Long Turkey Poems
Long Turkey Poems. Below are the most popular long Turkey by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Turkey poems by poem length and keyword.
Inside a classroom of a Fourth-grade elementary pupils in early 1990s, pupils were asked by their Speech and Writing teacher to write anything about Christmas.
One male pupil, not a good reader/writer, wrote something else in an acrostic form...
C - Christ, cousins, casino, church, caroling,
Christmas cards, candies, Christmas
Tree, Chess, Care Bears, chocolates,
ChocNut
H - Happy family, Handycam, homily, ham,
hunting, horse, hope
R - Relatives, recycling, renovation, recital,
roller coaster, roller skating, rowing,
running, restaurant, rent payment
Red Riding Hood, Robin Hood,
Richie Rich, Rumplestiltskin
I - Inspirational people, icicles, ice cream,
igloo, ibex, Intramurals
S - Snow, snowman, superheroes, Santa Claus,
saints, Snow White, Simpsons, sparrows,
squirrels, Sesame Street
T - Trips, television, tennis, table tennis,
trouser, typhoon, tornado, Typewriter,
Telephone, Telephone booth,
tranquilizer, The Flintstones, Tom and Jerry,
The Jetsons, turkey
M - Mother, Mary, minister, magic, monkey,
Mary See, medicines, money, motel,
Mickey Mouse, Mr. Bean, Miss Universe
pageant, movies, My Teacher, My 2 crush
A - Angels, Angelus prayer, ABBA and all
good, beautiful "A"s in this World
S - Sweater, stars, sand, singing, strolling,
spelunking, skateboarding, swimming,
skydiving, skiing, Smurfs, Scrabble, soup
Every pupil was called to read his/her own writing in front of the class. The said male pupil was asked about her two (2) crush with initials "OK" and "MS" and said:
"OK is the female Belarusian gymnast who introduced the deadly 'Korbut flip' in the World Olympics and "MS is the young, great tennis player from Yugoslavia."
What would you like for supper, my first-and-last marriage-mate asks me so sweetly
He offers to run out to many fast food places, and not so discreetly.
He lists Arby’s first, for their turkey market fresh sandwich is sublime.
I can make one at home, I reply quickly, though it might not be half as fine.
Chicken from a chicken place? He offers, or pizza, his favorite, not mine.
Watch this, I say, as I throw open the frig, and grab out the Miracle Whip.
He shudders as I make my favorite peanut butter lettuce sandwich, so rich.
I do not know how you can eat peanut butter and Miracle Whip together, he laments.
I take a third bite, loving each savory bite, my own concoction, which tastes heaven sent.
You want to know its merits?
Very well, then. Daylight slants
deliciously across the boy's
inclined, thoughtful face.
His lace collar, crumpled,
houses valleys of shadow.
Or what about the Water Seller?
Look at that poncho's warm
woven woollen texture:
and isn't the rip in the shoulder fun?
And the dimples on the pot!
They scream "potness" at us.
Or the beads of water
clinging to the larger vessel,
whose horizontal striations
practically smell
of the potter's wheel.
But oh, that drinking-glass!
Does it seem possible to you
that unctuous oils and minerals
of earth, gouged from the soil,
can render the ethereal soul of glass?
It was a winter afternoon.
I'd gone along to the gallery
on the off-chance.
Standing before this marvel,
I found myself entranced.
But even as I gazed, the sun
(though never very confident in London)
stepped out coyly from behind a cloud.
Duck's-egg orange light, resplendent,
now fell aslant the canvas.
Surely this was harmful?
Sunlight bleaches (does it not?)
the colour out of things.
Alarm bells should be ringing.
I summoned a uniform attendant.
He nodded sagely as I explained
- but did nothing.
Why should he care?
Minimum wage is no great motivator.
An hour from now,
he'd be hanging up that peaked cap,
and be a person until Monday.
No point in bursting
a blood-vessel
over a silly painting. Later.
But I couldn't leave it.
If I stood just thus,
my human frame was just enough
to block the sun.
One little skirmish could be won
if I remained here
until the sun’s trajectory was done,
or the gallery closed,
whichever came the sooner.
So I did. On tip-toe,
spine inclined, quiet,
I crowded out the light of day
for more than an hour.
Pointless, you say.
I can't deny it.
The very next day,
And each subsequent foray
of Phoebus would
merely recreate the problem.
That's hardly the point.
Finding myself there,
I beat my ploughshare
into a sword and,
for that tiny slice of time,
I made the sacrifice,
bore the quizzical looks
with equanimity, quirky,
standing like a turkey
on tenterhooks
and saved the painting.
All around the horn and neatly placed inside.
A battle of the fittest, a chance to seek a bride.
The mythical Cornucopia, a consecrated piece.
Sought by all the Gods, a broken horn from a beast.
A cheat became a bull, a legacy now it warns.
If you mess with the bull will you get or take its horns?
Maybe it came from Zeus the answers not quite clear.
I just set mine on the table with some turkey and a beer.
It might be filled with fruit depending on beliefs.
In Colorado it might be pot to give some good relief.
However, it got its start, it’s now a symbol and very trendy.
Whomever may possess one will live a life that’s good and plenty.
Cornucopia Poetry Contest for Kai Michael Neumann
5-10-20
The last few years Thanksgiving was a lot of turkey for the two of us.
Our children usually have other plans. Our friends do too.
This year I decided no more turkey, I wanted beef. I began cooking it at five.
It looks pretty tender.
I have invited my friend Elise, who was delighted.
I was surprised, thinking she would beg off.
But she called and said she would love to.
And we would love to have her.
If I give her my bad cold I will feel badly,
But I love company.
I texted my daughter Angela that she is welcome.
She almost never says yes.
She texted that she is coming!
Lunch is all ready, and it looks fabulous!
I am excited beyond excited!
What a great day because we have doubled
The amount of people who will be here!
I am excited beyond belief!
This ended up being a terrific fabulous wonderful Thanksgiving!
Angela brought vegetables all over the place and created dishes.
It was spectacular.
I never taught her this.
U-tube maybe?
Elise brought salad.
We sent her home with most of it.
We are not rabbits.
I ate more beef than most people eat in a year.
Complete with potatoes and carrots.
I am from Iowa after all.
My husband was with me on this.
We slurped up the beef neck to neck.
This ended up being a terrific fabulous wonderful Thanksgiving!
Baila, Lilah; move your thing.
Ragtime; Turkey Trot!
Magic step into the Swing.
Show us ALL you’ve got.
Boogie Woogie; Lindy Hop;
Shim Sham Shimmy it.
Snazzy-jazzy, quick-quick, stop?
Jitterbugs don’t quit!!
Hanky Panky; do the Stroll;
Hand Jive; Twist and Shout.
Mash Potato; Rock and Roll.
Shake it all about!
Go ahead and be a nerd.
Hustle like you do!
Do the Jerk and do the Bird.
And the Hitchhike too.
70’s were kind of fun.
Lift those Disco feet.
You are a phenomenon
Keeping to that beat.
Walk like an Egyptian now.
Macarena’s cool;
Moon Walk too if you know how.
You’re a dancing fool!
Now add Salsa, and Cha Cha;
Mambo in that way
Like you do for Mardi Gras.
Shimmy as you sway.
You’re a Caribbean queen.
Do Calypso, Girl!
Pretty little dance machine,
Whirl and whirl and whirl.
Make the ending really big.
Time to AMPLIFY.
This is not the Irish Jig.
Break it down; be fly.
Power move; do things untried.
Pop it, Fancy Pants,
Krump it; Lock it; Suicide!
Baila, Lilah. Dance!
I was a picked on,
bullied, browbeaten, buffaloed boy
from Buffalo New York.
I grew up on Buffalo’s lower east side,
the ghetto by another name.
The Frederick Douglass towers.
Formerly the Talbert Mall
better known as the Jefferson projects.
The home turf to a gang
called the Pythons.
It was a place
where angels fear to tread.
I had so many bullies
it’s a wonder I didn't end up dead.
I had more bullies
than the law allowed.
I survived my childhood somehow.
I can count one hand
how many times
I was saved by gang members. (5)
I join a bigger gang
right after high school.
The United States Army,
and saw the world,
Germany, Turkey and Italy.
I met the man who would be
my Kung-Fu master,
three years later he had made me
a very dangerous man.
Back stateside I became
DJ Bobby K “The One to Know”
For a little over fourteen years,
I played the music
that made the difference.
All the while I heard the voices.
In the year 2,000
I took a course
in creative writing,
and Bobby K
“The Poor Man's Poet was born.”
Now when I go out to speak,
I mean to be heard,
giving voice to the spoken word.
Genghis loves Godshalls turkey bacon for him I fry
Sassy wants her butter pancake pieces stack high
Love my morning scramble eggs fluffy delight
after a morning prayer we satisfy our appetites
On my plate some bacon and a pancake or two
with a small plate for scramble eggs will nicely do
In their dog food bowls pieces of bacon top
for Sassy pancake pieces pile on, she pleas don't stop
I set their food down and they begin to chow
Genghis only eats his bacon bits and sits awhile
Waiting for Sassy to chomp her pancake feast
than Genghis moves to her bowl for her bacon he eats
She backs up and lets the little fellow eat out of her bowl
Sassy loves her grouchy little Genghis and it shows
I top off my meal with a cup of coffee or two
and let the dogs run outside when they are through
A great way to start a day and even beginning the week
to have a great breakfast with the foods that are a treat.
(By the time of the shooting of
"The Misfits", the Miller-Monroe
marriage was in deep trouble.
The Pansy is Montgomery Clift,
The Tusker is John Huston.)
After the Fall
It started as a mental exercise.
I wondered if an East-Side Jew like me
(Richard Rodgers, Brooklyn Dodgers,
Staten Ferry, Tom and Jerry,
Radio City, Walter Mitty,
Buddy Rich, Seven-Year Itch)
could sing the song of Stetson-wearing guys,
could capture something of the poetry
of men who have no words.
But then it grew, as all these projects do.
And then I fell in love with Norma-Jean
(no, Marilyn is someone else). I knew
I had to show the world what I had seen
of men who chase the herds.
(Levi jeans, chilli beans,
mustang culls, rodeo bulls,
Misfit Flats, lariats,
pony carts, engine parts,
happy hour, whiskey sour,
bronkin' bucks, pickup trucks,
buying beers, tying steers,
fancy boots, turkey shoots).
Sincerely? Dearly? Yes. I loved that woman -
the one inside, not on the billboard, pouting.
I cared so much, I guess I had it coming.
I was The Man, the one to take it out on.
A mustang in the dirt,
the more I squirmed, the tighter drew the ropes.
She ran to Gable. Primal passion? Rather,
the one thing that extinguished all my hopes:
he was, to her, the archetypal father.
Varieties of hurt
are infinite. The Pansy, Gable, Tusker -
all sorrowing for something. Norma-Jean
has kept her looks (can't say that for The Husker).
Inside, she putrefied. Love turns to mean,
it's ugly to behold.
The pills? The booze? Or was the problem me?
Or maybe everything just comes unraveled,
but some can hide it where the world won't see.
The consolation of philosophy?
The journey is itself the prize. I travelled
in the realms of gold.
In the west any woman
can invite a man to bed,
but do that stuff in Iran
and they’ll huck rocks ’till she’s dead.
In the west any Christian
can get with like folk to pray,
try doing that in China
and they might just lock you away.
In the west any person can
criticize religious figures,
do the same in the Middle East
and they kill you with great vigor.
In the west we own up to
mistake made against Indians,
to this day Turkey denies what
it did to the Armenians.
In the west our women take part
in public like and politics,
in Saudi lands the women are
shrouded up in tent fabric!
In the west we’re open to
music of every kind,
in the Muslim world music is
often evil in God’s eyes.
In the west if a man steals
he’s gotta do time in the slam,
in Arabia they would rather
publically chop of your hands??!!
In the west we long ago
fought to free those who were enslaved,
but in Libya and Sudan
you can still buy them to this day.
In the west our poor people
often suffer from being fat,
how many North Korean poor
wish they could ‘suffer’ like that?
In the west we always expect
rule-of-law to serve us well,
in Mexico half the police
are working for the drug cartels.
In the west natural rights
are recognized the greatest good,
superseding even culture,
as your freedoms always should.
But in so much of this planet
naught but tyranny persists,
with cultures that deny the fact
that your rights even exist.
Professors say we’re all the same,
aren’t they supposed to be smart?
Results alone speak for themselves,
tear their rantings all apart.
Look at the ideas that have doomed
the once rich Venezuela,
ask how many people are now
desperately swimming to Cuba?
They all come here seeking success,
of that there is little doubt,
our ideas are so appealing
we build fences to keep them out!
Despite our past imperfections,
the cold hard fast can’t be missed.
when it comes to self-improvement,
the west’s running away with it.
Our history and our results
so very clearly can attest,
the cultures, they are not the same,
and the west really is the best.