Long Pecking order Poems
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On entering the afterlife, to be met by my father.
(Hopefully a long way off)
> Hello Dad, it has been many a year
You're looking well, since I looked at you last
Good job, you won't believe how much I'm scarred,
can't say the past few years have not been hard.
The burdens that I was prepared to take,
the sacrifices I have had to make.
I shan't deny you had it really rough,
but from my point of view it was quite tough,
child number three within your clutch of four
way down the pecking order, that's for sure.
Your last son was priority number one............
Such love you speak of never manifest
I felt alone, adrift, unlike the rest.
A fishing trip together, when I was small
the only day we had I can recall.
< I worked, but it took my good health at length
an industry that sapped my breath and strength
by fifty, there was no more I could do
the body of a man aged ninety-two.
If like some of your friends, you'd had it all
been mollycoddled , pampered, treated, spoiled
by adulthood it would have been too late
for you to come and step up to the plate.
The inner strength you have to go so far
is from your past, defining who you are.
I'm proud you somehow managed to get by,
now, come here, son- and let me dry your eye.
For contest 'A conversation', sponsor Frank Herrera
31st August 2016
12)Coddle- Two fish enrapt in love.
13)Mustard- A diarrhea victim who can wait no longer.
14)Jam Session- A gathering of sweet-toothed weirdos with various jams and
jellies.
15)Coffee Table- An occasional table made of stale and hard coffee beans.
16)Condom- A very stupid prisoner.
17)Confederate- An inmate who nourishes his cellmate with food he sneaks
from the mess hall.
18)Condiment- A mint left on the pillow of Condolezza Rice's hotel room bed.
19)Metaphor- The reason you met her.
20)Meteor Shower- Cleaning meteors in your shower.
21)Osmosis- A female relative of the Osmond Brothers.
22)Gradute- A successfully educated studend ingested by a cannibal.
23)Grab Bag- A purse snatcher's job.
24)Wind Instrument- A guitar lifted and tossed in a hurricane.
25)Destitute- A broke prostitute.
26)Easygoing- Being tied in a wheelchair and pushed down the steepest street
in San Francisco.
27)Castrated- Judging who belongs in what pecking order in the movie cast.
28)Animosity- Dislike of mice.
29)Barn Dance- A group of barns dancing in a hurricane.
30)Carpeting- Gently stroking an automobile you love.
31)Chirk- A Cherokee idiot.
32)Coddle- Embracing your fish prior to frying.
33)Extraterrestials- Coming from another planet, or from Camden, New Jersey.
34)Hail Mary- A religious woman bombarded in a hail storm.
35)Hair Dresser- The absurd practice of putting dresses on one's head.
36)Homely- When poor ugly Lee is home.
37)Antacid- A psychological hallucinogenic drug favoered by hippy garden
insects.
38)Moron- An overdressed person of limited intelligence with far too much
cologne on.
39)Precession- The last days leading up to an economic downturn.
40)Martial Arts- Paintings done by Western town Sheriffs.
41)Spouse- A married rodent.
42)Consort- Dividing criminals by crime categories.
43)Debaunchery- When de bunch of us Brooklyn guys goes out on de town.
44)Drag Queen- When us guys from Brooklyn beat up and haul around
somebuddy from Queens.
45)Dragoon- Da dumb guy from Queens dat we got above.
The cinnamon red rooster lost
His place in the pecking order
Of the flock where another rooster
Battled him to near death
Leaving him with one eye pecked out
And the other swollen shut
Like a boxer who had gone too many rounds
Against the superior contender
That old rooster, forlorn and isolated
From the majority of the group
Found ways to entertain himself
On barn scraps and hay bales
Awaiting the just right moment
To forage for food and go for water
When all the other birds were away
Nibbling at foliage and insects
Dissecting whatever creature
Happened into their territory
The barn, where they grazed happily
Discovering gourmet rats and worms
Little things that make chickens cluck
Months after the rooster was handicapped
By his sparring partner who ruled the roost
There came a hen, a dainty mushroom colored
Lady who had been pecked at until she was
Swollen and hurting, awaiting demise
Leaving her near the rooster
Where she might find solace from the flock
There came a day when it was clear
Her heart and his were as if only one
They shared more than the loss of eyes
To the frenzied pecking of their dangerous kin
But discovered solidarity with one another
Forming a companionship that was quite beautiful
Together, their eggs grew suitable
For precious and graceful chicks
Who would be, despite their past pain,
Healthy, happy and bustling with pride
Chicks who would find pure delight
In sharing this wounded pair’s insights
Together, they grew stronger and more alive
Than they’d ever been because they were learning
What it means to give the gift of friendship
To another who shares your life experiences
Together, these two grew wise and found solace
In cackling and clucking through life
Perfectly content to avoid the strife
That comes from giving into nasty pride
Humility is sometimes the greatest joy in life
Countless generations lapsed since height of Greco-Roman mythology conceived, birthed and populated vast canopy of sky and expanse of terrestrial firmament, whereat obeisant propinquity quintessentially remains stalwart this day and age as guise dolls dote demonstrably come Valentine’s Day, when Cupid plucked from the quiver, notched in bowstring and launched Eros tinged arrow induces love struck swain to swoon upon a lassie faire, whence fecund female feast proliferates progeny.
Yours truly not necessarily romantic at heart
more accurately methinks myself
lame and inadequate sorry excuse
for reasonably rhyming spouse,
but courtesy after sipping
(née - chugging away
like snorting caboose)
Welch's sparkling white grape juice
accompanied with entree couscous
generic and garden variety
run of the mill by the floss husband
ordinarily fancy free and footloose
feigned being inebriated
noisily squawking - imitating
deafening honking lunging goose
creating ruckus whereby resultant outcome,
whereby wife playfully threatened me
to hang me (all choking aside) with noose,
(I needed to gibbet a chance)
as ye can accurately dead deuce
nearly turning unnatural shade of chartreuse,
thus I immediately called truce
after hiring team of animated experts
Rocky the squirrel
and Bullwinkle the moose.
Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking,
yet straight as an arrow nock king,
establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks
Trevor Jed Engelson Unwittingly...
launched Meghan Markle into royalty
American divorcee
catapulted from “AA” to “Zed”
at break neck speed, and with cachet wed
Prince Harry, and soon
twill begetting, bestowing,
and bewitching her
chromo somal thread
(complementing, furthering, and
weaving together "Quod Erat
Demonstrandum", or QED
for short) within United Kingdom
coat of arms, perhaps
naming the first heir Ned,
and according one online
dictionary definition and ken
translates as French
(Old English) name Eadmund,
meaning rich or happy,
and protective akin
to a mother hen,
not just mollycoddling
hatchlings, but even
shelling out care
on a wing and a prayer
long after offspring
fly the coop and been
fending for themselves,
perhaps merely earning
chicken scratch wage,
assigning doomed fate,
sans cooked usage
if perchance "chick(s)"
go thru a foul stage
within their duff
fenceless hierarchy,
where pecking order doth rage
worse case scenario, would presage
finding errant peep(s)
sent to gaol,
not much bigger than a bird cage,
unless they comprise
noble henny age,
ideally taken in as a pet
by newly bridled
Duchess of Sussex
treated like totally
tubularly true blue blood
with opulent accommodations
(cheaply) tricked out
with life size Tyrannosaurus Rex
(spoiler alert: actually done
with special effe Hex
with latest computer graphics
showing rippling reptiles flex
sing and holo
graphic smoky mirrors)
intending "FAKE"
balances and checks
to boondoggle aggressive paparazzi,
one of whom includes
Meghan Markle's ex.
Nothing more intimate than sleep
wake before dawn, go downtown
prepare for tomorrow, come home from work late.
Most cities prosper undisturbed
sleeping peacefully
while the tide goes out.
Are we asleep or are we dancing,
surrounded by buildings,
a primitive fertility dance in the forest?
Sleeping in my clothes,
sleeping in my underwear,
two dead leaves, then a breeze!
Fall asleep by the river,
in front of tv,
soon I will know who I am.
In the last days you may be found sleeping in the laundry mornings,
or sitting in the holy spot
gazing at a crescent moon.
Get up early but gotta nap,
winter afternoons or summer heat
Thanatopsis, Big Comfy Couch.
Sleep in the bed next to your wife
that way when life ends
someone misses you.
That sounds harsh but we’re matter of fact
about the fact of death.
Death is most of all like sleep.
Doctor, engineer, lawyer, soldier,
writer, poet, that’s the pecking order,
get some sleep, get over it.
Not the kind of gal who’ll have sex twice
on the first date. When that happens
marriage, babies, graduations, tragedies, sleep.
Headache, surgery, through it all
there’s sleep, a haven, heaven, hovel, cave, raven,
a place to be with eyes wide open.
Don’t have a hissy fit
or case of colon cancer, get 8 hours
shuteye in contiguous array.
If not, listen to a TED talk, they like explaining things
Selected Shorts solves insomnia,
The Moth Hour, the peaceful father, mother.
Sweet pleasing Sleep!
in Hades
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually.
Every third thought doesn’t have to be about death.
Sleep together, get laid.
Sleep. How memories are made.
Sleep. In the palm at the end of the mind or on another plane.
Valentines Day always found me quiver and bowed over
Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking
establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
(yepper blame pandemonium on the fox)
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks
at the growing flock
including male friends relatives,
minus yours truly, whose presence,
would merely generate a yawn,
though even a distinct black swan
received royal carpet treatment
particularly one named Shawn
encompassing another honorable guest
with illustrious surname Rawn
guests underwritten by Cupid,
whose presence surreptitiously withdrawn
(invitations distributed widely explained,
just beak cuz gerrymandering redrawn)
even provoking deer interest
of stray doe eyed fawn
hence lacking bravado and brawn
this bird den some seedy,
yet dove out crow kissing Avocet
trundled off to parts unknown you bet
far from boys stir russ, raw cuss, diss-cuss
sing demerits of being in debt
ting clacking clique, and thus this solitary fret
full ostracized, rejected, unwanted egret,
who heron there experienced many a let
down, not simply because of stork disparity
with the Aves and havenots,
but I never met
any other species so set
in their ways, hence off
on a wing and prayer
in search of other gulls,
whom this dodo bird they will coe vet!
Hens and Roosters in the barnyard
living in symbiotic relationships
each searching for kernels of corn.
Taking turns with beaks they snip
scorned and pecked. What the heck?
How hard should it be to get along
even when some foul fowl are wrong?
Cockadoodle don't squawk at me...
Why can't you see
peace in the barnyard is a reverie.
Squawk squawk...scratch scratch
Roosters and hens don't get along
Farmer, unlock the gate latch
to free those who don't belong.
Don't scratch, peck and complain
when you don't garner fame.
There should be no pecking order
Don't point the finger of blame
when you don't know the root
from which the clawing came
or you'll feel the farmer's boot.
Don't be misled by words of ruse
from roosters or hens on the loose.
They're out to suck up the worm
in the early morning sun...
their charade has just begun.
Squawk squawk...scratch scratch
Roosters and hens don't get along
Farmer, unlock the gate latch
to free those who don't belong.
Don't tell me this is a fabrication...
of a chicken barnyard story.
This is merely an observation
of things that are not hunky-dory
Beware the fox, lurking near
feathers ruffled in the barnyard
Cockadoodle don't live in fear
of a fox, a wolf, a fraud.
Keep safe the eggs in your nest
Don't leave your children unguarded
Outwitting the fox is a test
One for which you'll be rewarded.
They squawked and squawked
scratched and scratched
Roosters and hens in the barnyard.
"Cockadoodle Don't Will Open the Gate,"
is the title to a new hen house song.
I read the news today, oh boy
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,
The fox in is charge of the hen house
Gates are secure but the creature is inside
Feathers fly in helter skelter patterns
“You’ve got to crack a few eggs” is heard
as those who see the commotion, scramble
A dozen or so duck the falling shells,
raining down from straw filled verses,
bland but obviously first in the pecking order,
hoping it all would be over…easy
While over on Broadway a church mouse sings off key
to a blindfolded audience
waiting to applaud until the curtain goes down,
so not to be seen greeting late arrivals
with luggage and tickets
hoping the next show is not sold out
for this standing room only presentation
Fortunately three, maybe four seats still remain unoccupied
as stale nachos and sticky floors beckon
The lights go down and the band strikes up
a rousing intro to what should be a good show,
at least that’s what the old reviews said,
“It was 20 years ago today,
4 stars, brilliantly directed, the best choice
for your daily intake of long haired culture…”
When a tuxedo with a smile and a black carnation
makes its way to center stage
and begins reading backwards,
“I buried Paul”
Boos ring out from the crowd.
“We came here for poetry!” was shouted in unison
But it just kept on, “Number 9, number 9, number 9”
The audience ran for the exit doors (stage left)
and as they hit the streets looking for something better
they encountered a walrus
wearing a sandwich board sign the read,
“Turn me on dead man”
Meanwhile, back at the chicken coop…
Ring with no feather in my cap only envy
at handsome man drakes with bucks,
who could bank on "hot chicks" willingly
aligned in arrow emitting clucks
fluffing their respective tail feathers amidst
loud squawking out quacking
establishing pecking order like ducks,
or any other foxy fowl billetted
within walled din noisy hen house
preening, each be solder self flux
sing wings and waddling, flirting, casting...
webbed wide good lucks
at the growing flock
including male friends relatives,
minus yours truly, whose presence,
would merely generate a yawn,
though even a distinct black swan
received royal carpet treatment
particularly one named Shawn
encompassing another honorable guest
with illustrious surname Rawn
guests underwritten by Cupid,
whose presence surreptitiously withdrawn
(invitations distributed widely explained,
just beak cuz gerrymandering redrawn)
even provoking deer interest
of stray doe eyed fawn
hence lacking bravado and brawn
this bird den some seedy,
yet dove out crow kissing Avocet
trundled off to parts unknown you bet
far from boys stir russ, raw cuss, diss cuss
ting clacking clique, and thus this solitary fret
full ostracized, rejected, unwanted egret,
who heron there experienced many a let
down, not simply because of stork disparity
with the Aves and havenots,
but I never met
any other species so set
in their ways, hence off
on a wing and prayer
in search of other gulls,
whom this dodo bird they will coe vet!