Best Tuckered Out Poems
"Happy Easter To You!", is the greeting I hear them shout!
Alas, I just lamely roost here, brood, ponder and pout!
I've worked for weeks making eggs and I'm all tuckered out!
All this hoopla about rabbits, I can really do without!
Me, my mom, aunts, nieces and innumerable distant cousins,
Have been producing eggs by the gross and by the dozens.
Every Easter 'tis those wily bunnies earning the gratitude,
Leaving me and my kin with a very fractious attitude!
Moms send their kids to rob the eggs from 'neath our breast,
Telling them the rabbits made them - this I vehemently protest!
I'm thinking of a sitdown strike come Lent next year,
To frustrate those crafty varmints with a message loud and clear!
The kids make appalling designs on the beauties we produce,
And even tint our chicks in lurid hues, adding to the abuse!
The rabbits get all the glory and stir up all this commotion!
They don't lay eggs! I'll disabuse folks of that silly notion!
If I sound somewhat frustrated, well I reckon I am,
As those cunning scoundrels perpetuate their mythical scam!
Us chickens will just have to press on with our usual grace.
The truth will out, then we'll "cluckle" at the egg on their face!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 3 in A Chicken Poem In Memory of Armano Aurocano Rock Star
Me and my fellow buckaroos have had a real rough day.
Plumb tuckered out, we still are not ready to hit the hay.
Our bacon, the beans and biscuits have all been gobbled up.
My coffee now is growing cold inside my old tin cup.
Sitting around the fire, it feels good to just lean back.
A harmonica my friend is taking now from his "war sack."
melancholy is his tune. Two cowpokes who have guitars
are joining in with my friend Jake. I look up at the stars.
I want to liven up the scene, so I sing them my new song -
the one I wrote a month ago. The others sing along.
I love this life and being on this current cattle drive.
Not married yet, I'm saving up. At least I can survive!
It's time to get our sleep in. My bedroll's spread out. By and by,
I'll be deaming about my gal Sal beneath this starry sky!
Jan. 27, 2021
Jan. 27, 2021 for Line Gautheir's 'Cowboy Poetry' Poetry Contest
Less than twenty-four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the anus of this guy
which bout with rectal obstruction
found me doubled over with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil, which akin to Drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent to cease LivingSocial would try
humph enjoining this lvii year old married male
to cede victory to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this Uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered out five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction of former thought to cease existing
though a non-bull lever in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes his recurring pain in the ass jagged torture
and asks a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
The pipes are froze up
and my car won't start.
The husband's sick,
Lord bless his heart.
I slipped on the ice
and I'm in a lot of pain.
Hubby's got the trots
and the potty won't drain.
Snow's piled up
to the windowsill.
Couldn't get to town
to pay the electric bill.
Got blisters on my hands
chopping all the wood.
Checked out the chimney.
Got a face full of soot.
Fire was dying down
so I gave it a poke.
The flue fell shut,
now, a house full of smoke.
Opened up the window
and the pane fell out.
Snow's coming in
and I'm plumb Tuckered out.
Hubby's got his fever
to keep him warm.
Guess I better bundle up.
Here's another snow storm.
I can hardly believe
we survived the night.
A few icicles on our butts
and a little frost bite.
12/20/14
Contest: Winter Poems #1
Sponsor: PD
The bleak dreary days of a cold December
Were anticipated already in early September
So, I talked to my boss, begged on my knees
And added days to a long weekend in the Keys.
Left for Miami on a snowy Thursday eve
Arrived in warm sunshine, hard to believe,
Rented a small compact and headed south
Found lodging in a quaint little German Haus
All tuckered out from the long day of travel
I took to the bed and let all my cares unravel.
For four solid days I behaved like a tourist
Poking into whatever caught my interest
I sunbathed, scorched, and aloed my burn
Took in some intellectual lessons I learned
At Truman’s resort and Hemingway’s home
Jotted down a few notes to use in a poem.
On Tuesday I experienced a rude awakening
Arriving back at home late in the evening
My hiatus over brought an unforgettable conclusion:
A long weekend can become a refreshing intrusion.
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written January 28, 2021
For Hiatus Contest
Caleb is a noisy boy
With a lot of noisy toys
Like cars that "vroom", "boop" and "crash"
And video games that "boom", "fwoop" and "splash"
He's got air planes that "swoosh" and "swish"
Even has bath toys that bubble like fish
He had a balloon that would soar and whistle
Until it went "pop!" upon a thistle
He bounces his balls up and down the hall
And throws his darts against the wall
He even likes the chatter of checker pieces
And the games he plays with all my nieces
And my nephew, making muscle dolls wrestle
I mean "action figures", they snap like pretzels
And he's not too old to enjoy V-tech
Because he can add his own sound effects
Hissing like snakes, buzzing like dirt dobbers
Now he does war games, cops and robbers
He shoots cap guns "pow", "pow", "pow" in rhythm
We see the enemy and he says, "Let's get 'em!"
Yes I play too, but not as much as he wants
I give out more easily, his energy haunts
Just when I think he's tuckered out like a church mouse
He's screaming and jumping on me in the house
From 6 a.m. until late at night around 9
I love his noises because Caleb is mine
Today I found my long lost Pet Rock
You know, the one from the 70's
I was sure years ago I'd lost him for good
Go ahead, ask if I'm happy
I found him on the side of the road
Just relaxing at doing nothing
I guess without me in his life
He was major bored or something
I picked him up and we both hugged
It was a very emotional moment
I know what your thinking to yourself
Kinda brings a tear to your eye now don't it
After exchanging the usual pleasantries
I placed him in a kerchief of silken lining
If I didn't tell you I skipped all the way home
You know I would be lying
Getting back to the house all tuckered out
We went early to bed
I fluffed a pillow up just enough
So Buddy could lay his weary head
I can't tell you how good it feels right now
To have my Pet Rock back home with me
At last my life can get back into
A mode of normalcy
Wait....You didn't honestly think I would end it here did you?
When we woke up early the next morning
I poured Buddy a bowl Fruity Pebbles
He looked at me rather strangely
As if questioning, what do you think I'm some sort of cannibal?
After that little speed bump in our relationship
To get our friendship back on track
I suggested we go somewhere special
Buddy suggested we take a nap
I'd forgotten after all these years
How much he liked to lay around
Guess nothing much has changed
On this, his side of Gravel town
Buddy and I do everything together
My Love for this rock, can't get out of my head
Where my life was once filled with immeasurable sadness
Now overflows with loads of joy instead
That is until the day we went to the park
And he wanted to skip across the lake
At that point I realize
He and I might have made a grave mistake...
“yeah man, call out
‘aye laddie’ to claim the
ball.” we laughed, and he
hit a grounder, followed by a
pop fly, followed by another
grounder, all thrown back to
the proximity of the pitcher.
“what’s it gonna be like tomorrow?”
I asked. “In the 70s...I haven't hit
since last spring.” Some clouds
loomed overhead and my hairs stood
on end. He hit a short one and paused,
“What are your dinner plans? I
got a few pizzas in the freezer.”
“Wow, that’ll be great weather for the
frisbee tournament then.” The ball
tuckered out of my glove. Dammnit.
He cranked out another one, and the guy
out left managed to haul it in,
“Aye laddie!” The sun peaked out
a bit, and I saw where the clouds
would end for a time. “Aye laddie!”
That one, I caught.
Reds and oranges over the trees, and
none of us believed in sun sets.
Pronounced side effect upon my dreams...
courtesy Fluoxetine hydrochloride
Fluoxetine Hcl (C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective Serotonin
Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder
the above symptoms
profoundly experienced by yours truly
said prescription medication
seriously impacts sleep (mine).
Debilitating panic attacks
wrought (particularly years gone by)
physiological displeasures chiefly constituting
vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable, unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, jackknifing... functionality
hijacking life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Essentially yours truly experiences
dilemma analogous to sleep deprivation,
cuz ofttimes upon arising,
I feel utterly tuckered out, exhausted, bushed...
thus zapped body, mind and spirit
ill suited to physical,
mental or spiritual endeavor
subsequently lovely bones (mine)
(pine to join grateful dead)
rather than feebly kickstart
lame effort to write, read or meditate.
Thus respecting Sir Isaac
Newton's first law of motion
a (human) body at rest
inertia keeps said entity at rest.
Interestingly enough as
daylight doth wax and wane
casting dark shadows upon urbane
countenance buzzfeeding hidden reservoir
exerting estimable energy
decreasing arduous strain
therefore purposefulness,
I seek renewable resource to imbue
garden variety generic
doubting thomas and ordain
him (i.e. me) with spontaneous
magnificent grandiloquent enlightenment
ala Orson Welles Citizen Kane
laughable comparison linkedin
with story extraordinaire quite insane
September 4th, 2020 insight one can gain
perchance even coaxing passable poem
from deep within Matthew Scott Harris' brain.
Compared with us, the kids today
Too little play and too much weigh.
Alone indoors they snack and sit
And buttons hit, while we stayed fit.
We'd quickly chores and homework do,
Then dash through doors to fun pursue,
To basketballs and arrows shoot,
To jump with ropes, and footballs boot.
We'd earthworms dig for fishing bait,
On scooters glide, and roller skate.
We'd hopscotch, seesaw, chase. and swing
And boomerangs and frisbees fling.
We'd tackle, dribble, leap, and throw.
We'd tunnel through and shovel snow.
In haystacks dive and wagons ride,
On ice and into bases slide.
We'd whittle wood and baskets weave
And pennies pitch and horseshoes heave.
We'd yank the strings so tops would spin,
When wrestling, try to shoulders pin.
We'd kindling fetch and firewood chop,
Inflate balloons to later pop,
Sink numbered balls in billiard halls,
And topple pins with bowling balls.
We'd weekly swim at downtown Y,
Our kites and model airplanes fly,
We'd darts and putts and marbles aim,
With lens or flint set twigs aflame.
We'd sneak beneath the sideshow tents,
Climb ropes and poles and chain link fence.
We'd hike and camp with scouting troops,
Rotate our hips in hula hoops.
We garden weeded, hosed, and tilled,
We'd soap box car and treehouse build,
At picnics joined the tug-of-war,
And barefoot romp when rain would pour.
We raced on stilts and pogo sticks,
Made pies of mud, our pets taught tricks,
Were paper, pin, and altar boys,
Ignored complaints of too much noise.
For caddie tips, we'd golf bags lug;
To jukebox records, jitterbug.
We'd carpets beat, played kick-the-can,
Collected rocks, and errands ran.
To school and back on foot we tread,
Down steepest hills and alleys sled,
Played pitch-and-catch in yard with Dad,
Pushed mower that no motor had.
We'd rake the leaves and chestnuts crack
And toddlers carry piggyback.
With feather pillows fight in bed,
Our cap guns fire, and fall down dead.
We'd wildly flail at punching bag
And batted balls and passes snag.
We'd zig and zag, avoiding tag,
Till tuckered out, we'd homeward drag.
No trophies or applause we'd get.
Our play was real, not internet.
To kids today, I this advise:
Get off your butts and exercise!
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pappadopoulos
has circled back and plops down
on Fred's front porch, all tuckered out
So Fred cheerfully pulls up a chair
and together they sit and stare
openly ogling, gawking, gaping
because, as everyone knows-
it's not considered staring
if you're in a group of more than one
Miss Luby doesn't care about this rule
as she is inside, and thus it doesn't apply
she perches in a strategically placed
armchair, cat on lap, and munches
popcorn like she is at a movie
relishing the mystery of new neighbors
as well as the passing parade
“Welcome to the neighborhood!”
old Mr. Nicholson says
sidling across the lawn
toward the unsuspecting couple
unlike the other neighbors
who manage to maintain some sense
of pretense, the incorrigibly nosy
Mr. Nicholson comes right out
and interrogates the new neighbors
asking all the terribly inappropriate questions
everyone wants to know
but would never dare to ask
And as the new neighbors
stammer and stutter
taken aback, bewildered, bumfuzzled
by this brazen barrage
of curious queries
little fish-eyes blink behind
the little round spectacles
on his curiously boyish face
matter-of-fact, he is
utterly unfazed and unaware
of the discomfort he is creating
eventually, quota filled
he hobbles home
to share the wealth
As night begins to fall
the new neighbors finally finish unloading
and head back toward the house
In a last ditch effort at a closer look
Jake, the middle-aged man from next door
brings over his heartfelt housewarming gift
rich display of bachelor hospitality-
half a lukewarm pizza
in a greasy box
and a liter of cola
A Christmas celebration,
With the family gathered near,
A ham in the oven,
The boys with a cup of cheer.
Having such a good time,
The kids running all around,
Playing hide and seek,
Trying not to be found.
A festive celebration,
Laughter thru out the house,
Everyone across the nation,
Loving their special spouse.
Too soon the day is over,
But everyone tuckered out,
You look out your window,
As the kids all start to shout.
Snow has started falling,
Time to start again,
Guess we missed our calling,
We’ll be kids instead of men.
Snowball fights in the valley,
There’ll be skating in the pond,
Don’t sit around and dally,
When we’re making our special bond.
A big fire in the backyard,
Everyone gathers around,
Time to get warm and cozy,
We all seem to be spellbound.
Sleigh bell they are a ringing,
As the neighbors come in from the town,
Everyone starts singing,
No where could you find a frown.
Another Christmas is ending,
And what a day it has been,
Finished with all the baking,
Now waiting for the New Year to begin.
The Tenderfoot And Nasty
“Well, lookey here !” Bob said with glee
“We’ve got a tenderfoot !
He’s got this brand new gear , you see
He don’t know where to put ”
“He says he comes from way Back East
Teach him a thing or two
Let’s put him on that unbroke beast
And see what he can do”
The hoss they gave him don’t look mean
Though Nasty was his name
He did seem sometimes really keen
On makin’ riders lame
It seemed so like an awful match
New guy on this terror
This plot somehow just didn’t hatch
We all judged in error
The greenhorn climbed upon that hoss
A move as slick as rain
He spurred to show him who was boss
And let him have the rein
Now Nasty gave him all he had
He bucked and whirled and screamed
The rider smiled, said “This ain’t bad !
It’s nothin’ like I dreamed.”
That hoss gave up, plum’ tuckered out
The rider just stepped down.
Bob said “The East you lied about!
You’ve rode before this town !”
The new guy said, “Not in the least.
This here’s New Mexico.
The whole of Texas lies Back East
I do believe it’s so !”
They called him tenderfoot no more
He made a real smart hand
He came from Texas that’s for shor'
And that ol' boy’s got sand
There's Dasher and Dancer
Then Prancer and Vixen
Comet and Cupid
Then Donner and Blitzen
If you think these are reindeer
Then you would be wrong
And it's not crazy words
In some Christmassy song
See, they are my brothers
Don't anybody laugh
For these are hillbilly names
From Polecat Path
It's a place in the hills
In East Tennesee
On the top of a mountain
As high as can be
Here, Christmas is different
There's no reindeer or sleigh
We use an old covered wagon
It works better that way
We make toys in the smoke house
For most of the year
While smoking our hams
'Til Christmas is near
Then we load up the wagon
With granny on the reins
Her wooden teeth all gummy
With rootbeer stains
Now the wagon is pulled
By my brothers and I
We're plumb tuckered out
'Cause people can't fly
Well, you get the picture
About Christmas in the hills
It's a hillbilly adventure
On wagon wheels
Now there's much more to tell
But it's time to run off
'Cause we're loading the wagon
Your friend, Rudolph
Do you remember the thrill of excitement you felt when waking up and finding out it was a snow day?
You were impatient for breakfast to be over, so that you could gear up in your snow suit & head outside to play in the wondrous winter wonderland.
All of the neighborhood kids would be out and there would be a terrific snowball fight (with snowballs flying from one side of the street to the other), sledding down the local hill, making snow forts and snow angels.
Sometimes you would end up in a competition with other neighborhood kids to see who could build the coolest snowman.
After a couple of hours being outdoors in the frigid cold, you would be feeling the cold right through your many layers of clothing & felt tuckered out from playing in the snow.
Then it would be time to head indoors: for a hot bath, some cozy pajamas and lunch.
Your snowsuit and mittens would be hanging up to dry somewhere in the kitchen. You couldn’t wait for a nice cup of hot cocoa, after your bath.
Lunch would be a snow day tradition of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.
After lunch, you would get all snuggled up on the couch to watch a movie or read.
Then, you might play board games with your siblings / friends before suppertime. All the while, watching the snowflakes fall silently down outside the window.