Long Clucked Poems
Long Clucked Poems. Below are the most popular long Clucked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clucked poems by poem length and keyword.
When Clive was nineteen years old
he graduated from high school,
it had taken him five years,
but he would not become a fool.
He’d seen why not two years prior
when is brother John had gang-banged
and was shot down in an alley,
not found until his corpse stank.
The same fate had met his father
back when he was a baby,
and despite all the evidence
his mother cried,”Conspiracy!”
Clive would not allow himself to
be subjected to the same end,
if high school brought a crummy job
then he would work, unlike his friends.
So he set out that summer day
wearing the best clothes that he owned,
and went about from place to place,
to all types of shops did he go.
Most of them were not hiring
despite the strong economy,
a restauranteur even said,
“I wish I could help you buddy.
“But the city raised base wages
to fifteen dollars an hour,
I had to fire all but two,
and I still can’t pay the power!”
Frustrated, Clive started on home,
when he walked part a fast food joint,
and what he saw at the counter
made the young man rather annoyed.
A Latino man took the orders,
so Clive asked,”What is your pay?”
The man looked nervous, then he choked,
“Sorry senior, no anglaise!”
Clive was pretty furious
when he reached his mother’s flat,
she sighed deep, then she just clucked,
“Didn’t I warn you about that?
“They’re all looking to keep us down,
they like seeing our people wrecked.
We’ll go to welfare tomorrow,
see about getting you a check.”
Clive’s fury then boiled over,
and a hot raged marred up his face,
he balled his fist and seethed out loud,
“Now let me get this all straight...
The farm was nestled deep in the country,
down a dusty road was a lovely house and barn;
where horses ran and jumped in a meadow beyond,
and fat cows mooed and chickens clucked, and
a rooster welcomed each dawn and strutted proudly.
Farmer Hector Cuckleburr, Hec for short and his,
wife Josephine Cuckleburr had many other animals;
oh yes many, like pigs and sheep, and babies too
and the delight at having lots of jumping baby lambs
which brings me to a little dog called, Smidget Puggily.
Smidget Puggily was the smallest of the Pugs born,
and the other Pugs pushed her away at play;
squeaking you are too small, Smidget Puggily, go away,
so she did, wandering the barn yard she saw something,
that bleated and stretched from a curled up sleep.
Hello, said Smidget Puggily, gosh you are pretty,
thanks, was the reply, and I am smart too, a leader;
I could teach you things, be your guru, your teacher,
your guide around this farm, see how high I can jump,
and with that, she jumped in the air and bleated loud.
I will name you Prettisome Guru, and I am your student,
show me how to jump, soon Smidget Puggily was jumping;
lets play follow the leader said Prettisome Guru, just follow,
Smidget Puggily, listen to me, I have excellent vision, hearing,
and smell, but best of all I like to cuddle up and get touchy.
Well, from that day forward those two walked the farm yard,
with the Smidget Puggily following her Prettisome Guru faithfully;
farmer Hec and his wife Josephine would stop and laugh,
when they found those two curled up asleep, all cuddled up,
and that was often- those two slept most of the day actually.
_________________________________
March 1, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/The Smidget Puggily and her Prettisome Guru
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1119-309-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, The Smidget Puggily and Her Prettisome Guru
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger
Second Place
...If felt like the whole of his foundation had collapsed,
and not many people can recover from that,
first he turned to his music, so he’d not have to think,
when that wasn’t enough he grew more fond of the drink.
It got to the point that Jack started to realize
that behind shallow pleasures he could no longer hide.
But the pain of changing he could endure no more,
one day his manager found him cold on the floor,
his chest they compressed, his heart just wouldn’t just-start,
there was no fight left in him, no will for the art.
People just clucked,”He joined the Twenty-Seven Club.
Oh, why can’t the young talent stay clear of the drugs?”
Science improves things, so they say,
can't prove it by me, take the clock
once it swung, and cockco's played
now it's silent, no tick or tock.
Old clocks clucked each tick and each tock
tongue to roof, they made a clapping.
Once they had arms and hands and locks
now they don't even aid napping.
Mum's the word with digital clock
zipped are those lips, no face, no brow
no sinister tock from Hook's Croc
no moon shaped face, no leaping cow.
Flashing red numbers, fanned peacocks
neon in trancers, with tin man hearts
lipless automatons in stock
toss them all from your K-mart cart!
Live I say get a grandfather clock
one with a face, two arms and heart
with a pendulum swinging tick tock
tick off the sleepers screw K-Mart.
I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttered after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.
The fae of the forest watched as they
Gaily slung the discs on their way..
And it glowered hatefully from where it stood
As again and again their discs struck wood.
Surely for their offense they'd pay!
Patience was hard as it followed and sought
A punishment befitting for this offensive lot
Laughing in merriment when their discs struck chain
Strung from the iron poles that his wilderness, stained.
His fiery hatred grew hot!
But the iron and machine that invaded his realm
Weakened his magic, did arcana o’erwhelm,
Even as they climbed and hiked and played,
He studied the lot and his hand was stayed,
Three men, two women shaded ’neath elm.
So he bid the day increase its heat
He bid the trees their discs defeat
He slung small magic to deflect their discs
Off-course into thorns and other risks,
Yet their discs flew to basket’s entreat.
As the eldest wished for the trees to stop
Snatching his disc in flight to flop
On the ground, its flight outshined,
A horrible, evil thought sprang to mind,
Ahead the mad imp hopped.
In the false meadow set the devil his trap,
“No trees? No trees!” And with an evil clap,
As the eldest stood at the edge of the meadow
The younger’s disc flew errant, powerful, into elbow!
Horrific thud, not a light rap.
No truer could any aim have sought
Nor more devastating than the nerve it caught,
Waves of nausea wreaked by such pain
Stunned the warrior, he couldn't regain
His feet. The younger man was distraught.
Yet on they played, and gave no ground
Stubbornly threw their discs and found
Joy in every basket’s clink
And caused the evil imp to re-think
The awful paths he'd bound.
Twice more, throws askew were slung,
Twice more was impish, hurtful magic flung
Once at the mother’s head- wisely, she ducked,
Then again, feebly hit the youth’s leg, whose laughter clucked,
Mocking laughter, his leg unstung.
Sorrowfully, the wood devil gave in
He could not defeat this family's win
Even the old man's arm wouldn't bruise
How could the imp do ought but lose?
And so did the disc golf end. Fin.
So if you, enjoying family time fair
Seek to enter the forest imp’s lair,
Take cover from friends as the disc is cruising
Lest the wood devil, offended, send you a bruising
As from shadows he hates and stares.
Written by Gail R DeBole
on July 19, 2021
Updated September 4, 2021
A baby who lived on a farm
Would coo and gurgle with charm.
She completely amazed
Her family each day
With all of her sweet, lovely sounds.
She would hear chickens, cows, and sheep
As she fell into a very sound sleep.
Then she would awake
To the noise roosters make
And would listen to chicks as they peeped.
She heard many oinks, moos, and neighs.
The animals talked lots each day.
Chickens cluck-cluck-clucked.
She heard quacks from each duck.
The animal sounds never waned.
When she made her talking debut.
Her parents didn’t know what to do.
You might think it absurd
As to what her parents heard -
She sang out a melodious moo!
Next was a loud cluck-cluck-cluck!
Then she skillfully quaked like a duck!
She then gave a neigh
As she giggled and played.
Her parents were completely awe-struck.
She saved her best vocals for last.
Giving her parents a proud vocal blast.
She called her father “Papa”
And her mother “Mama”
And that was her first baby rap.
As a poet, I'm not bound by rules, only my imagination.
There's ink in my veins, gathering visions for inspiration.
I paint words on paper, instead of on canvas with a brush
Poetry is my aphrodisiac. It provides me with such a rush.
I write about dew drops on the velvet petals of a rose
Smiles of a newborn touch me enough so I will compose
a sonnet of fourteen lines, in rhyme...well, of course
I've written about wildflowers and the gait of a horse
I've written of rolling waves, tossing about on the sea
Tears fell as I wrote, "Autumn leaves fell from a tree."
and I couldn't wait to jot down the feelings in my heart
when I finally found my one true love, or so I thought.
I get a little help when I can't seem to concentrate
My muse is a busy bee, hoping she can pollinate
my mind by throwing out synonyms, word after word
She makes me laugh because so many are absurd!
I told her I wanted to write about the moon and sea
She clucked her tongue and said, "You Listen to me.
You have to set yourself free. Open your garden gate
and breathe in the fragrance of life before it's too late."
Often, I do it her way. Bereft of muse, my poetry wanes.
I don't want to stop the ink flowing through my veins.
I woke from a dream and quickly wrote it in a verse
or by morning I would forget, and that's a poet's curse.
Muse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Post Date: July 29, 2020
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
He collapsed late this afternoon
Went without a whimper... DOA
Relatives and friends shook their heads
Clucked their tongues
Pressure got to him apparently
Poor fellow worked himself to the bone
Shame he died so young
He collapsed late this afternoon
Went without a whimper...DOA
Not long ago, the pressure from without was a source of pride
Before it began to push on the walls of his spirit inside
Was it that Eternal Pressure broke him
--Or did he cave from within?
He's not around anymore
We can hardly ask him ...
He collapsed late this afternoon
That's all we know
And all that matters...