Long Veal Poems
Long Veal Poems. Below are the most popular long Veal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Veal poems by poem length and keyword.
They sell human meat at the butcher shop, and nobody is batting an eye!
They sell a popular item that is quite the delicacy for half of the global
population:
It’s not beef.
It’s not pork.
It’s not poultry.
It’s not fish.
It’s women.
The men that work behind the counter clean and butcher them to their
heart’s content.
Too much fat.
Too lean.
Too many servings.
Some desire beef, some desire veal.
The customers grab their shopping carts as if there’s an all-day buy
one-get-one-free sale, splurging on slice after slice. Wrapped up in
plastic, ready to be opened for consumption.
“But this one has some bites in it!” one customer gasps.
“This one has never been eaten!” another customer sneers.
Both products are thrown in the garbage, inevitably ready to compose.
The men abhor the vegetarians that protest in the streets, proclaiming
freedom and safety for the cows, pigs, chickens, and fish.
“These animals had lives, ample with opportunities and talents! Full of
beauty, inside and out!” they shout, signs up high.
Some of the men spit on their shoes.
Some of them push the protestors to the ground and kick them black
and blue.
Some of them perceive them as the animals, wolfing them down and
hushing their yelps.
The protestors have fallen into an infinite dark pit of hell along with the
animals, punished for crimes they did not commit.
Not only did the men toss them into these holes and they fell into these
holes, they also all were holes themselves.
The men are holes void of morality and compassion, roots once full of
blooming flowers of joviality and innocence now rotting and barely
holding them together.
The animals are vast, deep holes full of talents, passions, and emotions,
but to the men, they are just holes for pleasure.
The checkout line that was once a place for the transaction of chivalry,
honor, admiration, and protection is now an inferno of fiery lust,
selfishness, greed, and cataclysm.
Fresh home from therapy,
and resonate with zeal
tush air cerebral cogs a turn'n
analogous to and pinion wheel
hence attempt made to bare soul,
sans thru poetry re: veal
ling avidity, asper barreling neurological
daily kos loaded truck full
heading toward figurative
lifelong landfill deposits
on weekly psycho
logical session I unseal
manipulating bothersome issues
controlled via bot size thumbwheel,
which grave undertaking i.e.
professional counseling allows,
enables, and provides opportunistic
gradual process at selfheal
ling oft times necessitates
reviewing silent Virgina reel
comprising the story
of earlier life piecemeal
akin to a slapdash montage
chronicling existential ordeal,
now referencing adenoids
(removal first mention within
poetic endeavor, when young boy)
loosely linkedin with nasopharyngeal
pseudo oral palate
highway tucking each meal
across miniature bridgework,
ma late mum meekly
acceded to doctors orders,
said operation sub
sequently deemed unnecessary
affecting negligible decreasing nasality
predicated on split (bifid
or bifurcated uvula), viz laryngeal
utterances finds me speculating
speculating now, whether taking kneel
ling pose possibly coo dove
wrought divine intercession
giving me super powers ideal
for fighting off being bullied
gloating this instant imagining
bringing beastie boys to heel
actual reality visit my kid self,
a most convenient scapegoat
socially withdraw puny size lad
internalizing hateful barbs glom
ming up significant emotional gearwheel
inferiority complex predominating
supplemented with cumulative
anger, a potent feel
ling exacerbating anxiety prone disposition
courtesy chromosomal
(pop'n mom genes) art of the deal.
These humorous lines were inspired by
Viv Wigley's "Food Fight" contest.
Could not resist the temptation:)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lettuce pray before eating.
He likes rabbit, but can’t stand hair in stew.
A carrot is worth its weight in gold.
To lam a lamb? Terrible!!
Is it wise to pare a pear before eating?
Chopin onions – not musical but certainly tearful!
The bull’s life is at steak.
Cross my heart said the honest brussel sprout.
The pig was too thin...that saved his bacon.
Wearing a bird costume sent me raven mad.
Buy caviar from stir gin’s row.
The servant was maid to eat umble pie.
She could hardly talk after eating hoarse meat.
He’s wrapped up in his food.
Humbug! This is apple sauce!
Excitement in the kitchen – fat in the fire.
A flounder struggles to walk. It’s flat footed.
I enjoyed my drink – pleased as Punch.
One look at the dessert...I scream!
Take the guilt off the gingerbread.
I invited the golfer to high tee.
Take your plaice at the table; we’re eating fish today.
Open the lid and reveal some of the meat.
What a pity! The gobbling turkey had a lump in its throat.
The peacemeal destroyed our friendship.
Make no bones about filleted fish.
Next time just ask for dessert; don’t mince words.
Keep your eye on the roast, or else it will go to pot.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Placed 3rd
© 28th December 2017
I was thinking the other day.
What if the President came to stay.
As I set and fiddle my finger.
These questions began to linger.
I would welcome him with open arms.
Impress him with my humble charms.
Should I serve him a simple meal?
Or maybe prepare him a feast of veal?
Through I like him quite a lot.
Do I make him sleep on a cot?
If I let him sleep in my room.
Must I make it smell like French perfume.
Remind him it's not his bed to hog.
He will be rooming with my dog.
Can I put him out of doors?
Make him do my garden chores.
After he is done with that.
He could clean the box of my cat.
He'll split wood for the fire.
Help the wife change my pickup tire.
Sweep mud off the old front stoop.
Then shovel out my chicken coop.
Perhaps we could find the time to talk.
After he takes the dog to walk.
I could have him wash my car.
Maybe.... It's just a bit too far.
Should he find the need to shower.
Pray he does not take an hour.
When he visits, It will be mine to boast.
I will be the perfect host.
Word Quintet in E Minor
Too many tan hearses cruise down my street in 1963
Too many grieving souls cry shattered tears here.
Green throbbing lawns ruminate like grazing cows.
Red-bricked chimneys stand erect in the tall wind.
You and I have footsteps to take as we smell gladioli in 1968.
You look sporty wearing a white skirt and cashmere sweater.
I sit on a bench in the morning sun talking about rutabagas,
As you arrive holding a white tennis racquet made of catgut.
She and I grapple the monkey bars with orange drinks in 1962.
The green ocean of expansive grass lay beneath motionless as ice.
Thoughts of quiet summer shade subside into a lazy sun-drenched day.
Afternoon tides melt into the memory of days spent on a cool porch.
You and I are eating amidst the others as they talk trivialities in 1969.
You are sitting close to me wearing a tight-fitting dress with buttons in front.
We’re eating veal cutlets with mashed potatoes under a hanging light pendant.
The traffic outside is oblivious of our plans to make out wildly after dessert.
Too many tan hearses drive away from my street in 1964.
Too many funerals for the quietly erudite and the boldly afraid.
Green carpeted graveyards yawn with ennui in their insistent desiccations.
Old men with canes totter over star-lit graves behind rusted barbed wire.
Do you feel the great turning, the maelstrom coming around, spitting sparks of searing birds that circle each other screaming in a language like pain? Blisters burning feathers, beaks and eyes till they ignite like flares spiralling in the tempest of this world. High performance vehicles lose their wings in ever-turning pressure, four by fours and pickups, thousand cc superbikes all spinning round and round. Their windows, bumpers, lights and panels flail off into airy channels, ricochet off stop lights scutter down the highway till they form an evil spout. Sucking up the houses, gardens, fences, trees and chickens, dogs and cats and mice and rats and farmyard animals. Spinning them so hard they break up turning and exploding like cartons spraying all across the town. Gaining pace the maelstrom grows, widens, sucks up earth and loess, strips the soil and grinds it up and spits it out. Spreads over the terrain, living feeding off the pain, sucking the last seeds from the fields. Finds the streams and all the rivers, cuts them out like veal and liver, eats them up like a cannibal. The sound is like a roar of terror, amalgam of all vicious weather, battering, beating, bruising every soul. And yet we won’t stop the oil fields, pipelines, stripping whole horizons just for dirty shale.
Wish to wake up surrounded by the snow-capped Alps
Sipping tea in the quiet, quaint villages of Switzerland
Watching the glittering ripples of sapphire blue lakes
Staying in picturesque lakeside hamlets
Overlooking emerald valleys and majestic mountain peaks
Wish to climb the summit of the Matterhorn
To ride in horse-drawn carriages in the village of Zermatt
Journeying through train to Jungfraujoch
Riding cable cars and gondolas over the Lauterbrunnen Valley
Visiting flourishing flower gardens in Interlaken
Enjoying the Swiss Transport Museum in Lucerne
Wish to write about the beauty of Lake Geneva
From within the halls of the famed Chateau de Chillon
Skiing and snowboarding in St. Moritz’s Cresta Run
Stopping by in the Rose Garden and Bear Park
In the stunning Swiss capital of Bern
Wish to go to the Zurich Zoo with my family
Walk the cobbled streets of the Old Town
Strolling toward the Swiss National Museum
Call on the tennis great Roger Federer in his Wollerau home
Watch him practise his game and spend time with his family
Wish to enjoy some Cheese fondue and Älplermagronen
With Rosti and Zürcher Geschnetzelte, a veal dish
It would be wonderful to eat Engadiner Torte
Taste some Huppen wafer biscuits
And some sweet Swiss chocolate
If I were to go on a vacation,
I would choose Switzerland
without a second thought
Dreamy and inviting
That’s the place I wish to see.
28th March 2022
For L Milton Hankins' "My Dream Vacation" contest
Herr Heinrich Schneider and his spouse
Felt the need to wander,
And for once to leave their house
For a land that lay far yonder.
Japan at cherry-blossom time!
No better place than this
Enthralled the German couple’s mind.
The chance they would not miss.
"But what of Spezi", Heidi cried,
"We can’t leave him behind."
"Ach! unser Spezi," Heinrich sighed.
"There’s a way we’ll find."
They gave him anti-rabies shots
And medicines galore.
All that red tape, and lots and lots
Of paper-mountains more.
Off to the orient they flew
With hopeful joy and glee.
Oh what wonders bright and new
Would soon enthral all three?
Imperial palaces they saw
And Fuji’s snow-capped summit,
Ornate gardens stirring awe.
You name it, they had done it.
Immersed in culture and in art
They sensed a certain lack.
And so it was that they took heart
To leave the beaten track.
They hired a car and off they went
To some far-distant by-way.
And many a pleasant hour they spent
Till the dying light of day.
They found a cosy place to rest.
On the price they made a deal.
At last a chance to have a "Fest".
The time came for a meal.
The menu was in Japanese,
As well one might expect.
The waiter clearly meant to please
And bowed with great respect.
Of English, German and of French
He had no scrap of knowledge.
He gave each ear a nervous clench.
No, he’d never been to college.
Herr Schneider felt like sauerkraut
And Heidi felt like veal,
Food of this kind they’d do without
Until another meal.
But Spezi’s hunger would not wait.
Herr Schneider eyed the waiter.
"Wuff, Wuff, our Spezi wants a plate.
For dogs one has to cater."
While they sat there, a full hour passed.
Then the waiter brought some dishes.
The Schneiders ate their strange repast,
Which fell short of their wishes.
It was now time to pay the bill,
Which ran to many a yen.
Both were feeling somewhat ill.
and hardly spoke a word, but then -
Heidi cried "Is Spezi back yet?"
"Wuff wuff" did Heinrich bark.
"Please, waiter, tell us, where’s our pet?
In the kitchen? In the park?
A piece of fur the waiter brought.
Then Heidi’s face went pale.
She had a grim and horrid thought
On seeing Spezi’s tail.
What is the moral of this tale?
Down under be a dingo.
Where e’er you roam you should not fail
To understand the lingo.
Grazing gracefully in the meadows
Among the Autumn dark shadows
Silhouetted against the fading sunshine
I see your melancholy and decline
Day by day and Year after year
I saw yourself trembling in fear
Human orders; You had no say
when they took your dignity away
I know the hurt and pain you felt
When your friends were taken away
I heard your wailing laments
When your babes were dragged away
You have nurtured thousands of nations
Societies, small and great civilizations
A glass of milk, with bread and butter
Cheese on pizza, for lunch or supper
Scones with cream for evening tea
For a bundle of hay, your gifts are free
I shan't talk of veal and steak
That will make me numb and weak
This is my praise and thoughts of you
To release my pain and heartbound woe
The words aren’t enough for apologies to air
I know that tomorrow, you wouldn’t be there
Save the little Piglets
Save the little Piglets, save them from the knife,
Piglets are so precious and have a right to life.
Pigs are not potatoes, should not be grown for feast,
If intention is simply kill, do not breed the beast.
Lambs to the slaughter, Lambs to the table,
See them play in meadows, at least whilst they’re able.
Lambs are not Barley, do not nurture for repast,
Alternate farming can thrive, I am no Iconoclast.
To kill a Calf for Veal is repellent and pitiless,
They are no use for dairy, so the Male we cannot bless.
Calves are not Corn, nor a delicacy on your plate,
Force fed for five months, then butchered I berate.
Save the baby chicks, fluffy and overtly cute,
Born for just one purpose, barbarism, can you refute,
Chicks are not Wheat, nor just another roasted bird,
Though my objections I make clear,
I’m a minority, marginal, not listened too or heard.
KS 25.6.18