Long Gobbler Poems
Long Gobbler Poems. Below are the most popular long Gobbler by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gobbler poems by poem length and keyword.
“Oh my, the weather out is real nice!” Said the Papa Turkey.
“Hey Mrs. Gobbler get the kids. Lets go for a nice Fall stroll.”
“Line up now. Listen to your Ma.”
The rafter of little poults wobbles by like Russian stacking dolls.
The gaggle gobble around the apple orchard,
pecking at fallen bruised apples and protruding worms.
Smoke comes from the farmhouse. A woman is hanging clothes on the line.
The farmer emerges from the woodshed carrying an ax.
“Hey Papa," said Mrs. Gobbler "look at the ole coot all bare-chested."
You have a better pair of breasts than he does!”
The Farmer's pace quickens, as he nears Mrs. Gobbler.
She flies laughing onto a branch an apple tree
which overhangs the duck pond. The kids scatter.
Papa does a running take off from the dirt path landing on the Farmer’s bare chest,
pushing him and his ax into the pond. Mrs. bombs the Farmer with dangling apples.
The kids pick up acorns and pelt the farmer in the head with them. There he sits surrounded
by bobbing apples and flaoting acorns, spewing water and wiping the hair from his eyes.
“My, my, my” says Papa Turkey.
“Sure does look like a tasty Farmer stew! Too bad we don’t have acorn biscuits.”
The woman drops her laundry basket and falls on the ground laughing.
“You Ole fool!” She says.
“You better try the chickens! This year the turkeys have your number!”
“But watch out for flying eggs! No yolking!”
I saw him in an old farmer's cowhouse, Dancing and playing with other playmates, He was alone among the birds in the black house, I was certainly attracted by his catchy traits,
Felt mercy on him for his loneliness, Wanted to pull out his pointless isolation,
And got him for a few hundreds, my goodness,
Freed him in my farm with hesitation,
Few months had moved suddenly, He controlled the complete farm boldly, Had become a most matured adult lovely, His gobbler frightened all the fowls mostly,
He was nearly eight kilograms in ninety days, The labours were feared to feed the wild bird, Surprisingly my dog was afraid to maintain the space, Was he an arrogant adolescent multibird? .
He walked like a majestic military man, His nine inches prolonged beard made him proud, Never missed noticing the wild anchor man, I was very happy to hear the Turkey's sound.
The turkey who gets pardoned
Doesn’t understand his luck,
As all his buddies soon will have
Their feathers set to pluck.
Tradition gives the president
One pardon every year.
Most likely, then, that pardoned bird
Will up and disappear.
Where does he go? Where will he live?
Is this a second chance
Or will he have to do, next year,
The “Please don’t kill me!” dance?
The rest of us get ready to
Find recipes we’ve stored,
Relieved to know our turkeys, dead,
Have somehow climbed on board.
For just how disconcerting
Would a scene like this one be:
An oven-ready gobbler shouting,
“Hey there! Pardon me!”
Thanksgiving Day
There’s something about Thanksgiving Day
That makes living worthwhile
With thankfulness for home and family.
While the children are outside playing,
The adults are bustling and fussing around,
Preparing and cooking food in the kitchen,
Which suckles the palate and warms my heart
And makes me happy to witness.
With the gobbler in the oven
And pumpkin pies chilling,
The aroma is delicious.
“Stay out of the way!” they say.
There are moments in life
When it’s best to become invisible,
And so I join the others in the living room
Who are chatting away and watching television.
To hear the sound of the table setting
As we sit and wait, anticipating, and then,
Heard over the chatter and TV, “Dinner’s ready!”
There’s something about so grand a meal
Of turkey and all of its trimmings shared with family
That makes me grateful and sleepy after eating.
And as I doze off, I contemplate the future:
“Without God in our lives, where would we be?”
Living on a little farm
In the Western NC Mountains
Means experiencing the cock-a-doodle-doo
The Moo-Moo-Moo, the meow and woof
And finally, the gobble-gobble
Each one of our barnyard residents
Find it necessary to procreate and we
Find that to be just fine, you must see
Farm life means breeding these beasts
These species who we believe will become
The very heart of the life on the farm!
We purchased baby turkeys in the spring
Nourished them until they began to gobble
About the feed and strut their feathers as they
Charmed the females with their beautiful tails
Our farm, it seemed, would be a turkey’s dream
As I was walking across the barn one dawn
I noticed a turkey lying down and felt charmed
By its obvious lack of anxiety with me
So I reached down to pet it and found it to be
Quite docile, never moving away from my hand
I called my husband and told him to see
How the turkey had taken to me!
He started to laugh and turned to me
“This is the way of a turkey who hopes to breed”
She lies down for the gobbler and I realized my blunder
What I had took for a tame turkey happened to be
Merely a turkey who hoped to bring her new daughters
And sons into the roost – I had to laugh at myself
My misinterpretation left me filled with glee
This is only one small thing that farm life has taught me
Funny Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
January 3, 2022
He came at us in the middle of the night.
Carrying a shotgun, and it was not light.
He shot at my husband but was way off to the right.
I saw it was the turkey and knew we’d have a fight.
I hid under the bed and refused to pop out my head.
I knew that gobbler was waiting to make all of us dead.
Then I heard the little ones climbing out of their bed,
So I dashed down the hallway, and hid with them instead.
Bam! That gun off. The turkey was a killing machine.
He took out the boarders, Mr. and Mrs. McQueen.
I yelled “Turkey, we were going to have ham, not turkey lean.”
He came into the room; his eyes had a wild mean gleam.
He took that shotgun and put holes all over the wall.
Then he strutted out, looking at least ten foot tall.
Never get a turkey whose been on steroids again,
I told my husband, who had been hiding from him.
Fifty nine inch tall wife
once willowy wisp
postmenopausal galloping gourmandiser
playboy centerfold girly
figure ain't no mo,'
which superfluous weight deterrent,
love life yours truly
took Kamikaze nosedive
arousing, exciting, stimulating...
as romancing the stone statue,
but seen thru Tom
gobbler beady eyes
butterball babe resembles hottie
female turkey on steroids without feathers,
spouse already qualifies as Hen pecker
not admirable characteristic
to encourage physical intimacy
whew, which allows this husband
to redirect pro creative pursuits
where English language
beak homes muse,
which amateur philologist
attests to literary penchant
most likely garnering posthumous fame
revving up avast surge
necessitating Barry yore
to deter den of thieves
against stealing precious
documents - sold at auction
avid fans snapping up
bajillion tattered staind scribblings
indistinguishable from chicken scratch
interlaced with gobbledygook
(unbeknownst to John Doe
who faintly resembled me dead
drunken grizzled shabby skidrow
anonymous deceased wordsmith),
mortuary performed makeover
courtesy same Joseph and the
amazing technicolor dreamcoat
academy award winners
unexpected set couture club craze
suddenly everybody and their ilk
including grandmother goose, pink panther,
porky pig, Scoobie doobie do, ugly duckling...
triggered feverish buzz feeding frenzy
even cosmetic surgeons experienced
boomtimes, cuz ma
eternally sleeping pose
inspired cottage (cheesy) industry,
the global economy witnessed
unprecedented unsurge
ending world wide poverty.
Since I can't say the words that I want to use
We r going to have a little fun and light the fuse
I don't give 2 flocks
Wrap that shizit up in a box
Ready to swing on a mother father
Make sure ur girlfriend is flocked proper
I heard she's a real gobbler
Meaning she's a swallower
She is kinda twisted and slightly demented
Don't worry, she consented
If u don't know who I'm talking about, she hasn't told u
Acting like it's laundry day when I fluff and fold u
Watch ur face! That last step is a doozie
The last shot was a little boozy!
My proper pussycat pounding turned ur girl into a floozy
Oops! I added more liquor to the drink
I got way more game than u think
No words r necessary to get her in my bed
Her mouth was moving but it wasn't cuz words were said
Dirty talk is the preferred language spoken
Making sure to leave that pussycat broken
Begging me to make her bed my own
Told you, I'm the King and nobody can take my thrown
U will need every drop of drip that is in ur mother flocking profile
I might be gone for awhile
I shall return like a Knight on a quest
I cannot give you my best
She did a number on me
Realness is what u see
It has been an honored to occupy ur mind
Until next time...
THE REVIVAL OF MEANUS
'a real no-skip banger'
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by: Gobble Cladd
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Guarda Spira & Spira Tanto
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Hasken Safiya & Rana ta Tsakiyar Dare
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Pre-incorporation contracts
Fiduciary duty
------------------------------------
Over heard by someone who was in a better
position to take advantage of the Opportunity
they were approached and conveinsed
"oh but honor bounds me
that a friendship shall now be in doubt"
spoke Mr. Glory a.k.a Hasken Safiya.
He shook the "Shadowey Images" hand in agreement
and laughed that he had
undermined
the creators vision of
a future.
'A man who can afford to pay us
will now reap the benefits of
being Boss!"
"Yet someone who worked diligently
shall now be out of an opportunity:
Maybe the cart before the horse is the best
phrase"
Laughing they walked off sealing a deal
that would be the legacy of
someone's opportunity"
The phrase "the legacy of someone's opportunity" means the lasting impact, benefit, or doors opened for others as a result of a chance, a break, or a specific opening someone had—or provided—in life. It looks at how a single moment of access or good fortune continues to help people long after
"this is the reason why the Guy saod these people "All involved" were
"no good low down dirty Dogs !" Taking my idea before I could afford it:
"Maybe just maybe I should have shut my Mouth!"
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Cladd de Gobbler
Thanksgiving Day has arrived
in the nippy month of November,
and the dining room is in a festive mood;
Holiday music is softly playing in the living room...
the aromatic smell of the oven roasted gobbler
spreads to each room, to make everyone drool
for a taste of this delicacy in the late afternoon,
I bet all of them would!
Yesterday morning I went to the local supermarket,
and looked for the youngest and fattest turkey,
the one which is tender and moist...a turkey guests love to eat;
and when I spotted the best one, I hurled it into my shopping cart,
and went straight to the cashier acting a little crazy,
knocking down piles of canned food all over the floor,
and making all the customers scream!
Somebody next to me yelled,
" Young man, be careful...look out!"
Over there...another pile of tomato sauce jars
fell and the breaking glass sounded
worse than a quake hitting this quite town!
Embarrassed, and somewhat hilarious for the unexpected mess,
I rushed out with my heavy shopping bag...trudging like a hunchback!
The oven roasted gobbler steams on the table deplete
with lots of Holiday treats: eggnog, apple cider,
cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, roasted chestnuts
and a set of red candles to match the glossy plates;
O gobbler so perfectly cooked, you're ready for the sharp knife,
and be cut by the volunteer who will say, "Grace!"
O gobbler so tasty and young, wouldn't you love
to come back to life...and poke everyone with your beak?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci