Vittles Poems | Examples

Currency joins New York Jazz

Currently the security profit programs is hesitant 
Sista bad ways the masters degree premonition holder has eliquented us inside of the never growing fortress of people's passed economic struggles as mimes

Yet the obstructioni zing doth not permit a permit 

Ye of vittles portion lacks the fortitude of good days in labor 

Between Camarillo livibility lengths and Newbury Park rotations as the same 

None may improvith stations whilst sista bad feelings goes into debt full idea administration worry

It was autumn 
Before the round 
Something shivered 
Tools wasn't full
Vans change, tools out strange the work 
All damseled
In respite
Shane apprehension grovel
Lost beside his print 
Finding his father's name
April,  too new city managers 
Yorks and shires bereaved
I wasn't your only father's rent
The war counted on better rays 
Rates add fits
In byes gondolas say
To write wrongs
Haven't worried sensibly
The round became my leaving board 
A pond as his mother's springs 
She sheltered little in life
Deathly burden to me
Manhattan Surrender my moons light

Groundhog Early

A mild spell in winter.
Groundhogs have escaped from their slow dreams.
The hedgerow confirms,
their wide-hipped shuffling as they grub for vittles.

Evening brings one whistle pig to February lawns.
Yet the snow will return, the whimper in the breeze,
will resurrect itself as a howl.

Hey, back to sleep mother groundhog!
Keep the den warm,
small blind eyes are already sensing,
a home in your womb.

Go back and dream of juicy garden carrots -
munchable mouthfuls of daffodils.

Anniversary memories

     Wish we were just married.
     My trusting head upon your shoulder.
     When we had so terribly little,
     Yet.... so very much.
     And we seemed to have beeen
     blessed with the magic touch,
     That made us to the world far,
     far bolder!

     Watching the spiritual fog,lift the
     San Francisco sun each dawn.
     Like a deer, wakes each morning, 
     to feed her dear, precious fawn.
     Really, few precious vittles to eat.
     Nontheless,we walked to Nortn Beach,
     To be with other poets for a Mocha treat.

     The San Francisco streets welcomed us.
     Those dewy, foggy nights, did embrace
      embrace us…thus!
    
                  ~Dedication~
                    1/29/2024   
       On our 65th wedding anniversary.
       To my writer/husband, who died at forty. 
                       ~~~~


                     1/24/2024

A Rancher's Wife

She's up in the morning
two hours before dawn
has done most of her chores
before the lights come on

Already milked the cows
and gathered up the eggs
even put liniment 
on the horse’s sore legs

Bacon and eggs are cooked
the biscuits are baked brown
the gravy has been stirred
and the plates laid down

Once the pans are empty
the last bread's been buttered
the men tack their horses
while she clears the clutter

Now a fifty mile drive 
just to get to the store
to pick up the supplies
they have been waiting for

Time to fry the chicken
and put beef in the beans
cause stomachs on the ranch
are never full it seems
 
After serving the meal
and cleaning up the mess
she'll ride out to the range
and work beside the rest

She has to be able 
to ride fence, rope and brand
just as good as any
of those other hired hands

When the day is over
tired and hungry as hell
the men wash up and get
set for the supper bell

She'll be in the kitchen
cooking vittles again
Cause work for a ranch wife
never comes to an end

Whip-Poor-Wills

In the Appalachian hill country
there are night birds;
they call to each other in the dark
yet hunt alone.

These birds are not
owls but nightjars, they are known also
as whip-poor-wills, goatsuckers,
or bug-eaters by the locals.
When they utter they shiver
the ear-hairs of all that harken.

When clinging to a tree trunk
their dim mottled plumage
makes then almost invisible.
When they fly
they fly with no whisper of wings
but in an eerie silence.

Some folks around here
reckon they are more 'ghosts
of the air' than birds,
and are bad news.

The wise women
believe that they can curdle milk
and spoil the overnight vittles
left on the stove,
the menfolk smile
knowing
it was them that left the food out.

The night-birds swoop and flutter
without a pitter or a patter
until the dawn light reveals them
to be nowhere found
and still as silent as the stony ground.

Darlin

These low hills are running with deer this morning,
they have come down to graze on the sweetest grass.
On the meadows buttercups have carpeted
the bottom land with sunshine.

In summer darlin used to bathe in that crick yonder.
Long gone now.

The years turn and the cabin gets more rickety,
but I ain't moving on.

I hunt a little,
once in a while go down to the 711store
in the small dusty town
for some vittles, to gas my old Chevy truck,
find the feller who sells fresh buds,
smoke a little on the porch.

Last night when the moon was full and so low
I swear a person would have thought
to touched it.
Watching the dusky tree-line
change the shape of the light,
I thought I saw darlin, walking up the hill
toward me.

I put the bruski down and wiped my eyes,
heart thumping,
but it was only a pretty white tailed doe
heading for home
and I sure wanted to follow.

The Rose and Crown

The year was 1832 when she slipped out the pub back door 
It was stormy and cold as she walked out far across the English Moor 
She stood at the edge of a craggy cliff as waves slammed rocks below 
Her hooded cape flapped wildly as the wind began to blow
The fury of the rain and wind pummeled her tiny frame
She wondered if they'd miss her or even knew her name
For she was just a tavern maid who sometimes shared her bed 
But what she earned just barely left enough to keep her fed
The sailers stopped at the Rose and Crown for whiskey, vittles and more
Then slung their bags and left the pub to sail for distant shores
Although it did not show just yet, she feared she was with child 
And some of them who'd bedded her, made her feel defiled
She saw no future for herself nor means to raise a child 
Then softly cried forgive me lord and bid the world goodby

Wake

We placed a pine box casket on a sawhorse table.
There weren’t but little notice, did as best we able.
I watched the flowers wilting in the heat of August.
It seemed a shameful squander given what they cost us.
She was a stoic widow, though a might diminished.
She clutched a carved wood angel, one he never finished.
Then came a stovepipe preacher, smelled of hair slick tonic.
He kept his manner formal and his speech laconic.
It was a simple service in a smoke wood setting,
Another taproot sermon I’d be soon forgetting.
He hammered nail to cross the way the Good Book reckon,
 “All sinners need God’s mercy when The Judgment beckon.”
He spoke some other hoo-ha ‘bout “The Lord's forgiveness,”
And I just shucked it off to get about my business.
I might be pissin’ sawdust when it come to prayer,
But when they toss on vittles, count me first hoss there.

Rhip

R.H.I.P.
(insider trading)
Written: by Miracle Man
3’20/2020

Our minds are assaulted daily by political tune,
by infiltrating our minds with the same tired old song.
Consolidated thinking they attempt to attune,
by promising voters "stuff" their careers they prolong.

With insider information they make stock trades,
information that others aren't privileged to know.
Nothing being black and white but in varying shades,
they feast on corrupted vittles, while observing wealth grow.

Politicos think voters, insignificant squirts,
Insider trading is unlawful and a rejection.
While they got richer, many others have lost their shirts,
so for those of privilege let’s make an exception.


“We hang the petty thieves,
and appoint the great ones to public office.”
Aesop

Just Gimmie a Casserole

Just “Gimmie” a Casserole
By: Tom
12-2-2019

I could never be thought of as bon vivant guy,
I prefer plain “vittles” that will stick to a rib.
Most fancy dishes I allow to pass my plate by,
and I never eat things that require a bib.

Herbal Sprinkles

Herbs are so very savory
Each has its own great flavor.
Racing to my garden eagerly,
Beyond the veggies I do favor,
A whole lot of aromatic things,
Like thyme, rosemary, even sage.

Some folks prefer their food quite 
Plain without taste or any fun;
Really though, that’s no delight
Instead away, I want to run.
No bland meals for my palate; 
Kindly add some herbal sprinkles.
Let me enjoy some savory respite;
Exciting flavors make my tongue tingle.
Such delectable basil and parsley vittles.

Vittles

Vittles

Well what we got for breakfast, big piece of apple pie?                                         maybe some chicken but I think that’s gone by.
Maybe have some oatmeal,  but I sure do hate that stuff,                                                          depends on how I feel or if I’m hungry enough.
Or how ‘bout grits with spam and eggs or fried up chicken legs,  
and we’ll top it with the bottom of the keg, slurp up them dregs.
For desert maybe suck on some skittles, 
and thank the cook for these here vittles.


Robert A. Dufresne

In Search of a Cowboy

Woke up this morning and made you some breakfast.
You didn’t want it, this I could tell.
You walked to the stove and started to smell it,
turned up your nose, and said, "what the hell!"
 
It's just humble fare like my grandma Edna
used to prepare out west on the plains.
She always swore it was better than dyin'
from the throes of severe hunger pangs.

I know you’re a cowboy from your hat and your buckle
and the way you hang your thumbs from your belt,
but seeing your face all green makes me chuckle
from cowboy vittles that you only smelt

My darling I believed you were the real thing
a genuine cattle hand through and through,
but now I'll have to go back to the saloon 
to find another who'll eat possum stew.

11/19/2018

Poeta Decepta

expecta O' Greta great dep·re·depta
snitchie fumes crud 

Senate weaselin' words

mosaic-speak fungals thrall-truth up your nostrils
unmasked civil·a·tons 

square crotch per smile

poeta decepta leaks India unda bear
panda wear 

fund a hole: Pandora Pumps!

child wonda nuf crumbles Vatican busts
spangled in clown clothes 

bustled to dust

depravity's cavities coupes enchiladas
inflicting inflections on cartoon erections

so verge on my bliss-vittles "goose tinge" me plights
please translate dos colander's humanoid blights
thy nuclear nickel-sickle pickles delight

or do like Shrub junior said- just
go £ucking shop.








___________________
Notes:

1.    Two declarations America might consider.
      
          i.   Declare Washington D.C. a separate country and...

          ii.   Declare war on it.

Dented Can

DENTED CAN

kicking it down
an old dusty road
mind chasing dogs

a type of relay race
legs release, next guy
kicks the bone

no wonder of what
sup was spooned
nor if a homeless man

kicked the can
did the dent do him in
were the vittles spoilt

man’s worst abuse
human, beast or
aluminum can

a drunk picks it up
toothless, smiles
crushing it

against his skull
the derelicts say
“aw, you ruined it”

1/3/2018

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