Long Pigs Poems
Long Pigs Poems. Below are the most popular long Pigs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pigs poems by poem length and keyword.
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?
70.
My Life in Dumarao
Dumarao – teen and adult abode
Where memories are both good and bad
My gratefulness when I received from thee
School honor garnered unexpectedly
But in exchange I got few friends only
Who later dwindled ‘til I was lonely
Our improved house resembling a prison
My routine changed, I was in derision
The field not ours was developed further
Without buying it from the landowner
Father's money were quickly exhausted
Everynight's like party – glasses toasted
Foods that we should eat – to animals fed
Chickens, pigs, pigeons, goats…later were dead
So there emerged our sari-sari store
Which I needed also to take care for
Time for fun, highschool gimmicks – missed a lot
To redeem my lost school honor I plot
Yet, all in vain, worse, my batch had fallen
In school competitions where we should win
After all, tragic OLSI memory
Taught me never again to be bossy
And when I was already in UP
My vow in life was full humility
On class days, I learned a lot in Miagao
On weekends, I went back to Dumarao
Where life was still and moving in slow pace
So when I thought I was behind the race
Worked even before I marched from college
On government office even low wage
Not disappointed, but discontented
To Metro Manila I bravely fled
Tutor in Korean Academy
Not fired, not resigned, left job abruptly
At those times of blatant stupidity
To home once again with my family
Maybe fate wants me to be here
Dumarao's love for me may be sincere
And I think I'm also loving thee now
If our love fails again, there's broken vow
Now, your weakness I slowly understand
My test of faith I patiently withstand.
-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
We do things a little different here
Down on the farm
With chickens in the kitchen
Instead of outside in the barn
Pigs back in the bedroom
Watching Jeopardy, eating candy corn
Yes, we do it a little different
Down here on the farm
We have the cows over for dinner
Every Thursday night
Used to be more often
But not since the big food fight
The cows and horses don't get along
I really don't understand their dislike
That's why we had to cut back
To dinner only on Thursday night
The sheep pile into the Ranchero
Whenever we head to town
To stock up on their favorite Doritos
And licorice by the pound
When they get behind the wheel
They feel they're heaven bound
When ever it is those licorice loving lambs
Herd themselves downtown
Things seem to be running smoothly
Down here on the farm
We all do our on cooking and cleaning
So we pretty much get along
All except for the pigs
But that we should have known
We still are having a Whoop & Hollering time
Down here on the farm
Cats and rats and rabbits and dogs are regarded as pets,
For us, in India, cows and buffalo are assets;
Seldom we witness, in villages, people dog-walking,
Or sleeping cats and young pigs in their beds or dove flocking;
Feeding even stray cats and dogs out of their very meal,
Has been part and parcel of our compos mentis love-deal...!
Though some religions and sects, here, worship cow as divine,
And build for them, just as for goddesses, many a shrine;
In day-to-day life these animals like poor urchins, roam,
To walk and sleep aimless like an orphan with no true home;
Meandering on roads; hit, kicked; for existence they strive,
As though birth is a curse, often, they struggle to survive...!
If we cannot keep them safe at home, could we call them pets?
Feeding them; curing illnesses; shouldn't we save them from frets?
Shouldn't cows and bulls have befitting sheds, as we have our homes?
Shouldn't, for their grazing and feeding, they have their lush green loams?
As none could imagine of leaving mothers on the streets,
Pets, beloved, should be cared for as though very heart beats...!!!
17 March 2023
Beloved Pets Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
The sheep in the nearby pasture
Heard what the cows had done
In the building of their rocket ship
And they too wanted one
A few of them shaved for pocket money
Black market wool brings a hefty price
While some went out to Las Vegas
To try their luck at the roll of the dice
First thing they did with the money
Was to spring for Sherman's release
The only one in the family to go to Harvard
Though it was for experiments on his mind which apparently they fleeced
Right away they noticed something odd about Sherman
Something that just wasn't quite right
But passed it off as genius quirkiness
And let that idea slide by
They told Sherman what it was they wanted
Said he had a mad...um...master plan
All the sheep turned and Baaa'd together
What was that, that he just said?
For weeks all they heard was banging and clanging
From inside their farmers shed
The only activity they saw outside
The massive delivery of Dominos crazy bread
One day the shed doors flew wide open
There stood Sherman as mad as acid rain
No doubt among the sheep in the pasture
He was Bonkers, Loony, Loopy...okay Sherman's insane
As he drug his creation into the open
Not a one in the crowd uttered a word
Till little Bobby Black Sheep spoke up and said
Is that a cows udder?...is that what they think that they just herd?!
Sherman took that moment of bewilderment
To swing onto udder #4
Strapping himself inside of his contraption
And shooting off for the stars
Sherman is still up there circling the planet
Did you hear about the phenomenon in Spain?
Just the other day something amazing there happened
There was the pouring of milk instead of rain...
But we know how that miracle happened
And that it came from the udders galore
Cause when your traveling through space like Sherman
What else would udders be for
Just heard from the Pigs...
They too want a piece of this action...
Imagine if everything was topsy-turvy
The sky was a bright yellow green
Grass was a deep shade of crimson
The strangest darn sight you've seen
People walking around upside down
No need for wearing shoes
Six foot birds with smelly breath
A dog with a very loud mew
It sure would seem like a funny world
If all the pigs wore pants
An elephant doing a pirouette
Even crocodiles doing a dance
You'd eat some meat for a midnight snack
For the main course only good stuff
Like some apple right-side-up cake
Which you could always get enough
What a topsy-turvy world it would be
If you greeted friends with “good-bye”
Total confusion would surely reign
Happy things would make you cry
© Jack Ellison 2013
Leaking through the worn, gray boards, like a trickle from a dream. Where gentle thoughts raised prayers through the loft, tiers spilled out tears, remembering the quiet moments before. Yesterday, when the silence was broken by gentle moos and squealing pigs, squawking hens beating away the cats from her nibbling brood of dibs. Remembering the truth of a summer quivering, the trembling of rain falling on a tin roof, lulling away the afternoon beneath the tender song, breathless as daybreak and just as whimsical.
It was here, beyond the barn’s yawning doors, that my heart learned to appreciate the simple things. The still, cool pulse of twilight, the discreet brush of hope – soundless as light, pouring out over the soul who knows that God’s breath flows in through those moments, those charming moments, when the heart hears only the sound of His music, softly echoing through the beautiful.
When the wolf applied nicely
If he could come in,
The pigs replied thricely he shouldn't.
Then they scratched at the hairs
On their chinny chin chins,
And tightly bolted the door so he wouldn't.
But wolves, when out shopping,
Are not easily put off,
Even faced with the risks they are takin'.
This one ignored the wheezing,
And the nagging, rasping cough,
In his lust for ham, pork chops, and bacon.
First, he blew down the straw house,
Then the one made of sticks,
But by the third he was straining and grasping.
It was a veritable fortress
Of well-mortared bricks,
And emphysema left him panting and gasping.
With one last mournful howl,
The wolf knew he was done
And lay down in the driveway, embarrassed.
The pigs regained their composure
And called 911,
But when the cops came, the wolf claimed he was harassed.
The argument raged
For an hour or more
'til the cops gave them all a citation.
Still gasping for breath
As he slunk from the door,
The wolf was stopped by a squealed invitation.
"Wolfie, oh, Wolfie, please won't you come in?
We'd so like to have you for lunch."
And he would have gone on and ignored the appeal,
If he only knew that "ragout de loup" (pr. rah-goo duh loo)
Was the entrée, but he had no hunch,
And he was not one to pass up a free meal.
When a wolf's sick and hungry,
He might let down his guard
And do dumb things a wolf shouldn't ought to.
But for pigs, it's expedient
To get the final ingredient
Required for a tasty "wolf stew".
The wolf's huffing and puffing
Couldn't even come close
To the pigs' stratagems and devices.
After seven martinis,
It still hadn't dawned on the dope
That intelligence wasn't one of his vices.
If he'd had more brains than brawn,
This poor wolf might have known
That the pigs never meant to surrender.
They'd no more need to fear or hate him,
They knew the booze would marinate him,
So when they served him up and ate him,
He'd be quite succulent and tender.
If this tale has a moral, I'd like to propose
That "three heads are better than one" be selected.
In this case, not the one who worked the hardest,
But the ones who worked the smartest,
And as the little piggies guessed,
The wolf was the perfect luncheon guest.
Of course, their table manners weren't the best,
So they still made pigs of themselves, as expected.
Does little nightingale say the cause of her song?
I write; I do not know how long my voice will gong;
Does the peacock ask a favor from you to dance?
Don't all wild, when needed, their little mite enhance?
I thought, I will write to change this world; I was wrong;
Who reads these-days? Especially poetic song;
Does the elephant fail to trumpet when needed?
Poems, from time immemorial, proceeded...!
Pigs know, before time, appearance of the earthquake,
Crows caw before a guests steps in a little home;
When an eagle can any sleeping person awake,
Can't a poet, at-least, in his memories roam...?
Buds bloom; nectar secretes; bees and flies fly around,
Should not a poet, ultimately, make his sound?
01 September 2022
I write because Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
The butcher came for the sheep
the cow did not moo, she wasn't a sheep
The butcher came for the goats
the cow did not moo, she wasn't a goat
The butcher came for the pigs
The cow did not moo, she wasn't a pig
Then the butcher came for the cow
her bull and her calves,
The rest of the farm was eerily silent
Remembering the poem of Martin Niemöller
"First they came …" a post-war 1946 poem written in prose by Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller, who was a German (1892–1984). In it he speaks of cowardice which German intellectuals as well as some of the clergy felt in the hellish nightmare of the Jewish people. In this poem, by his own admission, a coward, looking away during Hitler's rise to power. In my own rendition of a farm, compared to his, is rather ridiculous. I just want to acknowledge his poem at this time in history. Please pray that God give our leaders insight, and clarity on what must be accomplished. Please pray for the people of Ukraine, and, please look the poem up.