Long Fryer Poems
Long Fryer Poems. Below are the most popular long Fryer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fryer poems by poem length and keyword.
Inspired by and dedicated to
Sara Kendrick and her poem "Chicken"
I once had a chicken
Came out of his egg kick-in'
He was the strangest thing , I've ever seen
This chicken had two necks but he only had one head
I'm guess-in' that's why he was so mean
I wasn't 'till much later
That a Chef asked the waiter
To go buy some chickens, at my farm
So I told him, as far as chickens
HE, should do the pick-in'
So he grabbed-up the fryer, in his arms
Although it was some trouble
He saw his profits double
Figure-in' to buy one and get one free
The Chef was really please
As he took that bird with ease
Then turned-up the stove a few degrees
He gave the bird a whack,
And there was a sudden thwack
As that little fryer's head, hit the floor
He thought he had struck gold
When he started to unfold
Seeing that the bird, had offered more
Two gizzards and three livers
Is what this bird delivered
And the Chef thought this made a darn good start
But further on inspection
There was a sad detection
The poor little Fryer had no heart
So I've learned, Not to be mean
Or you'll end up a cuisine
So, be nice and kind from the very start
Even if you're bless,
Having more than the all rest
Don't be a little Fryer with no heart
Hate is vile
Hate doesn't smile
Hate is rough and tough
And sips bad stuff.
Hate hits
Hate spits
Fire, fire
In the dire drier.
Hate burns
Hate hurts
Hate is cursed
Hate outbursts.
Hate prejudges
Hate misjudges
Hate destroys health
And causes untimely death.
Hate is ugly
Hate is nasty
Hate is deadly
And very lousy.
Hate lies
Hate cries
Fire, fire
In the air fryer.
Hate is a crime
Hate is a waste of time
Hate is audacious
Envious and obnoxious.
Hate has no luck
Hate does not give a fork
Hate is very sad
Hate is very mad.
Hate is hell
Ring the bell
To chase away the haters
The corrupt liars and the sinners.
Copyright © November 2022 Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
The fresh woft of roast ham
Although they will accept lamb
A beep of the air fryer
Their bellies full of desire
They would destroy this juicy meat
And see it as a sweet treat
Flowing throughout the house
The scent of freshly roasted honey hit their wet snouts
The excitement palpable, barks and shouts
The tension rises as it cools
Tails wag as they work out how to manipulate those fools
Eyes staring, not leaving their prize
The whimpers and the cries
All 3 ready to pounce
In their eyes no doubt
3 sets of eyes gazing into each moist slice
Only ham will suffice
All laid down, paws stretched
Drool flowing waiting for the slice of perfect
Their eyes never leaving me
Begging and pleading
Tongue licking their lips
As more drool drips
Finally their slice arrives at their mouth
2 seconds before it’s gone
Kid naps here, daycare!
Sick babies...About those
Kidnaps are there! Out there!
I wish I could, evocation, dowry!
For an already invested $275 nuptial Tyler Mowrey!
Gaza wall and Tel-Aviv- a , embracing in Jackson Church
Sameeha Azra- eel A and a PEER in peer pressure for air fryer
Is your oxygen an EIN? Bargaining overseas? Playing diplomacy? Daunts in ranting ramps where models stood?
Sometimes, data cable is not that a bad idea, where "inna lillah" is also a cliched Hinda call!
Long she served Holly Wood, May she come true among converts and traveler (pilgrims)
further in optimism in selfless "Sufism" not "Sophism or Hedonism",
Sin and Boon are all stamped with the sense of Shame, where the guilt is sensed after all!
Not a river dredging and to make a parable to river shifting, as no longer helpful!
Helpful and no longer! For once, try in Pickthall!
For the end of the time and the beginning, too
Time impeccable is Timeless Allah (SWT) and the all-knowing and all!
In time He begets not,
In Time He is free from the need of an obgyn,
of that specialty, departmental.
It’s Sunday,
and I’m drawing myself again,
third time this week.
This version features a haunted air fryer,
a coupon for free emotional labor,
and Janice—
the shoebill, wearing my ex’s hoodie
and threatening the moon.
She’s perched
on a folding chair I stole from a church basement,
clutching a Slim Jim like a relic.
Her breath smells like copper wiring and vengeance.
She doesn’t blink.
She’s been through things
I wouldn’t survive in metaphor.
Next to us is a gas station floral arrangement
wilting under fluorescent light.
In front of us is me,
in my paint-splotched pajamas,
asking Janice if she thinks
my inner child should unionize.
She says nothing,
just tilts her prehistoric head
and sh*ts squarely on my manuscript.
I call it divine intervention.
Later,
we walk into the city wearing matching trench coats,
one of us smoking,
one of us quoting Adrienne Rich,
neither of us offering apologies.
When the world ends,
it’ll be a clerical error.
Janice will fix it with duct tape and a spell
written in cut-up tomatoes.
I’ll be there,
editing the horoscopes.
And when someone asks
What kind of bird is that?
I’ll smile, say,
Oh, she’s mine,
we found each other in a storm.
===================================================
Oh, I thank you, my friend but I don't think I should...
No, I never would dine here again, if I could!
And the truth is, I tried but the outcome was grim,
for you see, what came out was much worse than went in!
But you know, all the dishes you've named DO sound good,
so perhaps if you came in to MY neighborhood,
we could come by a fryer and try some new stuff
like delicious doo bryer and fenberry fluff!
And when we feel full and no more food will fit,
then we'll each pull up seats and together we'll sit
'til the stars on our bellies are smaller in size,
then we'll get in our cars and we'll holler goodbyes
but until that day comes (and it's coming, for sure!)
I will show you your chair and I'll call you "kind sir"
and you'll know then and there the next time that we meet,
we will sit as a pair and we'll both get to eat!
Now, I hope you don't think that I don't like my job!
Yes, its noisy, it stinks and each night there's a mob,
there are zakes in the dicer and qwetts in the flue
but the place is much nicer now that I've met you!
===================================================
My fellow countrymen, the President, Politicians, and pulpiteers Though not in a cave like Rip Van Winkle, I must have fallen asleep in "indifference and over-business". It was more than Van Winkle's 20 years, because prior to my sleep, I knew an America that dreamed of chickens in every pot; of carports, garages, and picket fences; of a good education and catching the Joneses.
It appears I am awaking, not from, but to, a nightmare; and to what am I opening my eyes to see? Me thinks it's not 'my country tis of thee'; not a chicken in the pot or fryer in the skillet. But I see leaders in the kettle like a frog, where the fire is turned down low and heating slowly. Like the frog, they are relaxed and comfortable. Oh Lord, if they only knew the manner of the frog's demise.
I see changes, and multiple evils have been removed. Recovery and relief have been appropriated and dispatched for the poor. Reforms and revivals have periodically visited us from above. I see blessings and prosperity beyond comparison; melting pots of dreamers and immigrants still dine at our tables. That's part of the American beauty.
Oh America, we are busy face-booking and twitting; But we must realize that we are also bleeding. I weep for what might lie ahead for us. I grieve for what we are becoming. I fear for us, though not of guns and nukes from afar; But for rivalries in the white house and the halls of congress. And I fear for our pulpiteers who also relax in the kettle like the frog.
07312017cjFBPH; August Standard Contest, Brian Strand Part fiction
Funny talk... "diddly squat"
Means basically nothing to me!
Where do these words come from?
Do they grow these things on trees?
What a joke... "a pig in a poke"
Fooled unsuspecting buyers!
Instead of a piggy inside the bag
Twas a kitty cat for the fryer!
But of course... "hay's for horses"
Here's another reason to spend?
Some stuffing for your Jockeys
To give you a fuller front end!
Just my luck... "I'm a dead duck"
She caught me with this lady!
Not to worry, it all turned out
Twas Mom so nothing shady!
Whadya think... "Take forty winks"
Causes trouble with wifey poo!
Of course if you wink at a filly
And the filly winks back at you!
It's really absurd... these silly words
They upset our daily routine!
They've been known to turn sunny days
To the ugliest days ever seen!
© Jack Ellison 2013
The opportunity sparked a fierce desire
A cunning liar is trying to conspire
Plotting schemes that would require
Causing the masses tears to flood the mire
The choir sang with voices higher
Looking for a bold lady or noble squire
Capable of mending our old attire
Bake these words in an air fryer
The hissing revealed a situation growing dire
Look a devious flyer is soaring above the spire
Falsely proclaiming tales to inspire
Hiding in the quagmire as an actual occupier
Their words thickening the air like a humidifier
The supplier is attempting rewire
All of us who dare to still inquire
An amplifier’s hum drew the self-proclaimed sire
Who foolishly gazed at stars with his heart’s desire
Each promise made proved to be a modifier
The identifier called it out as a testifier
Through it all the proclamations became slier
We need to rise above the snake oil salesmen’s ire
Buckle up and find the strength not to retire
Find the heart to not back down or tire
A bitter bird, he tried to whack her,
went by the name, "The Green Wing Quacker".
His emotional problems were deep-rooted.
They caught this fowl fiend, flat-footed.
He was, in most ways, normal, I suppose,
but he had webs between his toes.
I'll tell you this guy was tough as nails,
eating innocent grubs and snails.
His brother was a Disney movie star,
but The Quacker never made it far.
What he had to say would raise your hair
when they strapped him to the electric chair.
Abject terror he would instill
with vociferations issued from his bill.
His vocabulary was relatively small,
but with just one word, he said it all.
He unnerved my hunting dog for sure.
Those ravings straightened up her fur.
I'll quote Green Wing as a matter of fact.
Children leave the room. He said, "Quack".
In some translations, when he was plucked,
and strapped in the fryer, he said, "I'm f**ked".
His brother, Donald, didn't even cry,
with his head in his hands, saying "why, why, why".
I'm outta couplets. I'm all done,
but you can write another one.
I'll go back to eating my Peking duck,
I bid you adieu and wish you luck.
It's well-known - Chinese food can't speak,
but this one-word fortune cookie made me freak.