Long Ham Poems
Long Ham Poems. Below are the most popular long Ham by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ham poems by poem length and keyword.
Is it the early morn in a yellow field of corn,
Or could it be flowers with strange powers,
Or a stroll on a donkey chomping a carrot,
Or a baby pig in a pram, who would make
A tasty ham,
Is it when the clock strikes 12.00 for noon or
The long shadows in the late afternoon,
That I want to be with you.
Is it the starry sky with the milky way up high,
Or music of the Beatles that scream through,
An open window in the heat of the midday sun
Where a widow calls each man passing ‘Hey hun’,
Maybe the giant turtle that climbed up a tree,
Who was stung by a bee, or
The one eyed chimpanzee,
Who can no longer see,
Is when I want to be with you.
Watching people getting stoned, or
Really zoned,
Who visit a soup kitchen with their ex,
What could be worse, its dark, no light,
Just bad sounds in the night,
Criminals on the loose who own zero,
But drive around in a polished black limo,
And become the village hero,
Is when I want to be with you.
Peeling an apple that never ends or
Mashing mulberries for a murder scene,
But your hands now look blood stained,
Would Hercule Poirot have to solve this mystery,
From the books of Agatha Christie,
Bikini girls from Bay Watch,
A clown appears, puts a bomb down a
Cleavage, to which he is wired and strung,
BOOM BOOM BANG,
Glad I chose to be with you.
I ham quill tee for gobbledygook...
and ruffling tail feathers!
An innocent miss steak kin...
once former main lion den cha hoard servant,
resident iz cow herd vegetarian boar
hoof faux whatever reason iz explore
ring bing foo fighting beastie boy, who doth
newt practice, what he preaches your
truly battens down chicken
coop hatches so... call me galore
re: us hypocritic,
this honest to dog omnivore – more
accurate said buzzfeeding primate -
*****sapiens, he whelk hams
adieu after quick bonjour
hears ear splitting eeyore
deaf finning chore
tills unable to ignore
admits transgression,
now wonder wherefore
whether art thou still
game to reed my adore
hub bull poetry
understandable if ye deplore
such atrocious, egregious, opprobrious...,
violating ethical core
puss regarding straying
against dietary herbivore
rudimentary eel lamb ants
(chocolate covered my dear Watson)
boot fault in the starfish...por
favor mice elf can
oxe plain twittering like plover
with reasonable rhyme for sure
don't get doggy dimples in bunch
cause to skewer me but... but before...
sending killing squad to slaughter -
this puppy, aye kindly honour
my wish and don
me noggin with pompadour
as fetching drag queen
torpedo sized bosom
squirting parti-color
milk as self defense mechanism
averting casus belli thus
amidst melee I abhor
find self on horns of dilemma
life story of this poor
cooked goose flambé
caught between rock and trapdoor
special cannibal delight
where madding crowd
chants "send him back"
accursed unconscionable roar
ring anger, but lurch for eats,
an impulsive reflex courtesy extempore
rain nee yes unforgivable poor
craven impulse to up peas hunger
uncontrollably craving regarding carnivore
pang additionally not further injure
ring innocent animal plus more
to this fishy tail than
meats the Wawa birdseye.
The deadly white of winter had descended.
Mountain high piles of snow braced the phone poles.
Mufflers donned we left for school unattended
for mother lay crying in her bed, we were not whole.
Father left many nights ago it seemed
we did not know the why, the what or when, just then
what would we do for Christmas, mother screamed.
In this earthly sorrow two little girls cried again.
All of eight was I, and she was but three,
No tree was dressed within the cold, white, rented farm house
only paper chains no sweet cane candy
the kitchen cupboards were bare even for the mouse.
The night bleak, mother pulled us on a sled
to Gran's we went, through snow and cold for dinner time.
Ma's heart had gone, when Father left her bed
Downcast, we trudged without Daddy's car, we climbed.
We came home and settled in, night brought surprise
our Daddy had come home, and it was Christmas night
he brought me a bike, a green and white prize
But all I cared about was the smile in his eyes.
I saw a turkey circling, high above Manhattan
his bronze and copper feathers ripped in the sun,
and it looked like it was having an awful lot of fun.
He looked proud, in those clouds—majestic and delicious,
I could picture him sprawled out, on our Thanksgiving dishes.
Then I thought, chastisingly, “Wow, in a way, that’s kind of vicious.”
I opened the glass doors—we were sitting on the sky-high terrace.
I thought I’d better check—so I wouldn’t later be embarrassed.
I called Karen (Lisa’s Mom), “You already got a turkey to prepare us?”
She was hand making apple and cherry pies, lining crust in the pans
“You bet!” She called, “One's dressed-up—and a honey-baked ham!”
Closing the door, I yelled, through cupped hands, “Fly on Turkey—DO NOT LAND!”
.
.
A song for this:
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Shrift remix by Andy Williams and Shrift
.
.
Here's a Christmas playlist: daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_34.mp3
I’ve nothing
positive to say today
Just different scenarios
In a vacant approach
Calling me to come home
I was left wandering
In the dark alone
The objective
To ease the hurt
Take away a curse
For days that we play
Reach for new heights
In a vulnerable scene
Tip toe on mercy
To avoid
the split in my spleen
In love with a phantom
Hidden behind a spotted face
Out for the souls of grown men
Those who have plotted
Against a broken race
Misplaced pigment cells
Only the pig in men sells
Walking on childhood misery
Adolescent years swayed
Mentally weighed
Prohibited the belief
Of a murdered messiah
Don’t you be so careful
As to let it hypnotize you
He who believes in thee
Can only be a liar
Shall I live
Then death to all rivals
No apologies
Its just the pledge of survival
The Quran
Your mischievous bible
I hold these latter-day saints
Equally liable
And if it gets no better
Love always
As her emotions led her
An old man as spoken for
Casualties of sympathy
Hoping for a cure
One old woman and ten dollars
Spent thanksgiving day
Hoping for a ham and a cabbage
But we savages in this ravaged land
Think nothing of her
But you got to love her
Reach out with your cold arms
And hug her
Rub the hurt
To keep her above the dirt
“Yes we can”
Do what?
Nothing again
I write for life
I write for birth
I write for you
For what it’s worth
I can’t stretch my intelligence enough
To write for peace on earth
A brown sugar glazed ham every holiday dinner planned
Christmas and Easter and New Year tradition
beside that turkey with Thanksgiving cheers
those holiday feast with family we remember dear
Crowned with pineapple rings attached by cloves
the smell in the oven baking tempts your nose
Display on the dinning table center stage
sweet meat candy the holiday rage
Sliced thin so more to go around
Happiness the taste of the holidays profound
Holiday baked ham and sweet potato pie
french green beans and cornbread muffins stacked high
mashed potatoes with plenty of gravy
mac and cheese and don't say maybe
So many foods and treats but that baked ham we love to eat
With bone or without, spiraled or whole there is no doubt
a favorite for the seasons and your tummy full
when first out of the oven the smell makes you drool.
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
My uncle Dran was an odd sorta man
who never much cared for livestock.
But wouldn't you know he kept a pig he loved so,
and named the fat thing, Ham hock.
Of little he cared but for the pig's dinner fare
and a desire to keep him from block.
No butcher you'd see would stand a chance or a plea,
to separate Dran and Ham hock.
One day on a walk came a squeal and a squawk
as they passed a farmland flock.
As a sow named Bacon took to squalling and chasing,
to the delight of old Ham Hock.
Bacon was bought after a hard bargain fought,
she was Dran's hog for the takin.
And never could one part, the sow and the old fart,
know as Ham Hock and Bacon.
To this day down the lane, if you travel again.
there's a legend for books in the makin.
For the piglets o' plenty, of the pigs, Dran has many,
cause he won't eat Ham hock or Bacon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pink Domino Contest
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick
7/29/2016
Placed 10th
The time has come to bare my soul
It's certainly long overdue
The greatest passion in my life has been
To get laughs and more than a few
A standup comedian I'd sure like to be
If I had to do it over again
Performing on stage in front of a throng
Earning great fortune and fame
Something inside's been trying to get out
This unfulfilled passion of mine
A bit of a ham, feel obliged to admit
Applause is totally sublime
To be realistic I've missed the boat
Circumstances forbade me my dream
A family came along for which to provide
But I never lost my passion it seems
Imagine a seventy-eight year old comedian
Doing standup on a New York stage
Not likely but I know I'd still be able to wow 'em
The thing that's against me is age
© Jack Ellison 2013
I'm not no Picasso, and I'm not no Poe.
The only thing I need, is a late night woman.
And a whole lot of dough.
Apple and pumpkin, they're a cool kind of pie.
Preferred by me, is ham on rye.
There she was, so sexy and nice.
My late night woman.After striking out twice.
I met her in the bleachers, at a Friday night game.
My apple and pumpkin didn't taste the same.
And my late night woman, wouldn't take the blame.
Then we saw the kicker.Kick the ball so high.
It made us so unhappy.We were about to cry.
Anyways, the whole damn thing, made me drop my
ham on rye..
Humorous Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1992,2014..
ALL rights reserved..