
How he mastered the crime game,
and through all his mind pains,
that depicted his mind frame,
So as he walks down the crime lane
his journey still cautious, he stays ready,
So his 9 aims[mind pistol]
lettin' off shots of wisdom
because now he's tongue heavy,
So he finds fame & climbs to new heights,
His business is all good
and he can still claim his true rights,
That he's a gangster & still all hood
he's blended with game & pure hustle,
he knows that the law puts
shackles on those who captured in the struggle,
But his peers did it, so he struts the same road,
trying to capture hood glory & gold,
So with a devlish grin, he reveals that he knows,
he came from a piglet to a hog
through all his ghetto episodes.
nothing but Haiku
today was a "ground hog" day
yesterday repeats
There are so many memories of Hoosier farm life that I remember,
But one in particular I recall occured each cold and drear November.
Dad would proclaim, "The old boar has reached his maximum weight!"
That meant the lumberin' old feller was about to meet his fate!
After Dad had done him in, puttin' an end to his squeals,
He was hoisted by block and tackle and strung up by his heels.
Dad wouldn't abide us kids standin' around unoccupied,
So we were put to work scrapin' the bristles off its hide!
Mom had a tradition we always looked forward to with delight.
She always fixed fresh tenderloins for supper that first night!
Late into the night Dad ground meat to stuff for the sausage,
That he had seasoned liberally with red peppers and pungent sage!
Only Dad handled the curin' of the savory hams and bacon;
He had a knack for smokin' and tenderizin' 'em - expert care was taken!
A concoction called souse was made from leftover scraps of meat.
I don't know which I loathed the most - that or the pickled pigs feet!
I'm told folks don't render their own pork much any more.
Its more convenient to buy it neatly packaged at the local store.
But for my money there ain't no better ham, bacon or sausage to be had,
Than that prepared and cured on the farm by my dear old Dad!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
A Man from Tibet
There was a young man from Tibet
Who had wanted to become a vet. But bitten by the hog, And chased by the dog, He took to his bed instead.
The wind sways the sea of grass
Suddenly from eerie forest comes something with mass
The hunter’s blood is on fire but courage fear must surpass
If he does not make this shot count the beast will shatter his bones like glass
The colossal boar charges with great speed
It crashes through the grass the trees and the weed
The hunter shoots but behind the tree hides crossbreed
It’s now hunters’ heart not hogzilla that will bleed
As cold sweat enters the hunters’ soul
The beast is charging without control
In the few meters between the seeker and the hog there is no hill or hole
Noting to slow down boars ‘charging roll
With his last gasp hunter rearms the gun
His shadow blocks the very sun
As towards him the beast will run
He fires a bullet with distance between him and hog one inch just one
The hog falls down as hunter regains his nerve
But this hog has something in reserve
The green blue aura hogs life will preserve
And later hog coming back to life the hunter will observe
For thirteen foot hog was not crossbreed
But a supernatural seed
That in this form hid
In the forest with animals amid
The hog came from portal
Where tree of beyond abstract towers like Babel
Where connected to abyss destiny is truly detached from expanses’ axil
And where the creature is from point of view of that expanse immortal