Long Hot dog Poems
Long Hot dog Poems. Below are the most popular long Hot dog by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hot dog poems by poem length and keyword.
A gentle hush fell over the pond
The crickets ceased their evening song
Many jewel-toned feathers circled and flew
And perched as tonight's "Idol" audience grew
Poor little bird looks out from his tree top place
His voice must enthrall them in the "Idol" race!!
He must choose the right song, and be a hit,
Just one more chance is all he gets!
Oh My! He sees Jennifer Lovebird, soft feathered, and fair
And Steven Tucan, in the judging chair!!
Ol’ Randy Jaybird with his ‘Hot Dog’ hoots!
Oh dear, this poor little songbird, is shaking in his boots!
With stage fright, he fears his chance is bleak
He opens up his tiny beak
With not even one tender note, so sweet
All he can muster, is one awful squeak!!
Quickly, Ryan Redbrest flaps his wings....hops to the branch
And clamps him shut, without a glance!
Poor little bird,....! He's lost his chance!
To sing among the tallest trees,
To win the prize, with songs to please...
Or be a part of history! :(
So off he flies, into the breeze....!
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For Francine Roberts Contest "Enough!"
The pretty girl with green cat's eyes
is skinnier than Johnny the hot-dog vender,
they chat and smoke grass
on their coffee break mindless of lonely Cher!
Once she was her true friend, they drank together
at the Happy Bar until the pretty girl
with green cat's eyes stole her boyfriend Peter;
when they meet, it's nothing but Hell!
Branda comes running and breaks them up,
that's when Cher's face gets red with anger;
" Peter is mine, get your own! It's not fair
to kiss him as if he was your adorable pup! "
The pretty girl with cats' eyes seems too crazy,
she always looks for a prey and when she finds one...
the poor guy can't escape from her captivity;
I'm ashamed to say I fell for her but drunk from wine!
Hey, dudes don't be charmed by her deceptive smile,
she steals your wallet and all the credit cards;
watch the pretty girl with cats' eyes luring guys;
think twice: sex is not free, don't be taken for a ride!
I was buying a hot dog at a hot dog stand,
Reluctantly here at this silly ball game anyway
When a lady asked me if I am who I am.
I am used to people not liking me for who I am
For I turn them in when they hurt their children
But I said yes this was me.
She grabbed my hand and hugged it.
Said her daughter thought highly of me.
Could not stop quoting me.
I asked who her daughter is.
Ashamed to say I do not know this child.
I am a school counselor for over six hundred children.
This name did not mean a thing to me.
I looked her up later.
A face I barely recognized.
The perils of being assigned to way too many children.
But I think this shows one thing.
You never know who you might be accidentally helping.
On youth's restless green puff.
I rode a southbound Greyhound bus
Everything I owned stuffed into one duffel bag.
Forty-eight hours plus on Highway X.
I arrived in darkness and settled for the first dive I could find.
One dingy room with peeling pink walls.
With a large painting of a red heart against black.
I assumed somebody pretending to be Peter Max.
The next night-I popped into "Geno's bar", to watch a football game.
There was a handful of locals-nobody spoke.
I bellied up at the end of the bar
From my angle, I saw hordes of cock roaches racing over hot dogs.
I was young and beyond hungry but settled for the vending machine.
Somebody would order; Geno would reach for a hot dog,
I think the roaches were trained because they'd promptly jump off.
By the time the dogs reached the bar top
They were sizzling, juicy, roach-free, and red hot.
Old Geno shakily handed them their roach dogs.
I was the newest guy on the block
and didn't want to bug bomb his loyal patrons.
I guessed that the infestation was our dirty little secret,
Geno winked and handed me a free beer before halftime,
I thanked him and guzzled the warm brew down.
I got up to leave as the game was a blowout.
I said so long to Geno and his roaches and promptly blew town.
We used to be huge baseball fans
(The Yankees, but, of course!)
And followed all their games and cheered
Until our throats were hoarse.
Our fervor somehow waned and now
We couldn’t even name
The players on the team, although
We still enjoy the game.
While visiting Milwaukee,
We learned there would be a match
Of the Brewers and the Pittsburgh Pirates
Which we (pun!) could catch.
The Pirates pitcher, we found out,
Had quite an arm to wield,
So my husband got us tickets
And we headed to the field.
Their ballpark is a beauty
And we joined in with the crowd
Rooting for their favorite Brewers
As instructed – very loud!
At inning six, a race is held;
Five “sausages” compete.
The winner was Chorizo,
Bratwurst,* sadly, in defeat.
The final score was 4-2,
The Brewers with the prize,
The Pirate pitcher taken out,
Which was a big surprise.
Despite not being N.L.**fans,
We had a lot of fun,
For certain sayings hit the mark
And “When in Rome…” is one.
*The others include Hot Dog, Italian and Polish
**National League
The Fourth’s the day for fireworks
And barbecues and beer,
But there’s another custom
That takes place but once a year:
The hot dog eating contest!
And the champs are all prepared,
While only those insane enough
To challenge will have dared.
The five-time winner, Joey Chestnut,
Weighing just 210,
Devoured sixty-eight last year
And wants to win again.
The female best contestant,
Soaking wet one hundred pounds,
Ate forty-one, complete with buns,
A number that astounds.
To watch them stuff their faces
Is a most amazing sight.
It’s silly, crazy and, to me,
Pure grossness at its height.
Yet people love to watch and cheer
To see who’ll wear the crown,
Though mostly they are hoping
Not all hot dogs will stay down.
The hot dog number I’ll consume
Today will add to zero,
But Coney Island soon will crown
The proud new hot dog hero!
All empty streets are paved with sleet,
it's not cold enough for a snowfall;
the cheek-boned guy is seeking a place to sleep,
he has found shelter in a warm corner down the hall!
We expect some heavy snow, don't be caught cold;
power outrage is a possibility, buy candles
and stack up on food and check on friends;
mental health improves: if communication is good!
I spot the hot dog vendor with frozen face and eyes,
his steaming breath is a volcano fuming; he challenges
the brutal weather by rubbing his gloveless fingers;
he curses it aloud: who thinks is mad when he yells?
Wild kids run by the hot dog stand and poke fun at him
saying, " Santa is another fat grinch, he offers nothing! "
" My two children are hungry! " He chases after them;
I hand him a twenty dollars bill: he can't stop smiling!
Brooklyn Cyclone number nine
Is not ready to decline
Clipity clop it climbs
Into the blue sky where the sun shines
Until it turns orange while enjoying evening wine
There is magic in the air
Summer loving with the one who cares
Flashing lights all around
Tradition of a rural community fairground
Instead this is on an island
Architectural feats worth admiring
Outside the big city
That never accepted any pity
National League remembers the past
Mets audition potential players to cast
As all the cotton candy melts
Everyone with a hot dog can’t tighten their belts
In the middle to a season
Enjoying weather supposedly pleasing
Where relaxation is the reason
Cousin Brucie
Has rocking facts that are juicy
About that Palisades Park
That was a long trip for the late Dick Clark
Brooklyn Cyclone number nine
Takes the big drop right on time
Screams are heard
By the flying birds
Down on the beach
Where NYC is in reach
Always a can or two of pork and beans in the pantry
great side dish heated or just eat em out of the can
never any pork just a piece of fat, but most flavored
with a tomato sauce that makes them slightly sweet
cook them with a little barbecue sauce so good to eat
top with bacon bits even add chopped ham
Use the big can to simmer with cut up hot dogs
little brown sugar and a easy meal not just for kids
Minced onion swimming in the pot of pork and beans
fine with pork dishes as the can proclaims
Beans with a hot dog and always a barbecue meal
Beside the fry chicken but not so much with tuna salad
Affordable, tasty, good to always have those can beans.
I sat on the floor of the pavement,
Sun shining on my face.
It had been ages since I saw the sun.
It always evoked a feeling of pure pleasure,
Though the one I always remember
It was the rising of the sun from behind purple hills.
There was so much beauty in the world.
But not for me. Everybody forsook me.
People came, and people went. Neglected by all.
It was never a good morning for me.
Someone gave me a paper plate with something on it.
I knew there was nothing but mud on it.
I put it on the ground and heard the laughter
Of some youths who had dared.
I said nothing but felt the rumbling in my stomach.
I had not eaten the day before, and I felt weak.
Then another plate came—a piping hot dog.
At last, someone remembered. I ate it slowly.
It was all covered with chilli that was too hot to taste.
I was hungry and ate it slowly, trying unsuccessfully
Remove the chilli and hope for some water.
But no one offered.
Nothing else happened that day till I felt the sunset.
Some policemen roughly told me to go home to my wife.
But did I have a home? Did I have a wife?
Both had long disappeared when I lost my sight.
I hobbled to a lonely low bridge, tapping my white stick
And rested there forsaken by all until the next morn.
Note: This did happen, but not to me.