Long Trimmings Poems
Long Trimmings Poems. Below are the most popular long Trimmings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trimmings poems by poem length and keyword.
The human being
(also referred throughout history
as 'long pig' and 'hairless goat'
in the case of younger specimens)
Observing the anatomy and skeleton,
one can see that the human animal
after death young tender meat.
The large central pelvis and broad shoulder blades
also interfere with achieving perfect cuts.
There are advantages to this however,
especially due to the fact that the specimen girl
will weigh between 100-200 pounds,
easily manipulated by one man with proper leverage.
Controlled environments like institutions or jails before.
Health and diet to outward appearances maintained.
Humans are not very kind to the dead here it is why you are.
You are an unknown to me
thus subject to an enormous range of diseases,
infections, chemical imbalances,
and poisonous bad habits, all typically decreasing with age.
I personally prefer calm firm caucasian females
in their early teens.
These are 'ripe'.
But the saw varies from cut to cut,
and again there it is a very large herd to choose from.
The M.E.)
Medical Examiner will need a fairly large room and sufficient space
in which to work (an interior location is suggested)
and a large table for a butcher's block.
A central overhead support will need to be chosen
or installed ahead of time to hang the young body from.
Large tubs or barrels for blood
and waste trimmings should be convenient,
and a water source close by.
Most of the work can be done with a few simple tools.
Sharp, clean short and long bladed knives,
a cleaver or hatchet, and a hacksaw and ribspreaders.
Body Preparation requires plenty of water.
This helps flush the system,
purging stored toxins and bodily wastes,
as well as making bleeding and cleaning easier.
This one I will call Jane doe 007
was found at a bar stunned into insensitivity.
Sharp unexpected blows to the head put her at rest
quite is best, tranquilizers being recommended
If this is not possible without exciting the body
and causing a longer struggle (which then pumps
a greater volume of blood
and secretions such as adrenaline throughout the body
A single bullet through the middle of the forehead
exiting the back of the skull here did nice.
For what ever reason her companion is here right beside her.
Is is called murder suicide I think it is two suicides.
Whom ever goes last gets the cellophane wrap.
Dawn creeping over the land
fresh sprinkling of snow
makes the garden gleam
Grandma already busy
she is preparing dinner
a fine fat goose awaits
Stuffed with chestnuts
it goes in to slowly roast
heavenly smells emerge
Stirrings from up above
The children run down
excitement shining on faces
As they spy the presents
picking the up for a shake
called to come for breakfast
Impatiently they eat their food
then outside to build a snowman
they dress it in Dad's old clothes
They sit fidgeting through service
yawning as the sermon drags on
rushing home as fast as feet can carry
At last time to open presents
a shiny new red bike for Sue
a monster truck for Gary
Mum gets jewellery and perfume
a set of tools for Dad
Grandma gets her special chair
The goose and all the trimmings ready
Dad carves and serves them all
deep silent just clatter of cutlery
As the food is demolished
everyone is now so stuffed
they flop where there is room
Get your coats and scarves on
groaning they go out carol singing
soon having great fun
Returning to hot cocoa
and toasted marshmallows
in front of a roaring fire
As the sun slowly sets
the children are sent to bed
moans that it is too early
Fall on suddenly deaf ears
now it is adult time
out come the cards and gin
Much later reeling they stagger to bed
a few too many drinks were downed in toasts
as they shared memories of past Christmas's
A New York born greenhorn, name of Talley,
Felt a free meal challenge up his alley.
Known as seventy-two-ounce steaks abode
Into the Big Texan he boldly strode,
As the patient Big Texan clock looked on.
“I am fair game to feast,” boasted the lad.
“To eat all the food waiting to be had.
I shall gobble the steak and trimmings too
Along with a yard of your finest brew.”
And the skeptical Texan clock looked on.
Rare steak, potato, salad, brew, and roll
To consume all in an hour was the goal.
His table was set with food looking grand.
Talley then sat down, knife and fork in hand.
The referee Texan clock started on.
Slashing and stabbing he attacked the steak,
Popping meat in his mouth, scarcely to chew,
Giving his stomach a challenge to brew.
A rare swig of beer was his only break
As the alert Texan clock counted on.
At fifteen minutes, Talley was on pace
To hold himself free of shame and disgrace.
He gorged large tomatoes with salad greens,
Wishing he had ordered a side of beans.
As the steady Texan clock counted on.
At half past the hour young Talley felt great,
Enjoying with relish all that he ate.
The loaded potato seemed so easy
Brew kept his stomach from feeling queasy
As the earnest Texan clock counted on.
Fully forty-five minutes had flashed past
Talley knew he that was having a blast.
Winning seemed sure, Talley felt the die cast,
As bite by bite, he downed his huge repast.
The relentless Texan clock counted on.
In minutes Talley wore a smiling face
Thinking victory he would soon embrace.
With seconds left he washed down his last bite,
Knowing that he ate a free meal that night.
The referee Texan clock ticked time gone.
For the watching diners who viewed him nuts,
A camera caught him spilling his guts
As the victorious youthful Talley
Spewed his steak dinner out in the alley
And the stoic Big Texan clock looked on.
The sun receded quietly on a relaxing siesta, as
Calm clouds of the mid-afternoon smiled henced,
The beat of the drums provideth dancing rhythm
As she moved in pure elegance with harmony, to
A style of danced buoyantly bouncing in melody.
Crafted beadworks accented her warmth charm,
Under her delicately brown-jeweled moccasins
The grass provideth such a natural cushion,
As Angular unique flexings of her gentle knees
Resonated like an eagle’s stealthy landing
Quietly in its nests with an eye on a nice prize.
She tingled as the sound of bells jingled
Sending pure melodic rhythm to ears—many!
Whilst she turned in an elegantly slow motion
Fringes from her shawl swayed air of warmth.
The balls of her feet moved in slight degrees as
Her heels touched Mother Earth softly in harmony,
She smiled as the judges watched intently. Like
A graceful dove she floated with precision—uniquely!
Her buckskin regalia trimmings—so singed softly!
As she danced in the sunset evening's twilight;
She created an energetic circle of life’s fire
Yet, never raised her ceremonial feathered fan,
Whilst in clear focus emerged from the dance
Regal styles of proud cultural Native heritage
A contrastingly exquisite fine female figure
Arousing sights in the soft evening’s twilight,
Dispelling the uncertainly to even look twice,
Elegantly noble and much marvelously nice:
She was naturally—First Woman!
~~~~~~~~~**********~~*~~~~~~~~~
Written During Oneida Nation Annual 2010
Independence Weekend Pow-wow Celebration
Host Drummers – Bear Creek
Oneida, Wisconsin, Bordering Green Bay
~~~~~~~~~**~~*********~~~~~~~~~
Won Honorable Mentioned Prize
Images Contest
Sponsored by Frank Herrera
7/15/10
~~~~~~~~~**~~*********~~~~~~~~~
Mom held big dinners at Christmas time. Family and friends would arrive, each bringing their contribution to the feast along with gifts. Mom baked her dressing in round little balls, all crispy with gravy and potatoes and all sorts of culinary delights.
turkey with trimmings –
gifts
Stories were told around the table with wine and coffee afterwards; right before some folks fell asleep while sitting in a chair; full bellies consumed wakefulness. Everyone went home with leftovers for a week or two. Since then, so many passed, I remember them to this day and the joy they brought along with their food.
sitting
around the table –
stories
Mom would cook both a turkey and a ham. We kids, had a table to ourselves, usually in the kitchen. Aunts and Uncles and their children arrived. We’d play until dinner time, anticipating the mouth-watering flavors. My Great Aunt Mattie always brought her, “Heavenly Hash”, a fruity pink, parfait-like salad, my favorite.
pink and silvered baubles –
heavenly hash
There were so many great bakers in my family. The dessert flavors, magical, pumpkin, pecan, peanut butter and chocolate pies, blueberry or peach cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream; sometimes even cookies.
sugary gingerbread baking –
sprinkles
After the meal, we’d all gather around the tree to exchange gifts. We’d make a terrible mess while, opening our presents.
gathered
around the tree –
colored boxes
11-25-19
December or January Haibun Contest Poetry Contest
Caren Krutsinger
Gum trees standing tall amid the scorching sun.
Home for Christmas day, each and every one.
Old Sam from the house next door,
Accepted our invite to share lunch once more.
Each year on Christmas day he joins us, as long as I have known.
It wouldn’t be right for him to spend Christmas all alone.
Those that didn’t get home from Midnight Mass til early morn,
Opening gifts at the crack of dawn, look tired and a little worn.
Mum comes in hot and disheveled and tells us all to take a seat.
We know by the aroma we are in for a Christmas treat.
We carry baked veg and gravy, Dad brings the turkeys to carve.
A slap-up lunch with all the trimmings no-one here will starve.
Mum hops up to bring dessert and complains of the kitchen heat.
Plumb pudding, its 42 degrees says Dad you woman have got me beat.
Ice cream would have done as he hands his pudding dish for more.
Once all the food was eaten old Sam offers thanks galore.
He musters the children to sit around him on the loungeroom floor.
As he begins telling them a story of a magical tour.
The children are enchanted as into his memory he reaches.
Wonderous stories of things they’ve never seen, describing beaches.
Golden sand and dolphins surfing the waves of oceans blue.
Country children that had never seen a beach. His stories are so new.
Dad stretches in his favorite chair saying what a great Christmas Day.
The Children gather their new toys, and some begin to play.
Sam in his big raspy voice begins singing carols. All join in one by one.
Mum quietly exclaims. “There's still the washing up to be done.”
'Twas the day after Thanksgiving and all of its ado and congestion.
I'd consumed too much turkey and pie and due to its ingestion,
Today, I'm suffering from a very acute case of indigestion!
I should've stifled my gluttonous bent - of that there is no question!
Of turkey meat and the trimmings I've had more than enough,
But my spouse has already planned next week's menu in the rough,
Saying, "You'll eat what I fix and I want none of your inane guff!
I know how to dispose of leftover turkey and all that other stuff!"
So, a hearty turkey stew and sweet taters are on the menu Monday.
A steaming bowl of turkey soup will grace our board on Tuesday.
Two turkey sandwiches with green bean casserole we'll have Wednesday.
Turkey salad and punkin pie will be placed before me for lunch Thursday.
A heap of mashed taters topped with turkey a la king for dinner Friday.
Turkey fricassee with cranberry sauce we'll eat for dinner Saturday.
Enough turkey was available for potpies that we'll dine on Sunday.
YeeHah! Ain't no more turkey - I'll have a cheeseburger come next Monday!
Lord, You know I'm mighty thankful for that which You graciously provide,
And please don't thing me an ungrateful oaf, but if in You I may confide,
May it please You come next Thanksgiving, 'twould be so very nice,
If You'd provide a simple meat loaf, mashed pertaters and wild rice!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Old magazines, pictures that pose;
Junk cluttering, ready-to-throw;
Stray offerings for scrapbook close;
I'm selecting new collage flow.
Flip each page here, tear picture pacts;
A nice neat stack, stray page with poise;
Beauty that steers, pieces of tact;
Sift pile and slack, find image choice.
With easy pace, seek treasures lost;
Start to address new storyboard;
Assign new space, at zero cost;
Begin to press, cut-and-paste hoard.
Cut, trim and gum, pieces of art;
Ideas run wild in collage grain;
Here and there lump, unusual parts;
Just like a child: magic laid plain!
And pictures grow, images lift;
Collage art sings new melodies;
New chance to glow, warm purpose sifts;
Junk page now spring, clear textures see.
Thus one by one, I shape new stuff;
Discarded print, pictures galore;
Artwork frees fun, prime zest enough;
Colours and tints, avant garde core.
I feel my soul, at ease with this;
Paper cuttings, sharp cutter blade;
Trim to make whole, relax with gist;
Patchwork trimmings, pictures re-made!
This strange crusade to re-use print;
I come to know heals more and more;
Art left unsaid, re-lives new mint;
Collage that shows new life galore!
Art goes to show that discards can
Be of good use if I can see
A brand new flow in whimsy's plan:
Heart sparks a fuse to free beauty.
Leon Enriquez
24 February 2014
Singapore
Crystal Magnificent Morning
You should see LA
In the crystal magnificent morning of continuing time.
It is a magic that has to be seen to be believed,
And yet,
So few have truly seen the show.
The LA sunrise is the unknown movie,
When the eastern sun slowly rises,
And with hot rays searing the air like electric swords in battle,
Baking the Big Enchilada,
Baking those tall high rises
Like big meatloaves in a garden oven.
That’s what I see from here in the mornings,
Here in my Kasbah.
I see all you lost people out there,
Lost as lambs in the dark pastures,
I know who you are.
Don’t think I don’t know.
I know what it’s like to be insanely bored.
I know what it’s like to be depressed,
To be sad.
I know what it’s like to want to die.
I sit up here all day waiting for my girl to show up,
And I imagine
And I think
And I dream;
Dream of climbing mountains above the clouds,
Of getting through Joyce’s Ulysses all the way to the end,
Of taking Norma Jeane into my arms
And staring into her sad lost eyes
And kissing her with excruciating urgency.
These are, indeed, the dreams of a sad lost man.
Green Onions. That’s the song!
Green Onions was playing on the radio that morning.
Booker T. was her last lover…
And not I…
As she reached for the phone.
“Help me, Jack. They’ve killed me!
They have taken my clothes, and my soul.”
Indeed, I know what it’s like to want to die.
“What good is all this?
What good is all this money and fame?
A person works and strives and struggles all their life,
And what do you get in the end,
When all is said and done?
A funeral.
A 1962 funeral with all the trimmings!
It’s not worth it, Piggy, darling.
It’s just not worth it.
Please hold me in your arms.
I am afraid of the dark.
I am afraid of being alone in the darkness of my grave.
Please Piggy! Don’t let them bury me!
Now kiss me hard.
Now make love to me.
I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
You should see LA
In the crystal magnificent morning of continuing time.
It is indeed a magic that has to be seen to be believed.
Goodnight Norma Jeane.
Good night America.
It is time for another screaming sunset.
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?”