Long Yodel Poems
Long Yodel Poems. Below are the most popular long Yodel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yodel poems by poem length and keyword.
I was in a bar in Texas,
in the eastern back-country,
with three beers already inside
and another draining quickly.
It was a perfect redneck bar,
the kind of place I love,
with sawdust on the floors below
and taxidermy up above.
A man drank in a corner,
wearing a battered hat.
he said nothing to no one,
and I was thankful for that.
For in the center of the bar,
a loudmouth proudly raged,
boasting of his magnificence,
impervious to pain.
He mocked folks obnoxiously,
as drunks are wont to do.
His three friends only laughed,
three sheets to the wind too.
The braggart faced the corner,
said,”Hey, it’s the yodeler guy!
I saw him last Oktoberfest,
his voice is womanly high!
“Come on now yodeler,
show this bar what you’ve got.”
The yodeler said,”If you don’t mind,
right now I’d rather not.”
But the drunkard only fumed,
and slammed his hands on down
on the yodeler’s lonely table,
sending his beer to the ground.
Yodeler got up very slowly.
“That’s better now, my bro,”
said the drunk as he got up,
“Give the good people a show!”
Yodeler broke into a song,
bight and clear and full of grace,
then he shot a tree-trunk jab,
right into the drunkard’s face!
The drunkard fell, his friends charged,
Yodeler threw out his elbows,
knocked two down and the other
he grabbed by the throat.
Quick jabs rained upon the man,
until he could not see.
He fell to the ground hearing a
“Yodel-eh-hee-hee!”
Yodeler stomped one who rose,
and another then ran away,
But the drunk had come around,
and glowed red, flush with rage.
But Yodeler kept yodeling,
and waived the braggart in.
Braggart charged, Yodeler swung,
catching him on the chin.
Three men lay on the floor,
the yodeler stepped over them.
That night I learned never to cross
a true yodeling champion.
Not a lesson with much use,
that I readily will admit,
Much like the time I learned clog-dancers
don’t take kindly to bullspit…
Adora sixty, happy brave alive
Taste gypsy glory
Enjoy ...
Queen sound fault sweet
Chaos, silly mango rhyme
Yodel ...
Merry aging bloom
Found pearl petal bliss
Viola ...
Swing venus dance salsa
Smile ... angry lemon image
Humor ...
Photo, great woman - jolly funny
Still proud never trick crime
Charm ...
23/02. 2018
* Only five letter words
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Contest, sponsored by: Edward McCall
Honorable Mention
Cryptic contours charade,
Rousing riverfront raid;
Young yonder years yielding,
Prosperous peace prancing;
Taunting tale telling trite,
Icon imprints invite,
Clever casting charm cites...
Minds merge mingling motives,
Embalm emergent edge;
Rising riches restive,
Lofty lion-maned ledge;
Instruct inbound inklings,
Outline obvious oozing,
Niche nice new nurturing...
Fancy fish-tail flings flair,
Age aligns apt affairs;
Sense survival seeking,
Hope's hasty hurts hurling;
Intent invents impasse,
Observe optimum ooze;
Now nimble nascent noose,
Salty sea spray surpass...
Sculpt seaward sea-bubble:
Taut tensile tendency,
Obscure odd odyssey,
Raise roomy revelry;
Years yield yarns you yodel...
See sensuous story stay,
Charm cleverly cheers clay;
Raise rousing ripe refrains,
Indulge instincts ingrained;
Prime plot puzzling playground,
Trailblazer touching town...
Move myopic mindset,
Yesterday yielding yet;
Tease trouble's trying threats,
Hoist happy hustling hat...
Leon Enriquez
01 November 2014
Singapore
I had a brain like an old motorbike,
I rode it back and forth
just to get laid by whomever, and that strange one
who kept cats under her long skirt.
Truth is a marmalade calligraphy.
I yodel blood-songs
prophets have stitched to my flesh.
Truth sleeps under a stone.
No one can number the stones.
I dream of Macadamia and Muscadine
of pretty girls all in a row.
Truth throbs.
Marimba music and matchsticks,
Why all these M sonics?
Mango
mildew, marmalade ghosts.
Why not?
Miss me mother?
The bike ended up in a heap -
Its motor whines on.
Truth is whatever’s left over
after the counting of things.
A Tribute to Slim Whitman
He led his horse towards a pool,
Near a lovely large cotton tree.
Far away, he heard the hooves
Of a thousand bison as they crossed
The dusty prairie in search of food.
Near at hand stood a large tepee
From where his lovely Indian emerged.
Dark hair, dark eyes. a beauty beyond compare.
She smiled but stood erect at the doorway.
Instantly, he lifted his guitar.
And in a yodel tune, he sang his love.
How oft he repeated his refrain,
"You belong to me,
I belong to you."
Finally, he put down his guitar.
Slowly, he approached her,
Tilted her lovely face up,
Their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss.
Common Loon we love the most
Can be seen from coast to coast
Across this land gliding on lakes
All across Canada the route it takes
Nesting on islands surrounded by sea
This bird Canadian easy to see
Floats so easily dives for fish
Just as common our Friday dish
A hoot and yodel is its holler
Permanent mark Canadian dollar
Sleek pointed beak head black as kettle
Hardly seen amongst the nettle
Around its neck color green black
Extending wings or tucked in back
Whichever way Canadian beauty
Protecting this bird it is our duty
Reason why this national treasure
No other bird can even measure
Common Loon across this land
Without doubt a Canadian brand
Think Canadian anytime soon
Can't be done without the Loon
Maple leaf loved in a song
Common Loon Canadian strong
He was the Yodelling King of Whitby.
On a calm clear weather day
You could hear his practice yodels
On the cliffs at Robin Hoods bay.
He would stand there at the bar
In his Tyrolean feathered hat
With dark brown lederhosen,
Black cloak thrown over that,
To hold then all enraptured
When he got up on that stage
Setting female hearts a beating
No matter what their age.
His repertoire so varied,
From classical to rap,
With the occasional dance,
Sometimes breaking into tap.
Booked at the Alhambra Bradford
He attracted audience motley
All of his dedicated fan club
Some from as far away as Otley.
Then he strode on that stage
And his throat suddenly dried
And on the brink of stardom
His career withered and died.
They still talk of it in Eccleshill,
Bowling, Idle, even Runswick Bay
And many a tear is still shed
About that fateful fateful day.
He’s still Yodelling King of Whitby,
Still holds the pub under his spell
Particularly performing his finale
Of excerpts from William Tell.
Stardom no longer beckons
It’s lustrous lure dispelled
By the hurtful memory of
That Bradford performers hell.
Some times in his cups
It really gets his goat:
Yodelling King of the World maybe
But for the drying of his throat.
Hank was a hard workin' cowpoke who really earned his meager pay.
He rode his ass Old Red from early dawn 'til at night he hit the hay,
Fixin' fences, ropin' steers and brandin' dogies in the old corral,
But he had an odd addiction that gnawed on his pard's morale!
He was a happy yodler which is alright fer a wrangler I suppose,
But his irritatin' warblin' caused him to nearly come to blows!
At night in the bunkhouse he would even yodel in his sleep,
Addin' to the din of his pals who were known fer snorin' deep!
His yodelin' caused cattle to stampede and hosses to buck and neigh.
Caused chickens to cease layin' aigs and cantankerous mules to bray!
Porkers squealed in their sty and the hounds barked and howled,
His comrades raged and cussed and the cats all hissed and yowled!
Even rattlesnakes were flustered and slithered to hide in dens,
And bands of coyotes skulked to seek cover in the nearby fens.
Frenzied birds vacated their cozy nests and fled to distant climes,
And Cookie got upset since the guys couldn't hear his supper chimes!
The grizzled old ranch boss called Hank aside fer a serious session,
Sayin', "Son, you're creatin' havoc 'round hyar with yer damn obsession!
Take yer ass and yodler to swoon the gals at the Dry Gulch Saloon,
'Cause if'n you keep it up 'round hyar, you'll hit the road and soon!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
When cowboys sprawl 'round the camp fire after the days work is done,
They strum guitars and tootle harmonicas and sing to have fun.
Real cowboys don't sing Honky-Tonk or She Done Me Wrong stuff.
They leave that to rhinestone cowboys, considerin' it to be so much fluff!
Real wranglers sing about ropin' dogies and fixin' barbed wire fences,
Roundups, brandin' time and the magnificence of God's grand expanses.
They sing of home on the range, rodeos and dinin' on bacon and beans,
Cattle stampedes on stormy nights, the old corral and dance hall queens.
They harmonize about ghost riders in the sky who've met their fates,
Tumblin' tumbleweeds, cool water, tin cups and eatin' from tin plates.
They sing about bein' back in the saddle again and the streets of Laredo,
And belt out songs about horses named Old Paint, Ol' Dan and Tornado.
They yodel the cattle call and sing about when the bloom's on the sages,
And croon about their yellow rose of Texas and their pitiful wages.
Real buckaroos sing about Christmas in the bunk house and rye whiskey,
Cattle drives on the Lone Star and Abilene trails and a life so very risky.
They sing of the grumpy foreman and when the works all done this fall,
And tweedle about ragtime cowboy Joe and many a barroom brawl.
Real cowboys sing about ridin' the range, the chaparral and dusty trail,
And leave Hank Snow to warble about lost love, honky-tonks and landin' in jail!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
// This is my tribute to the many blessings that music brings to our
lives. I know many of you share this enthusiasm and gratitude. //
Appreciating an amazing artform: allegro, andante, or adagio -
Bach, Beethoven, Brahms: beautiful berceuse, ballad, and bolero
Classical concertos and Christmas chorales crescendo concordantly
Dancers delight to dizzying drums and delectable dynamics
Ensemble eloquently emotes euphonic etudes and elegies
Flautist fluttertongues flute in frenzied fantasia or fantastic fugue
Guitar gallivants through gavotte, graced by glockenspiel glissandos
Heavenly hymns, happily harmonized, hearkening hearty hallelujahs
Improvising instruments inspiring in impromptu inventions,
Jovial jazz juxtaposition of jubilant, jamming jitterbugs
Kalimba keeps count as keyboardist kinetically caresses keys
Love song lullabys - lilting, legato lines of luxuriant, longing lyrics
Minuet melodies and madrigals marking mellifluous motifs
Nutcracker's necklace of nourishing notes: a nighttime nocturne
Orchestra's opulent overture opus, oratorio's operatic octet
Pianist plays presto pianissimo pitches in pulsing pizzicato perfection
Quartets and quintets on a quest for quality quiescent quarter notes
Romantic rhapsody rhythms resonate as rock 'n roll reverberates
Symphonies and sonatas send spine shivers, saxophone solos soar
Tenor troubadours tremolo in tempo as trumpet thrills with trills
Utopia of unassuming ukuleles unwinding in unison
Voluptuous violin vibrato, virtuoso vocalist, vivace vintage vibraphone
Well-tempered woodwinds wield wonderful waltzes worth whistling
Xylophone eXudes eXcitement in eXquisite eXtemporaneity
Yearning for youthfulness, you yodel "Yesterday"
Zesty zither anyone?