According to the ballad,
Davy Crockett, born in Tennessee
(part of North Carolina at the time),
kilt him a b'ar when he was only three
(altho' only a song,
always had my doubts about cruelty to animals
from one so young).
Playing with it night and day, young Davy
should have taken more care
(had a hunting reputation),
he pulled the arms and legs off
his toy teddy bear.
Even at that early age, our Davy
really was quite unfair
(King of the Wild Frontier),
he knocked the stuffing out of his toy teddy bear.
So, preparing stuffing:
Stir the crumbs, broth, onion,
Sage and the seasonings,
Simmering the mixture.
Summer savory is
Special to Newfoundland.
Stuff the bird, bake, enjoy.
She moved carefully into the light bulbs
Didn’t want to stumble into the gloom
The shamans looked on speculatively
Unable to raise in the silence
Another dark and brilliant spot
Strange in the rolling velvety space
Played at the far end of the odd feeling
She went deeper into nothing but an unlocked someplace else ahead after either
It all starts with the cornbread
buttermilk, of course
seared in an iron skillet
crunchy outer crust
southern tradition
slap-your-mom
good!
Crawfish, Andouille sausage,
crumbled up cornbread,
onions, celery, apples,
cranberries, pecans,
cinnamon and sage,
moistened and
baked!
At one time in my life,
I knew almost everything.
Though I was much younger then,
and quite full of stuffing.
Now as I view life,
Through a wiser man's eyes,
I've had time to realize,
that I know merely nothing.
And life is clearly finer,
with some fluffy stuffing.
Spare a thought for the plight of resilience,
As most walk past in silence,
Pretending not to notice,
As others dampen all resistance,
To those who call time on a life of resilience,
In favour of one of drug dependence,
With good behaviour earning no remittance,
And no change in evidence,
As long as those without resilience,
Remain in residence,
Doing no due diligence,
To see if the rise of drug dependence,
Coincides with a lack of resilience.
There still may be time,
If you have a dime,
To help resilience to climb,
Back out of the slime.
plump lips
licking the slit
out spitting the pit
out but her name
isn't
olive
My Turkey - Called Stuffing
Where is the Christmas Story
Without the glory of old Stuffing
As she never had a clue, it was only me and maybe you
Sorry Stuffing I really mean it
But you are a Turkey and Christmas is coming
So I will make sure that you
No longer have to queue
For the sage and onion to
And we will always celebrate you
DAMO
In the corner dark and glum,
Extant off-casts lie plonked there,
To fill in the space
Knick-knacks, old wedding presents,
ornaments and filler-inners
Round and globular, bits and pieces,
Hide the harsh mangles and tangles
When walls at right angles collide
Vases on pedestals, lamps on tables with draws,
Triangular book shelve
Tiny, tall thin cupboards
All lurking and softening the dead, dank naughty corners
With curvaceous adornments and left-over stuff.
If rooms were round there would be no corners to fill
But, would you miss your corners
Like graves with headstones miss their mourners?
Puffy words never made the bird bigger
If you’re bored or nervous
Do what most of us embrace.
Head out to the kitchen
And proceed to stuff your face.
Popcorn, pretzels, nachos -
Even chocolate has its place –
Fill a bowl or grab the bag,
Sit down and stuff your face.
Though you may feel guilty,
You’re not lone in your disgrace.
It’s a universal vice –
The stuffing of one’s face.
honestly, i wanna live as stuffing in my stocking
i could hide from the world and lie to myself in vain without the guilt of guilt
i could miss her without the wax buildup free expression can sometimes bring
i could miss her without the dead skunk smell of public opinion and just be good ole martin l. king
my middle name could take a rest and quit making painted faces at every thousandth hundredth joke
every daydream could be a salt water pool in my mind turning my skin into melted m and m tan butter
i could laugh at myself because of the simple fact that i made you laugh
honestly, i just wanna live as happily habitual liar as stuffing in my stocking
maybe then i could give myself each day my daily buttered bread....preferably freshly made texas toast
Is there any finer sensation
Than chomping on a juicy steak
Gulping down a gallon of beer
Or stuffing your face with cake
Eating can be the greatest thrill
Known to the common man
It beats every other sensation
Experienced since time began
A bowl of chocolate ice cream
Some hotcakes piled high
Scrambled eggs with sausages
Delicious homemade pie
Grilled hot dogs on the barbie
Ham sandwiches at the beach
A birthday party for Johnny
A great big juicy peach
All these things go to make
A bowl full of happiness
The only drawback I can see
It can turn into flabbiness
© Jack Ellison 2013
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