"barbecued" poems
I remember quite distinctly
The night the Angel came
Hovering above my field
And calling me by name
Fred, the Angel yelled to me
Waking all my sheep
I yelled "you stupid ****** twit"
I've just got them to sleep
He said a king was born to man
And I must go to see
I said, "I've got these bleating sheep"
I don't do this for free
The angel said follow the star
All the way to Bethlehem
I told him, you must be ****** daft
My next shift starts at ten
I've been around the world a bit
And I've seen a lot of stunts
But this angel hung right in the air
And his wings did not flap once
He said there is a child
And he will be the King of Kings
I didn't really listen much
I was still watching those **** wings
The sheep were going batty
The field was bight as bright could be
I said, of all the shepherds round here
Why did you come wake me?
He said to travel swiftly
And to follow yonder star
I said, I'm off to bed mate
I'm not going on that far
Then there came a bolt of lightning
He had barbecued a ewe
I thought this bird means business
I mean just what could I do?
I left my flock with Charlie
The shepherd two fields over one
And I said I'll be back soon mate
I'm off to see the holy son
I met up with some others
All of us had the same tale
Of an angel flinging lightning
So we all felt we best bail....
I got there in December
I'd been travelling for months
The only thing I thought of
Those wings...did not move once
There inside a manger
behind an inn...full up each day
Was where I saw a vision
I'll remember to my last day
Three wise men dressed in robements
A little kid, and his tin drum
Some donkeys and a camel
The baby Jesus and his mum
Dad, was in the corner
All alone hanging his head
He said "How could this have happened"
"I never left the bed"
I looked upon the baby
And I looked down upon that face
He looked at me and smiled
You could feel a state of grace
I really didn't know then
What I was here to do
But, now I know my task was
To tell everyone I knew
So, I started out on homeward
To tell old Charlie of the kid
I picked him up a present
Yep..that's exactly what I did
I guess the world must owe me
and this I 'll stand and shout
You could consider my gift to Charlie
Was the first true gift given out
Now, I sit and watch the sheep here
People come up just to see
The shepherd who started gifting
The shepherd...that is me!!!
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Clouds cover
the delicate pinks
clear and opalescent
of a blushing sky
Electric light
over avenues
of midnight trees
Wagering
throwing dice
Moving wandering
between themes
of obscure dreams
Passing time
wondering
Waiting
for tender flesh
Barbecued pork
The curve
of a female form.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
He heard a last echoed clink of liquor-laden ice-cubes,
Stuck between two stools that screamed for company,
I gazed across his vacant stare to the barman –the silent DJ,
Professionally ignorant as I gestured my hoarse thirst,
I waited a little minute, another minute an’ just one more,
Enter our businessman, full-schedule, long-hauled to drink,
With a rib-eye steak of a face an’ breath surely barbecued,
Two satisfied cheeks, pink-puffed with brows fit for burial,
Teeth ground with tension but brighter than the lighting
A fungal-lung nose perched upon a smile that I could smell,
He plumbed himself wet-shave close to my stiffened neck,
“..Hana Drink..?” (Silence) best to follow the DJ’s example,
(Bullish huffs) (Lips licked) “.. Ya’ll wantin’ a drink, Mister?..”
Flustered by the company, I replied “..Non, Je think eh Je chi..”
A retort of sorts, faux languages not my degree, “..Leaba..Bed!”
Spluttered just at the end – an insulting first impression,
He seemed nervously joyous, loosened from being himself,
Yet his trouser belt buckled, pulled tight to conversation level,
An’ Redwood-trunk hands, alive with the latest deal struck,
“..Bedtime for us..” he bare-bawled, splitting my weary eyes,
His numbed arm clumsily flung around me, “..bedtime for us!..”,
DJ unmuted, the music paused, I mouthed softly “..just the bill..”
(Silence)
“..Who’s Bill?.. a friend?…Is he cute?.. So this drink?” I panic still.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
life choices cast in iron skillets,
presented choices that possess no flexibility
twice, she asks me today
morning fruitage, on offer,
peaches ripe to rip real sweet perfection
from your eyes to the remembering salivating mouth,
or
sweet but just **** enough
strawberries that will wince your tongue buds
intolerant of either, but perfect together
acorn squash,
over roasted to be the violin section
to your barbecued chicken orchestra serenading,
but which shall be the sweetener,
honey or maple syrup,
similar but different
the kitchen floor explosive shakes,
pans to the floor fall, eyelet unhooked all,
spices from cabinets burst forth,
kitchen mittens slapping each other
in utter disbelief
when I reply,
let us choose both!
for there is no bifurcation,
no line of demarcation
on our taste buds
this a truthful -
our lives a perpetual blending,
both will login lead to a
the right and proper ending
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
What would you do for an apple?
GIVE AN ORANGE...
If Lemonade was not too sour or too sweet I would replace my blood with lemonade. Are tomatoes really fruits but why are they cooked? Do we cook mango pickle? Would you prefer barbecued bananas?
BUY A GREEN WORM...
That little bridge on the pond with the rubber duckies next to the tree that sheds copper coins really does lead to another land. A land of shiny little boxes. I like the rustling hope of wrapping paper. Maybe if we all wrapped ourselves we wouldn’t be so cynical anymore.
**** EVE...
Swinging on tree branches naked is rather lovely. One gets scratched and itchy indeed, but the thrill is intoxicating. Moreover, there’s a whole pitcher of lager on the snow covered pine tree waiting for us **** little monkeys.
PS: Remember when money was for play and could be torn & eaten and ****** upon?
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
My thoughts turn to food
Barbecued ribs
And then and then
The black keyboard white letters
A pen in the mouth
People outside walk to work
Feet tap to music
A pen in the mouth
There are words that have never been uttered
Words without meaning
This is my purpose
Because it is an easy one
Blank! Blank! Blank!
The soul always desperate to spank
Caggle *** loude
Cankle *** louder
Why go on?
Electromagnetism
Electricity and magnetism
Shoelaces that are just to **** long
And drag across the ground
Even when they are tied
They are essentially useless
In 1938 a Japanese woman who does not yet know the name of her new husband is ***** violently on her wedding night. In 500 BC a roman emperor orders a feast of fifteen cows and thirty swine, he drinks too much wine and gets sick in the middle of a double blow job by a Nubian slave and a plump Egyptian delegate.
Everything is just so been done
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
*I'm a firm believer in the sixth sense of animals and their ability to portend the future 'sometimes' . Many cases exist , farm animals included , of strange occurrences just before an Earthquake , Tornado or Hailstorm !
Animals have the ability to pick up emotional signals from human beings as well ! We had a quarter horse that could pick up fear , a dog that would hide under the bed an hour before a hailstorm , and a pet pig that would squeal and hide from someone it didn't recognize ! Then again I had a Rooster once , that picked up on my depressed state of mind an flogged me good with its razor sharp spurs one afternoon ! I questioned his ability to see the future later on that evening as I rocked on the front porch and picked out his barbecued remains with a wood tooth pick and a cup of hot tea* !
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
He he ha ah, ah ah –
no, no, no – no I’m not tipsy…
Who says so ? I can drink and
still walk a straight mile
Yeah, I’m delirious, am I?
I’m delirious that’s
because you’re funny, silly
cos you’ve got three skunks
where your mouth should be
and your nose is a dead tree….
Ha ha he he
hey, anyone reasonable can tell I’m not tipsy;
really
I can drink till grandma comes back
from Heaven and still stay calm and steady
and she screamed the other day:
‘Hey, sonny boy…when you drink
airmail some of the spirit up here to me…
It gets too sane up here in Heaven.’
And what’s that you say?
You too think I’m tipsy? Hee, hee, hah ah **
What’s the matter
You people never seen anyone happy?
Tipsy?...no way, man….I’m just me, yeah
happy and easy-going
I swear the last time I drank was at my wedding
Which was when?
Bet my wife’ll remember the date and year…and place…
and if it happened at all..
and I’m laughing, it seems, oddly
cos you’ve got a donkey head
and your wife looks like a monkey on heat
He he ha ah, ah ah –
no, no, no – no I’m not tipsy
I swear the last time I drank was
when your grandma gave birth to
what was it, her twentieth baby?
Says who, ah? I can drink and
still walk a straight mile
and look at you, you’re looking
like a pink pig with its posterior
all barbecued on a dinner plate
ready for the fork and pepper and sauce;
and hey, I swear the last time I drank was
when you drowned
in the swimming pool;
it was our office function
and you drowned in the hotel pool
and you were struggling and you said:
**** **** Help me!’
and you drowned and died….
I really hate talking to drowning ghosts…
Booo…BOOOOOO….
He he ha ah, ah ah –
No, no, no – no I’m not tipsy
who says so ? I can drink and
still walk a straight mile
Say, can you call me a taxi
and spare, say, a fifty?
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 3:37 PM UTC
After carefully considering the eternal rewards of the choices i make today, i have come to the conclusion that i will not spend an eternity in a burning furnace gnashing my teeth, crying, weeping & moaning. So, i refuse you access to my life, i reject you, in fact to me you are an old underwear i have discarded. I cant stand a mere sunny day, how would i survive being barbecued in fire? Nope, i cant, i wont! I would rather die young, faithful to GOD & be happy forever than to live a long sinful life on earth only to suffer even longer. I wont give you the satisfaction of owning my precious soul in hell, nah..never. And FYI, i will take as many souls with me as i can. Deal with that! Done.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
*Friday is an old day now
Where black and blue skies meet
Where the same people walk -
the same potholed streets
Intrigue in the afternoon breeze
Barbecued meat , perfumed ladies ,
the flowers of Spring , the wild onions of
the field , warm meals
Fridays rolling up the streets
The same old cars , the same urban
scenes* ...
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
A wayfarer gardens
and yeaning wake his soul
on this Market Square
still he shops and sleeps
where his abode is nigh
and their goods are cheap
like his barbecued cecils
now such gazes he's met
that fires their clement
if City Hall landslide elects again.
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 8:44 AM UTC
of course the sun peeled another layer of my onion skin
barbecued and burnt to a crisp finish
like lettuce in a deep dish of saucy
spices and herbs, coriander and cumin parsley and pain
thyme and rhyme, sage and age
beer and blue bottle flies
all in the name of nature.
soon the dialogues became dialects and grandpa
guzzled too much ale so he went off to nourish
a rose bush discreetly behind the party pack
of people, swirling about in champagne glasses
and tight skirts tempting us slowly getting drunk voyeurs
with glimpses of heaven and tight buns
packed with ham and cheese and spikes of hot
chilli *******
all in the name of the great outdoors.
as the son set in the evening sky old dad
was eyeing up a guest on her third bubbly
her thinking swerved quickly to burnt sausages.
I was still enjoying the barbecued chick
with the two toned honeysuckle skin
and 34DD sized mushroom concockion
and that, my friends, was purely my nature.
when night came around in a flimsy dress
which showed figures of mountains and sparkles
the ideas in my head bruised by too much *****
buns, bottles and bronze conquests
had to answer the call of nature.
I returned to a field of many victories
grandpa was tending roses head down in the dirt
dad had disappeared with his 34DD mushroom delicacy
Mom was busy discussing politics with a horn-rimmed
gentleman, who this minute would take off
his spectacles and put on his testicles
and I went to bed with hot buns waiting.
all in natural instinct!
Author Notes
An evening party on a nice barmy day with guests gathered to enjoy nature and all its offerings. Nature is to blame if things went a little astray. Nature does that!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
My friend bought a shipping container
for a thousand quid.
He cut some windows and doors
latched with solid hinges
even cut a sun roof
toilet outlets
and drop down bed of metal strips
all so well engineered.
he was the only guy I knew
who sat on his roof to sip his beer
moved his house around from beach
barbecued his pork chops on a drop down
makeshift oven
and slid out of bed when fed
and made love on a hot tin roof!
The storms and gale force winds
passed him by -knowingly
and floods and foundations
did not move him around one inch.
He was a happy man.At times he joked about the fountains
( he actually said funtains!)
that he sometimes got inside in a heavy downpour.
But us idiots
ran to the bank to pay mortgages
and **** up to the manager
when the interest rates hit the roof.
My friend laughed and laughed
while the rest of us cried
working for the bank.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 3 months ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11442130-Shipping-Container-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.Y9Brd3Rm.dpuf
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
My brother was a lion at home,
Protecting his family fiercely.
An eagle as a supervisor in the factory,
His eyes everywhere.
An ant, always busy never taking rest,
He was a cat and monkey,calm and agile,
He loved children,
He was a dove and a kitten with them,gentle and playful.
He loved swimming and was a fish in water,
He had won many national awards.
He was a fiddle but a wolf too,
Fit but always hungry,
He loved pizzas and anything that was barbecued.
He had his bad points too,
He was an eel, slippery,
Never committing himself to anything,
He was also a mule, very obstinate .
And when he saw cockroaches,
He brought the house down,
Became a ghost, white sheet.
2/11/2019
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
I have walked......
I have walked in the footsteps of dinosaurs
bruised and barbecued in the minds of generals
who strode the earth in the shadows
of empty politicians, who finally said:
I follow orders.
I have been trialled at Nuremberg
and World Courts by panels of learned men
who asked all the right questions but
were debated to defeat by fishhook questions
that derailed the course of justice by cunning
and unscrupulous men who decided
I was better alive than dead
by their careful questioning. Checks?
I have been at war with my neighbours
and nieces, friends and fraternity,
families and fence builders and all the while
I stayed indoors in my mind
and familiarity not asking for
redemption or resurrection
but tranquility.
I am human. Thats all it is.
Human.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
the best fishing trip to the cabin
and we never went fishing,
a torrential down pour.
it rained for 3 days, the electricity
went out and we had charcoal, barbecued
on the porch.
a candle and a lantern.
there were batteries and a radio.
we smoked a joint,
drank beer and we talked
about the the stars
and the care and release of fish.
listened to music...
...an hour before sunrise
I took my fishing pole
and headed down to the river
where the ripples and rapids
mimic modern life
sunrise lit the sky on fire
and slowly off the river the mist rose
mingled into sky
and I spread my brother's ashes in the river
and every river flows to the sea.
(love you, Dean)
Oct 15, 2024
Oct 15, 2024 at 4:27 PM UTC
Reaching for the gib opening
Of deep-dug dirt
I lay,
With sleeping sickness wrapped around my ears
And white oak stains my hands
Till dawn,
I run;
Away in search
Of waking minds to release
The cracked shells of hope
Falling into deep desolate moans
Flighty love
That bury its self on shells of **** skin
Please find the pain in my light that
Roam your heart
And scatter the city,
Blood red sky
Drip cries upon
Our land
Grab the scars below my feet
And blisters on my shins
Before they fall under the cemented graves
Of brick ****** mornings
Reaching for you
The bitter less shells cracks with our knuckles
The steel walls are closing in
How I miss the comfort of my home
A weary morning our eyes meet
Upon casted light
I thought the curves of my spin fit gently
Between the knots of your brass knuckles
Don't look at me like a beamed drivel on a drooling Sunday
Not a line of soaring gloom or penultimate light
Paint dripping from under garnets home
Reflection on tyrants open cascade
Beauty not a mortifying sound
But distant memory
So daintily
As a striving romance
Have tied up
Naked on bare raft
Sends flakes of fossil romance
Prickles some type of silence under window blocks
And my raft light is forgotten
Pleading like a merciful sin
Bloomed where you're born
Blue moon hovers over
Ocean dust
Circling around pitiful rings
To throw in the barbecued fire
Silently vile mercurous sun
My body can't forget your name
I remind myself while lust gets the better of us
Leaving what you run from;
I ran into
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
We drink foul fluid from plastic water bottles to forget
about our mothers all tucked alone into their beds like
forgotten puppet shows. We want to forget about
the boys with faces all black & vulnerable
like barbecued hooves of deer & about our stomachs
swollen as skinned water. Summers like this
in towns like this during nights like this would be
better if we could drive. We sit together with knees
bare & bruised in short grass. We’re drawn to one another
like widows to cemeteries. We’re convinced that we
would look good in white wedding dresses. We grow
our hair out that summer, our hair long as piles
of dead snakes. The boys pretend to laugh at us. They
have ribs like cores of apples, ribs that would look better
discarded into the earth. The boys remind us of our
fathers, the ones busy building lakes as though they
were clocks. Our fathers are the same as us in that they
are constantly filling themselves up with water so
as not to get hurt. & at night they are not with our mothers.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
why are poets the first to shy away from politics - when they intended to speak first and foremost? what a fascinating paradox, to be eager to speak first, but last when engaging in politics; hence the attack by philosophy, now that's duly understood, i.e. why philosophy attacked poetry, reason being that poetry attacked politics - it actually sabotaged thinking, by recording unsaid things.
i always get bored of women who don't
have a stomach for the macabre humour,
the sentiments of pre-feminism
and all round banter of not having
a father pick her wedding spaghetti tango
partner... you know, that pot-luck
daddy-day-care gimmick of Freud
concerning the shame males are fed
about ************ and women are fed
the line: take out the guillotine and give
us all alpha male's **** as ****** it might not
fit in our purring mouths...
but nonetheless keep them "wise"
with the crucifix x, y, z - well the z is the
history hiding in shadow behind the x & y
of the crucifix... *oh mary, mary,
(teenage christ), mary, to be so young is
oh so scary...*
yeah honey, mary hears you, along with
all the barbecued heretics... she hears you all right...
and the slime of smiles of ogle ogres of feminism...
the televised procession at easter
ensured the chicken & egg debate levied
the restoration of libraries...
indeed once the reformation against the
Vatican... but these days it's about the Restoration
with the Vatican rather than against it!
we write history when we're involved
into whatever delusional account be readied
as worthy and explanatory;
but nonetheless a footprint, a history -
because you wouldn't call the cave markings
of parietal art in france or spain as a sign of
delusion... ******* leftists, Stalinists...
KEEPERS OF THE VOCABULARY!
at least the far right would have offered me euthanasia;
and guess what... i'd nod a yes rather than wave a no.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
War is declared on the 8 o'clock news
By the dead-eyed ghost shoved in front of the teleprompter
The artists marched on the throne of God to vindicate their suffering
and called it alchemy when it turned to gold before their eyes
On wings of wax they kissed the sun risen high on the sky
and then ****** the night away
And they went and told it on the mountain,
They preached it into the sea
And held mass in abortion clinics and asylums,
And delivered brimstone sermons on the street corner where they sold opiates and muscle relaxers,
9 dollars 10 cents a pop
A Crusade on Wall Street!
And a Jihad on Main Street!
And the nihlists selling barbecued ribs on the side
Revolution! A maniac wielding a megaphone like a Molotov cocktail!
All of creation destroyed and recreated with almost historical accuracy
They called it justice atop the gallows and called it tragedy when it was in private
The writings on the asylum wall held comfort and good tidings, this time at least
And at least Hell lit a fire to keep away the cold
So the artists marched on
Awash in their Midas glow
************ into oblivion and forgetting to shower
Bringing God to his knees,
Crying for peace to the domed ceiling
With 50 dead spirits waiting in the wings
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
There's a town north of the Jacket's place.
In the heart of central western PA.
Where the horses run free.
And there ain't a trace of the big city.
Some people say they're old-fashioned.
The ones living in that nation.
But who calls that home won't complain.
They're happy in Colt's country.
(chorus)
Barbecued ribs best in the county made by aunt Don.
Falling in love with Mr. Lee's son Ron.
Watching the big play with the gang.
{hoping that the boys win the game}
Staying forever young.
Believing in the word of God.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it in Colt's country.
__________________________
Picnic on Sunday down at Danielle's farm.
Kyle and Matthew show up showing their big arms.
They're leading the team to another victory season.
And when you ask them about it they thank god and one more reason.
That they've been brought up in this nation.
Of the white and blue.
Staying true to Colt's nation.
(chorus)
Touchdown thrown by number 43 Tom.
Watching my hero wide receiver Ron.
Hoping our season goes out with a big bang.
{the boys winning the championship game}
Staying forever young.
Believing in the faith passed along.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it in Colt's country.
__________________________
Now I've been gone for so long.
Years have passed and the memories still living on.
I won't forget sitting in the bleachers.
Cheering on them men, who made the halls of my high school.
Now Tom went on to the military.
It was his dream even if it meant risking his life.
Kyle started teaching at the local school.
And Matthew now plays in the pro bowl.
As for Ron, well he went to Penn State.
Never played again, gave it all up for me.
(chorus)
The chills you get where you hear the school's song.
Still in love with Mr. Lee's son Ron.
Walking in the funeral procession with the gang.
{hoping that Tom knows we'll always remember his name}
Staying forever young.
Believing in this town.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it remembering.
And making memories in Colt's country.
__________________________
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
I took this girl on a date to the Purple Pakora,
Lil did I know how much this girl would order,
I met her on tinder-loo, she orderd a vinderloo madras and a korma
What the actual tandoori duck ?? how many animals does this ***** wanna slaughter?
I'm already thinking **** how much they gonna charge me,
When she puts an order in for another 12 oinion bhaji
I could stop what was going on,
Next thing I know she wants a side order of poppadom with extra ******* yogurt on
Then she looks me in the eye an says " shall we get a starter coz I absolutely love a chiken tika masala
Holy **** **** god dam!!!
Now to wants to try each different flavor of naan
10 cocktails that didn't even touch the ******* coaster,
Then she goes " I'm on a diet. So I'll just have 1 vegetable samosa
Burn a hole in my pocket the size of the equator,
And she didn't forget to tell me to tip the ****** waiter
After we left this girl wants to party
She goes I'll come with you if you get some charlie
All I got to eat was her sunbed barbecued punnani, and that ******* tasted like a gone off seafood biriani,,
BEWARE!!!!
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 10:04 AM UTC
Yesterday we bumped along dusty farm roads together
Yesterday the packing shed was a beehive of activity
Yesterday I was the ring bearer in his wedding
Yesterday all of the cousins splashed in his apartment swimming pool,
fearing the wrath of the mean man
in number 9.
Yesterday I saw him at the pier
Yesterday we went fishing
Yesterday he barbecued tri-tip and we reminisced over old photos
Yesterday he cheered for the Giants and the 49ers
Yesterday he laughed until tears rolled from the corners of his eyes
Yesterday there was a tomorrow to look forward to…
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 9:51 PM UTC
Snow and rain,
Has been a bane,
And Mother Nature is to blame.
But now summer’s come!
I see barbecued grass under the blistering sun.
I smell a summer breeze,
Blowing through the puffy trees.
I hear the lawn mowers,
And the leaf blowers.
Now I know it’s really come,
Cause summer comes so hot and fun!
The breeze has swirled and whirled and spun,
Somehow I know this is the one!
All my friends have asked to play,
During March, April and May.
Please don’t make me say goodbye,
To August, June and July!
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC