Best Partridges Poems
Christmas is not about silver bells
And sleigh riding in the snow.
Christmas is not about holly boughs
And sprigs of mistletoe.
Christmas in not about golden rings
Or partridges in a tree.
Christmas is all about Jesus Christ,
Who came to save sinners like me.
Christmas is not about Santa Claus
And good little girls and boys.
Christmas is not about eight reindeer
And lots of Christmas toys.
Christmas is not about shopping days
Or trimming the Christmas tree.
Christmas is all about Jesus Christ,
Who came to save sinners like me.
For God so loved the world
That He sent His only Son
To bleed and die upon a cross
To pay for the sins we’ve done.
He was born of a virgin at Bethlehem
To die at Calvary.
Christmas is all about Jesus Christ,
Who came to save sinners like me.
Categories:
partridges, devotion, forgiveness, inspirational, seasons,
Form:
Cue music,
I’m sitting on my childhood bed,
Flowers emanating off the spread.
Osmonds, Partridges, “Me and Mrs. Jones,”
Stewart’s “Do you think I’m sexy?”
Magazine posters, boy bands, smiling large
Donny cheeks. Records dropping, spinning.
Scratching. Little sister inhabiting my space.
So what if it’s her room too. Mosquito.
11/14/2020
Categories:
partridges, childhood, music,
Form:
Free verse
Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins' tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere
© Gail Foster 24th July 2019
Categories:
partridges, anger, celebrity, england, language,
Form:
Sonnet
Have you ever seen a duck come in to land… on land
It’s an eventuality that nature never planned
For ducks that land on water such a graceful splashdown make
But should they land on terra firma… it sure ain’t Swan Lake
Each one does a belly flop, a cartwheel and a stagger
They get up and compose themselves, but ducks weren’t made to swagger
They have no shame so simply waddle with ungainly gait
Toward the back door of my house where they all stand and wait
This morning there were six of them, I watched them all crash down
“They’ll need a pint or two of seed,” I muttered with a frown
Their heads were first to hit the deck, their rumps stuck in the air
I went out with a jug of seed to find them gathered there
As I stepped outside I felt like Moses on the shore
The ducks made space for me to walk and not a hair’s breadth more
Two partridges were standing by and I also fed those
And when the pecking finished, well, I almost checked my toes.
Bird seed by the quarter-gallon gobbled up each time
I wouldn’t mind but it ain’t half a kilo for a dime
But it gives me pleasure and as I stood there this morn
Two more kamikaze ducks crash landed on my lawn.
Categories:
partridges, bird,
Form:
Rhyme
The Headless Greenlandic Horseman
A Meditation in 6 parts.
Avalanche
I.
The sky is starry
The night is scary
I'm very afraid
of the living dead;
On a mission; or Fugitives in the city
II.
The headless Greenlandic horseman
speaks Kalaallisut very well indeed,
plus Dansk and English! What a man!
A polyglot he is! Yes, sir! Although he
Is evil and wants to behead Mr. Donn
Oh! How horrible! How horrible! The
reason being, Donn owes him plenty
of money. More than 500.000 bucks!
Camera Obscura
III.
Mikko Donn (whose dad is Finnish) is a fugitive in the city
& Hansen, the cowboy from Kalaallit Nunaat, is his hunter;
500.000 U$ is that debt's figure, folks;
Oh! This is horrid! Truly horrid for sure!
I contemplate upon this very jittery and jumpy
Oh, I am scared! Oh, yes! I am scared!
Donn's head is at stake--because he's a debtor;
Another headless man? And multilingual again?
Isn't that whimsical? A headless man wants to
decapitate another man and both speak many
superb languages! That's admirable! Yes, sir!
Spasmodic Apostrophes
IV.
Ave Hansen, Morituri te Salutant
anthropologizing, vexillologizing;
Well, Donn's head is still extant.
Though, I dare ask, for how long?
Equestrian Interregnum
V.
Fear is what Donn feels
even down to his heels;
He feels he's gonna puke
even though he is a duke!
The philanderer's philter will save him no longer
The Greenlander and his plug are after him;
There's no escape--the event is rather grim;
He is doomed. Period. Good-bye, fishmonger!
Hurkle! Hurkle! Hurkle!
VI.
Donn's head is safe now. Why?
Because of my idea; Donn is a fish vendor
and has a friend who is a surgeon;
Therefore, I suggested "What about implanting
a fish's head on Hansen? Wouldn't it be nice?"
Donn okayed what I said & called his friend,
Mr. Sherry, the surgeon. Hansen accepted.
They made a deal. Besides the fish's head,
Donn has to teach Hansen Suomi, a
perfect language. And that's how this tale
ends. Hansen and Donn became friends
and ate partridges together.
Categories:
partridges, best friend, city, courage,
Form:
Verse
"Christmas"
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond
a strange few days
we meet in the nether
and hold on ...
like there’s no tomorrow
while the gryphons
try to work out
which side their
mind and body is on
12 days
gifting partridges
their pairs in trees
hidden in the myst
Christmas is
as Christmas does
its extremes and sublimities,
its oh so ... immaculate mess
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond
rocky road
devoured
and trifles
expunged
cherry ripened
cheery
hearts
are us
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond
‘cause,
Poetry
is
Us
isn't it
magic?
'cause
Poetry
is
Us?
Love
to you
wherever you are
never alone
my beautiful one,
there is no ugly
here today in my
heart -
for you
at Christmas,
alone
Love to you,
'cause
Poetry is Us
I’ll stay with you
towards Christmas
those 12 days
and beyond ...
'cause
Poetry is Us
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
at Christmas, 2023
Categories:
partridges, christmas, love, muse,
Form:
Narrative
As snows gently coat the land
Breezes softly brush it into peaks.
Candles glitter and flutter in windows
Deep shadows flicker in their light.
Enchanting dazzling gems sparkling
Frosty branches dress the clearing
Garnishing the white landscape
Hark! hear the sleigh bells tinkering
It's Santa delivering the presents
Jolly Ho-Ho's ring out as he passes
Kicking the reindeer speed onwards
Leaving a sparkling trail behind them
Maples trees majestically line the path
Nightingale's sweet tones ring out
Over the snowy valley echoing
Partridges plump and fat basting
Quail are turning on the spit
Roast potatoes crisp and golden brown
Simmering vegetables steaming
Toasted marshmallows all gooey
Utterly delicious as they melt on tongue
Victoriously the bells peel out
With great Joy announcing the birth
Xylophones cheerfully join in
Yearning hearts beating in tandem
Zeal fully they meet and mingle
Categories:
partridges, christmas, snow, winter,
Form:
Abecedarian
Whether working wallabies would weave waved warm wafers or whether wallpaper would wear walls is two times a question really. It is rational to assume that an ass jacket would dart over a yak and a yam would appear. At intervals. Rotating. But rotating is not a salivating salubrious salutation singing strong songs. Nor is it a giant radio beam. Dancing. But the power of a hoover in many a house can simply be powered by five hundred and forty two heron wings. Hovering Hoovers having heaped hinged hunts. But a hunt disturbs a grunt so why line up paws and hooves in rows. Cinematic of scale and climatic of chaos. Said the four centimetre jar in a herd pile. Herd piles are not mooing nor are they moving either. Pan to the alloy and a fistful of iron ore can symbolise a very pretty pavement in a green patterned dress. But standing next to a chess set of colourful butter beans is pleasant for the partridges whose lacrosse abilities are really quite astonishing in a supernova diesel twist. Spinning. It is nit fashionable to quiz a funfair over which ride is the best for they all are egocentric and often argue with lashings of colours, noise, and fur ball darts. Pressure no pea to preform a painted piano concerto for concertos can control and control is akin to a line of skating cows on an outdoor rink. Always count the pink buttons carefully and slowly. Evaporated milk is often found playing near to margarine containers. Z cinematography Z at fifty nine little splooshes splashing to thirteen fish hooks waving at the fins. Z xxxxx zzzz whirrrrr the wings and eeeeee to mice piles. Z
Categories:
partridges, analogy,
Form:
Resurrecting Icarus
or
A Modern Moral Fable
by
Rick Folker
Kansas City, Mo
Daedalus claimed the sky,
Built a labyrinth from which
Theseus could fly
...
Minos enraged, entombed the
Treacherous Daedalus in a tower
No sky could aide the architect’s power
On high
No land, no sea
Gave comfort to the builder's sigh
Would he hopeless entreat the silent sky
Or conquer it within, at least, in his mind’s eye?
...
Yet, the great artificer fashioned
An ingenious answer to the Minoan king;
Feathers of wax resembling wings
His craft and his son could now be free
To dream
Where only untamed zephyrs and partridges sing
Where high aloft they would transcend
Minos, Ariadne, Theseus
And Meandering rivers of Cretan men
...
But hubris, not modesty, carved the Icarian path
Daedalus, proud Daedalus, helpless
To tame the youth's spirit, and soften
The gods' wrath
And so Icarus unrestrained
Tried, like Prometheus, to lay claim
To the fire, that only Olympians retain
And thus fell Icarus to Daedalus and
The Nereids' plain
...
Thus leaves us wondering, like hapless sages through the ages,
"Would he rise again?"
Or would his brilliant feathers melt into the smouldering shame?
Or would the Phoenix sort and gather the remnants that remain
And take up another more hopeful god's refrain:
'The surviving remnant will bring forth
new roots below and fruits above; for you have restored the dignity my Icarus has duly slain”
Categories:
partridges, allegory, death, growth, mythology,
Form:
Classicism
12 drummers drumming
22 pipers piping
30 lords a leaping
36 ladies dancing
40 maids a milking
42 swans a swimming
42 geese a laying
40 gold-en rings...
36 calling birds
30 french hens
22 turtle doves
And 12 partridges in a pear tree
...Frankly, it was a difficult two weeks
It quickly became stuffy and cramped
For example: Where you gonna put 40 cows?
All parties (including me) got VERY grouchy
And the UPS driver was NOT amused
I'm thinking a pair of socks would be nice next year...
Timothy (Scrooge) Ryerson
12/17/2012
For PD's contest
Categories:
partridges, funny, holiday,
Form:
Light Verse
The Weather Outside is Frightful
Christmas in Miami is a difficult sell
When the outside temp is hotter than Hell
St. Nick tries his best in the humid air
But soon sweats right through his underwear
Partridges tend to avoid palm trees
And geese hardly ever lay by warm seas
Mocking birds ignore their instinct to tease
And French hens never appear in threes
Christmas carols just don’t seem quite right
With nary a snowflake anywhere in sight
And how does one keep his sled on course
When the winds are blowing at hurricane force?
Those poor reindeer, ‘specially Cupid and Comet
Suffer from heatstroke and projectile vomit
And landing on rooftops still radiating heat
Raises painful blisters on their feet
The snowmen and wreaths are all baloney
And most of the trees are actually phony
The words: “Sleigh bells ring; are you listenin’”
Ring kind of hollow, ‘cause nothing is glistenin’
Now I’m not suggesting we give up the spirit
That’s not my message; I don’t want to hear it
Besides, much of the same could be said about Hanukkah
Especially if one lives near Santa Monica
Categories:
partridges, christmas, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
On a cold and frosty morning I gazed across fair fields, woods and copses,
I heard a wood-lark sing a sweet song, so sweet, hairs on my neck raised,
Did I hear it earlier in the month, I thought my ears were playing tricks,
Standing in my back garden a thrush joined in with his song, a magical day.
Peering around there were tomtits hanging on the eaves of the thatched barn,
Rooks began to revisit their special trees and arrange their future nests,
A harsh loud voice, the missel-thrush rang from hedges and boughs of trees,
The missel-thrush became quiet, the hedge sparrow renewed its chirping note.
Turkey-cocks now strut their stuff they gobble and partridges begin to pair,
House-pigeons have had their young and field, crickets open their old holes,
Gnats begin to play about the insects, swarm, under weak watery sun hedges,
The stone-curlew clamors and by ponds, in wet water mead's the frogs croak.
Ravens lay their eggs and in a far off wood a green woodpecker sings loudly,
An elder treed discloses its flower buds and the catkins of the hazel grow,
Young leaves are budding on the gooseberries and currants begin to take shape,
And late February is a time where life is regenerated for another four seasons.
Winter in spite of occasional frost and frowns is now leaving for pastures new,
The voice of the turtle and the singing-bird is heard once more in our lands,
Frost and icicles hanging from high old oak trees begin to drip on hard ground,
A fox can be seen way off in a fallow field looking for nest-eggs for breakfast.
Categories:
partridges, nature, old, old,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A glib giant of the river borders
The discerning ears of the ancient Power, we mourn
Where caravans cascade to unseen voices
And the rumbling of avalanche bullets invades our peace
This mind captured it with a piercing eye
From river “Nun”
ere wasting wore garbs of gloom
this savage brandishing of the source of livelihood
Wiwa's blood spills, as the Khaki boys obeyed their paymaster
Profligate bands in union vexed by demons hunt sane men "like partridges"
With arms, murderous Pirates just for greed offers bullets as our prize
Subdued our river for gain never known.
Ruined face-stretching pains like coverless carpet
A reservoir of floods tumbles through the eye gates,
Our rich resources ploughed by strangers,
Where is Royal Dutch Shell? or Schlumberger, where is Chevron, Total
when we are hungry,
when we die, of pollution,
where is Petrobras, Equinor or Agip
when we mourn the damage on our offspring
we are silenced by the tyrants in Aso.
Insipid insanity of blood brothers ignored safety
Our tyrants cared for the gains
and for gains, Wiwa was murdered,
And a Massacre in Odi
Kill them all, says the goggled tyrant,
Take the gains to Zurich, I will spend it tomorrow,
but like Mobutu, he never lived to count the cash
For their greed, we die.
As these Lords watch the drama, smiling at our folly
From the coast of ivory, where children groan in pain for jewels
to war-ravaged Sudan, famished by the same burden
and like Esau, we trade the future for ephemeral
And obliterating while reenacting the trade of yore
unending wars for greed, a blinding greed
Who will save these captives from the taskmasters?
Cocoa harvested in Ghana, Indonesia et al, yet not a chocolate plant
but this coffee is not from Ghana,
the Chocolate bar is sent back at the dollar price
Nigeria is rich with crude
Yet they meander around a refinery from far off climes
Congo is ravaged in war, who supplies the arm?
Oh! for a taste of Freedom
Categories:
partridges, analogy, anger, character, chocolate,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Wrinkles and twinkles and wind colored cheeks
callused old feelings well hidden
Take a ride in Old Vermont across the covered bridges
Wander through the woods of Maine on down east running ridges
Stop and face the hard won life See to feel the work the strife
Recognize to just admire the fortitude of tiny birds to sing their song
through winter long and into spring to hear red squirrels chatter chiding
Sit and wait till its subsiding The sound of partridges awing See them
alight to dance and sing The Maine woods rite the solid thing that holds
to them who live in Maine
It’s not the same along the coast. Though secretly the smile the wink
at richer moneyed men who drink and live in yachts and shiny boats
and houses build so they can boast and say they live in Maine
Like generations on the Vineyard and families born Nantucket’s best
These working men of salty Maine call foreigners these summer guests
and stolidly ensure by words and deeds their characters endure in deed
To know what’s right and stay to do. to stand and fight if driven to
To drop a hat I’ll give y’ that I’ve seen the same on Scottish tors
And Yorkshire men I can recall Who like to these no easy breeze
could move them from their moors
So sit y’ back and sip a dram and think of other men who strode upon
these sands of time and held to what y’ ken
And spill a drop in token toast to those who sail on cloudy coast
and walk in smoky mountains high in flowing glowing sunset sky
They cannot die as long as I and kin can ken of them the
working men of class
Categories:
partridges, history, on work and
Form:
Lay
Bothersome boats of pickles can sail away with their self inflated ideology. Whilst free-falling atoms can give a lovely fragrance at any time of the year. At any given moment it is wise to watch the clock. This will ascertain whether the seventeen mile ling purple frog is arriving. Belch of a horse fly then human lover. Delivery of a massive queue of bison in a Sunday array. They travel to picnic on vistas,steppes,and plateaus. Whenever a visitor is present the party of the self absorbed foetuses chortle. And much jeering heard from portly faces and large gutted horses. Yet the flowers planted will rise. As in an arranged garden. Such prowess. Such progress. Such outward progression. Appreciated by trees,fauna,and the occasional operatic tune of a cloud. Basing ones norms in a pan with mildew is unwelcome. And most hazardous are the suited booted lizard people who dwell in seas. Motionless static. Unhelpful. Monotonous. And very tedious. So buy twenty books and learn to balance accordingly. For literature contains knowledge. And supernatural oddities are as comforting as a fur cape in a cave. Biscuit faced men are really quite demonic. And often stare with glazed eyes after mixing with a great deal of sugar. Whilst bouncing knees resemble a craving for consumption of rye coloured cakes. Often rye colours are located in lavatories or luxurious vehicles. How marvellously enchanting the aromatic vision of a small quantity of pin people. Once placed never removed. Wounding not. But standing ground. Akin to ancient sites on scrolls. Take that economically inclined slug and place it on a congested pavement at once. Tailor made is the delivery. And fornicated are the once steel henchmen for they are now ice. And ice melts. Even. Eventually. Eventful. Events. Portly partridges. Pallor. Squander not a salopian swoon. Basicity. Xxxxx ha and I will take a pretty free vibrant froggy to a ball of nations. *** perpendicular. X.
Categories:
partridges, beach, , literature,
Form: