The foghorn groaned through seas forlorn,
To mourn the scorn of a sailor sad and travel-torn;
Thrice-lashed, salt-bruised and storm-torn,
wishing his soul to be reborn,
when midnight's black and barbed thorn
was withdrawn by break-of-day at dawn.
one lash for being ragged and outworn,
one more for stealing the captain's corn
a third for old regrets too long worn
upon the sleeve, to worship and adorn.
Oh the how the forlorn
wear a foghorn
on their sleeves torn
to mourn,
torn to adorn,
torn to scorn,
torn to mourn-
with a foghorn!
Dashing and debonair Foghorn Leghorn
During movie had a feed of popcorn
Shared it with Miss Prissy
Hoping for some kissy kissy
AP: 3rd place 2025
“As senior rooster ’round here, it’s my duty, and my pleasure, to instruct junior roosters in the ancient art of roostery” ~Foghorn Leghorn
Foghorn Leghorn
didn't need a bullhorn,
he had an egotist's way
of saying what he had to say.
foghorn in the night
daunting the road less traveled
white knuckle affair
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Pooicide
Fungle sneze
Fitched in a dish
Shat in a dish
So says he with the dick in hand
Shredding skin as fast as one can
Blazing that shaft into the billowing shreds
Leaving his head as swirling reds
Popping up and down
Apple cobbler
Yummy, said he
With a dick as big as he
The salty sea mist is a ghost
which shrouds a hazy sky.
I cannot hide what pains me most.
Why did you have to die?
I hear a moan as all alone
I stand - windblown - chilled to the bone.
I hear a moan
a long lone moan -
the foghorn's lonesome monotone.
The great North Star is hid from view.
Like you - it's lost to me.
Somewhere beneath the ocean's blue,
my fate calls out to me.
I stand now weeping on this pier.
Oh, why can't you be with me here?
I taste each tear -
each bitter tear;
Then like North Star . . . I disappear.
June 28, 2020
for the 'STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(2) any theme any form' Poetry Contest
Awoken at 3:30 a.m.
On Mackinac Island at the Grand Hotel
By a freighter blowing its foghorn
Like a calf half separated
From its mother
Bellowing out there somewhere
Lost and meandering
In the thick fog
Stunned by the freezing May water.
Up from bed
Out to the balcony
I felt for the iron side of the passing freighter
Only to find
The sticky wool of lamb
Clutched to the fist of my hand.
Every father has this instinct.
Every mother becomes helpless.
The baying fades away over 45 minutes
Its cry shrinking through the shroud of cloud
Over the Great Lakes
Under the Mighty Mac
On to Wisconsin perhaps
The story like all stories always unfinished…
I go back to bed and lie wide awake.
My big ol' rooster,
thought he was cock of the walk...
Until....Red, my hen
ended it all today with
a flogging and loud squawk!..
©Donna Jones
11-11-2013
~Senator Foghorn~ (Diamante)
Statesman
honest, visionary
working, serving, caring
principled, dutiful, pragmatic, bureaucratic
wheeling, dealing, conniving
wonkish, corrupt
Politician
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