Best Yeller Poems
A tall and short-tempered fat man
was a boss I once had named Dan.
Both his kids and his wife
worked there too. Oh, what strife!
They fought like a hillbilly clan.
Dandee Donuts was Dan's small café.
I served donuts and meals for small pay,
wore a stupid hair net
and what small tips I'd get
growing fat on free donuts each day!
A “yeller” was Dan; a disgrace!
He’d scream and get red in the face.
If his business slowed down,
he’d say, “Don’t stand around.
Take a rag and wipe down the whole place!”
In spite of Dan’s awful ways, he
said he’d sure like to sponsor me
as Miss Muscatine.
I said, “What do you mean?
Your food’s made me fat. Can’t you see?”
(I chose the second one here for the contest.
Did I make the right choice?)
Summer is over and the farmer now rests from his toil,
Having labored hard to wrest his crops from the fruitful soil.
Fall has arrived and all the crops have been gathered in.
The corn, wheat and soy beans lie dormant in the granary bin.
It was a good year - his farm was favored with abundant rain.
Thankfully, there was no wind or hail, an anxious farmers' bane!
Pecks of onions, pertaters and carrots are preserved in the cellar,
Along with bushels of resplendent apples - golden, red and yeller!
The hogs are ready for market but he'll keep a pair for meat,
And he'll butcher a steer or so to ensure there's enough to eat.
His wife jammed mason jars full of beets, termaters and peas,
And there are a few honeycombs filched from the gullible bees!
He and the boys used crosscut saws to hew cords of wood for heating,
To warm their Victorian home from the winter's snows and sleeting.
There are jugs of cider to sip and ears of popping corn to pop,
As the family enjoys a roaring fire to reminisce with lore to swap!
The humble farmer was so grateful that on his knees he knelt,
To offer his gratitude to the Lord, a simple prayer most heartfelt.
A benevolent harvest moon smiled on the pastoral scene below,
Seemingly to bless the peaceful panorama with its mellow glow!
“butter flies and marshes mellow”, that’s what he said to me.
did i look shocked — you bet, but i did him one better.
“mine craft and more bid yeller,” I smirked,
and he said, “wazzthatsposedtomean?”
as if he was drunk, he slurred all his vegetables to gather,
and i told him so — i true Lee did!
“chalk a lot?” he asked, and i quibbled, “black board.”
He threw his fist, dissed joined, “yor a wader.”
“am not!”
“are so!”
“fire flies and pepper mints,” the subject changes.
“side ways and rattled snakes,” i grin.
Our friend ship sails with checkers and back bone.
I say a final dead line, “butter’d milk and fired crackers,”
we hear the good humor’d truck.
we buy iced dreams and coco co la,
as the city strolls by, way too serious.
and we both shout,
“ham or head?
“Shark!”
butter flies and marshes mellow Poetry Contest
Kai Neumann - Sponsor
was sitting in a crowd but felt so all alone
No communication, everyone staring at their phone
I just wanted to return to the life that I had tasted
No more electronic robots, I guess I'm technology wasted
Back to Bobbi socks and bobbi pins
Big hellos and happy grins
Culottes an pedal pushers, Friday night dances
Back seat in the drive in, teenage romances
At the amusement park in the penny arcade
Ferris wheel rides and pink lemonade
Walk hand in hand, sometimes act like a fool
Talk to each other as you carry her books home from school
Up in the balcony with your hands on her hips
New worlds to discover, lips touching lips
Yelling from the sidewalk can Jim come out to play
Riding down a hill while standing on a sleigh
Hanging from monkey bars, climb a tree in the park
Playing ball in the street until it was dark
Roasting potatoes on a campfire at night
Running and laughing while flying a kite
The smell of a bakery with bread baking at dawn
Lying in the grass, transistor radio on
Cotton candy at the County Fair
Butch wax or Brylcreem to train your hair
Flying high on a swing and then jumping down
Medicine show at the end of town
Picking blueberries for grandma's pies
Watching Old Yeller with tears in your eyes
At the drug store for a burger and shake
Skimming stones across the lake
Hot dogs and hamburgers on the old grill
Chase tag, hop scotch and King of the hill
Hang at the diner everyday after school
Meeting your friends at the community pool
Yes, take me back where talk wasn't a crime
Take me back to a simpler time
For all this complexity. I don't give a damn
Technology wasted is what I am.
My Dog, Spot
Thinks he’s got
A Super smeller.
But everyone knows
That his nose
Is a-turnin’ yeller.
Whatcha gonna do if’n Famous Jameis goes pro?
‘tain’t nottin ya can do ‘bout it, Coach Jimbo
Dontcha know, da freshman Heisman winner’s caught da eye
Even da Giants’ Eli ain’t a-rankin’ too high
Butcha ya got ta give it ta dem dadgum referees
Dey even find ways ta yeller-flag Drew Breeze
‘tain’t sayin’ Jameis is apt ta go jest yet
But if’n he gets lotsa bucks, he may jest be a Jet
Shure, New York might be colder’n a witch’s tit
But yer brass bra in January, Jameis can fit
Tajh Boyd ‘n’ Michael Vic should be grindin’ der teeth
Dey ain’t fallen outta da ugly tree yet (look beneath)
Now Aaron Rodgers is so granny-slappin’ good
Dis’n deserves ta stay; it’s jest understood
Jameis is hotter’n' a goat’s butt in a pepper patch
Jimbo, ya best find a way dem pro offers ta match!
*Written August 25, 2014 for Verlena's Ebonics contest. Jameis Winston is
the quarterback for the Florida State Seminoles and he won the Heisman as a
red-shirt Freshman. FSU's coach is Jimbo Fisher.
She was pretty. Her long hair was yeller.
He was ugly… a balding old feller
He slurred, "ma handle be Luke,"
She gagged and started to puke,
‘till she saw the gold stashed in his cellar!
I have swept the sidewalk and watered the flowers- the yard is perfect you see
Afforded the time to swing in the rocker and drink southern sweet tea
As I sip from my favorite old fruit jar- a steady northern breeze accommodates
My thoughts wonders back to recall the best remembered days-
of youthful summer s gone by
What precious memories to an old man like me- whose senses have dulled – now denied
I gladly endure and believe in the best of cures- the wonders and joys of youthful age
So I will tell you heartedly what cannot be forgotten- senses of my summer youthful play
The sting of my palm while playing catch with my older brother-
who died when I was thirteen
Or the flicker of lighting bugs caught in a Mason fruit jar –imaginative fairy queens
A croaking daddy bullfrog while fishing on Pine Lake – just Tom, Dad and me
The earthy aroma of freshly cut grass before playing ball at the little league
The sweet watery meat of a stolen watermelon-the farmer knew it was me
A dip in Pear Creek wearing nothing at all- with a summer’s kiss from Mary Ann-
- when I was fifteen
Playing pirates and Tarzan in the back yard- under the laughing- weeping willow tree
Or the July Ozark Mountain visits to grandmother’s house - I still believe she loved best- only me
The carefree rides- wind in my face- on my new Schwinn bike with my best bud Steve
The mournful tears as I watched Old Yeller- when I thought I was too old to cry
I will stop for now- there are reddish clouds with filtered flashlight beams filling a dusking night
For it’s time to eat my bread and wash for bed- I hope my dear wife will not be snoring tonight
A Dog's Life
By Roy Merritt
He likes to pee on trees and smell his neighbor's ***
He likes to chase balls and roll 'round in the grass
And sometimes fight with others and have to run away
And still think tomorrow he'll maybe win the day
And not have his chums think what he did before
Makes him a yeller dog and someone to abhor
He likes to eat his food from anywhere and a bowl
He likes to chase cats and run them down a hole
And if he lives to be twenty he'll feel really old for sure
And you know for certain that he won't long endure
For one year to a man is seven for a hound
And if he reaches twenty he's lucky to still be around
He's lucky to be around and maybe still have his teeth
Twenty years long to him but to humans very brief
So though you may feel tough, alert and on your guard
Your arthritic dog is laying about the yard
He lays about the yard his eyes reflect despair
Like an elderly person rocking in their chair
Rocking in their chair nostalgic for their youth
Both wishing they weren't so very long in tooth
They wish they were young again young and full of zest
Back to that time when they felt their very best
Back to that time when enjoying the days that pass
Wondering if this the one this day to be his last
When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.
But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.
The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.
I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.
Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!
Reading by the light of a flashlight
With the covers pulled over my head
Captain Nemo battled an octopus
Robinson Crusoe was thought to be dead
Gulliver went on his travels
Charlotte spun a new web
Jem wouldn’t kill a mockingbird
Oliver wanted more to be fed
Old Yeller had to be put down
Black Stallion ran faster than wind
Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang flew over the ocean
Tom talked with Huckleberry Finn
Mary Shelley constructed her monster
Natty Bumpo helped the last Mohican
When one adventure finally ended
I couldn’t wait for the next to begin
When strollin' by the ol' saloon,
on chairs they kept outside,
I spied a dried up, lonsome sort
folks walked by, but eyed.
He had a faithful doggie
with head laid on his knee.
The ol' man stroked him softly,
kind, devotedly.
I stopped an' took a seat nearby,
then shared a cut of chaw.
I thought his story might be good-
he reminded me of Pa.
I asked just where he hailed from,
he didn't bat an' eye-
looked off in space, took one deep breath,
prob'ly thinkin' up a lie.
Come from ever'where, Son,
been places you ain't dreamed.
I settled back to listen.
He relaxed a bit it seemed.
An Indian fighter, I once was,
rode with the Cavalry.
Met ol' Yeller Hair himself
in eighteen, sixty-three.
Was wagon master for some folks
seekin' land to claim,
leavin' homes an' fam'lies east-
thought the West they'd tame.
Had a wife I sure 'nough loved,
two daughters an' a son,
the cholera took 'em all one year,
my driftin' then begun.
Did some drovin' 'hind the herds,
eatin' miles a dust,
catchin' strays, an' keepin' watch
for rustlers we could bust.
Owned a ranch in Texas
but never got no rain,
the drought, it lasted six years,
no reason to remain.
I killed a man in Denver,
the bugger had it comin',
he kicked my dog, stole my horse,
broke the guitar I was strummin'.
Cut trees out in Wyomin',
lumber-jacked a bit.
Camp bully always threatnin',
my throat he'd like to slit.
I rode the rails a piece back then,
an' dern near froze my tail,
sittin' in them boxcars
thru' rain, an' wind, an' hail.
Now, I'm nigh on eighty,
an' comin' to my end.
I thank ya Son for listenin' ,
ya seem 'most like a friend.
I reckon that I've lived some,
an' ain't sure now I'm done,
I just take one day at a time
'cause life ain't easy, Son.
I suppose we take for granted - except when we are stung -
The intelligence of those busy bees that largely goes unsung!
The little critters pollinate flowers and such, and, moreover,
Create for us combs of ambrosial honey from fields of clover!
The drone has a most blissful job - caterin' to the queen.
Once he's done his thing, alas, he passes from the scene!
Workers toil long and hard to glean pollen from the field,
Then, some inconsiderate dude has the gall to rob their yield!
Honeybees are a bit more docile than the grumpy, yeller jacket.
Beware of the wily wasp - when agitated he'll create a racket!
The bumblin' bumble bee, their lumberin, bulky cuz,
Somehow aviates through the air - I often wonder how it does!
There ain't nothin' more entertainin' than a scholarly "spellin'" bee.
Can you think of anything more creative than a ladies "quiltin" bee?
Dexterity and hustle are required for "cornhuskin'" bees.
(Wonder who came up with that ridiculous reference to a "bees-knees"?)
I'd reckon that bees are nature's most maligned creatures.
Most probably due to its stinger - one of its most fearsome features!
But hold on! Before we decry the bee, here's the buzz:
It's obviously the most productive pollinator that ever wuz!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I've spoke of the Pork Rind
And my love for it's crunch
Now I must give due credit
To whom I'm having for lunch
The Pig or the "Porkster"
In my circle he's fondly called
But to all the outsiders
He is simply known as the Hog
He comes in many flavors
Bacon, Chitlins, or Ham
There's even an air of mystery
In the can known as Spam
He's at all the major holidays
The guys a Rock Star
Those sweet on him call him Honey Ham
Oh.....you know who you are
Why he's even in China
Where the Royal Family has succumbed
I hear the Emperor's pet name for him is
Pork Egg Foo Young
Well I could go on for days
Talking about that little feller
But could you please pass the Mustard
......preferably the Yeller
I'm a fan of lemons
I suck them till I pucker
lovely yeller lemons
bring sunshine to a sucker.
Lekker lemon lollies
lay lolling on my lips
I lick them 'till my mouth's raw
and then dip them in my sips.
Lemon pies I like a lot
with white meringue sans yolk
and those lekker banana creams
well, my love for them's no joke!
Yes, I'm a lekker lover
of goodies by the score
for I've a mighty pucker
and I really am hardcore!