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preservationman Nov 2019
The Thanksgiving Feast
It will be a holiday at least
The Turkey shall be put into the Oven
It will be glazed in flavor, but won’t be toughen
However, there may not be a Turkey this year
Turkeys are in a protest mode, and have stolen Turkeys from every kitchen
Turkeys are determined in not being eaten
When did this all happen?
How were the Turkeys able to pull off this caper?
No one was manning the kitchens within the houses
The Turkeys have taken their protest to the streets
All households are at a stance of hold that they have loss
Even though they are the multitudes have no force
Well the battle is between the Knives and Forks with the Turkeys
Care of wager on who would win
But how would the Pilgrims and Indians handle this situation?
Simple, “After those Turkeys”
Perhaps that is the approach the households will have to take
After all, what other meat within any household would want to make?
We are talking tradition
All I can say is have those Knives and Forks ready and go get that Turkey
Turkeys run today, but there will be a turnaround in every way.
Ben Jones Mar 2014
Before the time of humans
When the Earth was bare and new
As the sand was poured along the shore
And the sky was painted blue
A single breed of creature
Had dominion of the land
God’s chosen kind: The Turkey
To adhere to his command

They fluttered forth and multiplied
Quite fruitful, they became
They fornicated day and night
Each downy chap and dame
And God was not too happy
“Now hang on just a minute
I said that you should multiply
But, ******, there’s a limit”

The Turkeys gobbled ruefully
For lack of hanky-panky
Until, up stepped a noble fowl
By the name of Lance the Lanky
He stood at least a meter high
His beak was sharpened weekly
The Lord appeared unto him
“Yes ,Lance?” He ventured meekly

Lance stuck out his mighty chest
And issued his demands
For he couldn't get his rocks off
And was quite bereft of hands
“My Lord, I want some nookie
And this abstinence is shocking!
I’m not the kind of feathered ****
To tolerate a blocking”

The Lord rolled up his baggy sleeves
“Now quit your ****** prattle
We’ll settle this the proper way
Prepare yourself for battle!
Name your choice of weapon”
“I will!” responded Lance
“We’ll settle on a victor
Through the medium of dance”

So God moved on the firmament
And Lo! In flashing squares
A dance floor, he constructed
And around it, tiny chairs
The turkey folk assembled
As the Lord and Lance prepared
And to the beat of Tiger Feet
The dance-off was declared

Lance stepped up and Tap-danced
For birds, a skillful deed
He clicked and clattered flawlessly
And took an early lead
But God was quick to counter
With a cheeky little Rumba
The music changed at His command
To a Shakin’ Stevens number

Lance tried Paso Doble
But he made a major blunder
He put his feet too far apart
And Lord God Limbo-ed under
They formed up for a Charleston
The audience were wowed
Then tangled in a tango
Turning circles for the crowd

Their Salsa was spectacular
The Cossack dance was kickin’
So Lance pressed his advantage
With a faultless Funky Chicken
The scores were near identical
For the Foxtrot and the Jive
God had racked up forty three
And Lance had forty five

The Harlem Shake was noteworthy
The Lap Dance, indescribable
The scores were kept by seraphim
Reputedly unbribable
Endlessly, they boogied on
They threw the Highland Fling
But crisis! Lance tripped over
And he sprained his mighty wing

God was named as champion
And not the least bit pleased
The Turkey Folk were banished
Their nests and corn were seized
Then God made just two humans
And to save himself some grief
Instead of genitalia
He gave them each a leaf

He made for them a garden
With a host of fruit and veg
He bid them “See just yonder
“Behind the garden hedge
That’s where I keep the Turkeys
And each ****** one's a sinner
So gather sage and onions up
I’ll show you what’s for dinner”
Overwhelmed Dec 2010
people find it hard
to believe happiness
because for many,
it’s much more of a myth
or a hazy recollection
than it is something real
and rational and
to be aspired too

love and hope
and dreams
have taken on this air of
imagination
in recent generations

for a brief moment,
they were truly believed in
by the adults
by the people in charge
by the whole wide world
even as everything they knew before
had crumbled and wrecked
to a state beyond
their power to
repair

but it was that desolate place the world was
that drove the people to believe in such fancy
and frivolous thoughts

because if they had not,
the world would’ve withered
and died, like a cow so old
you know there’s no hope
or a flower so far gone
that you don’t mind to let it
wilt

those times went though,
like a leaf upon the wind,
as the children began acting
as the adults and followed
their dreams to a land so
few actually reached


and as the adults saw their failure
and the children saw the adults flee
the belief in love, in hope, in dreams,
in morals, in rites, in traditions, in
togetherness, in family, in belief-

failed

and

sunk

the last tip of the ship leaving the surface
with the first person who believed in the
infomercial

we do not know what we can do
because we do not believe we can
do anything

happiness, as I started this all out with,
is not a bed-time story

it is very real
and it is very
powerful

but in each average person’s life
they get to experience only once
or twice, seeming like a random
occurrence, and thus cementing
in so many people’s minds that
it is

but it is not

happiness comes from knowing how to be happy

it’s not about sacrifice
or faith
or hard-work
or dedication

it’s about knowing who you are,
what the world is,
and how you
can make
the best
of it

this is not some secret art

it is a simple idea:
that happiness can be controlled

and it’s execution is even simpler:

how can I be happy?
how can I be happy,
forever?
Scarlet McCall Nov 2016
Not far from the ocean, not far from the town,
the South Beach turkeys roam the hospital grounds.
They serve no purpose, they do as they please,
they preen and they strut in the salty sea breeze.
Sometimes they just stand and look around.
They find tasty grubs in the trees and the ground.
Sometimes they chase, sometimes they cluck;
they do as they please; they don’t give a f*
It’s a bird’s life, on the grounds of South Beach.
Perhaps there’s a lesson that these birds could teach--
no need to hurry, just do what you need.
Fly if you can, or just sit in a tree.
Watch the passersby as they go to and fro.
Or just stand around and watch the grass grow.
Some thought they were pests and wanted them gone;
but to **** them for no reason would just be wrong.
At times I have thought that they might be tasty--
wild birds raised in nativity—with stuffing and gravy.
Surely much better than from the factory farm--
(and it’s a shame that to those birds we cause so much harm).
But shooting a turkey who sits on a lawn
would mean calling the cops, with their guns drawn.
So the turkeys live on, and I sing their song.
I’d miss their feathered glory, if one day they were gone.
The closest I could get to a Thanksgiving poem; I wrote this a couple of years ago after observing the wild turkeys that roam the grounds of South Beach Psychiatric Hospital in Staten Island.
Larry B Nov 2010
'Twas the night before Thanksgiving
And all through the forest
All the turkeys were gathered
From the richest to poorest

For a meeting was called
To plan their revenge
For all of their loved ones
Who were ever cooked or singed

Now this turkey rebellion
Was long overdue
How would they get even?
And what would they do?

I was there that night
When their meeting adjourned
Keep reading this poem
To see what I learned

This meeting went on
For what seemed like an hour
'Til a gobbler stepped forth
In their circle of power

Now all the turkeys agreed
To this gobbler's idea
They'd all eat some exlax
And give them diarrhea

No matter how they cooked it
Bake it or boil it
The humans would spend
All day on the toilet

So, remember this Thanksgiving
As you try to relax
Have plenty of TP
For those sudden attacks
Ella Gwen Jul 2015
I feel like the white lion
stuck in a cage for the rest of my days
feet set to tread a path barred and dusty
from all of those who trod before it.

The only excitement, the jangles of
keys from the keeper who runs to
throw carcass of rabbit, turkeys
through my bars for me
to render sustenance, incomplete.

I fear the white lion
hear my lonely roar and wonder
at such talons, canines now stolen
and feet dismembered, claws ripped
from their shackles, top-of-the-food-chain
fear desecrated.

And a genetic time-bomb too
ticks under my skin and theirs
as I sit and I listen to the lies
your children now share.

My line also ends, a mere stutter
in the sand, as the tides flow steady
and the last lion lingers.

And I am, too, held high like a beacon,
a warning, a message spanning
centuries, look, children, look!
See the mistakes of your ancestors.

See how her coat shines so very bright
that it reflects all seven colours
of the light? See how lonely and low
the last of a manipulated, mistaken,
misconstrued species can go?

She was drawn from her mother
mixed with her father, no she doesn't need him
and the others, why yes, all left
are her kin!

How wonderful, how quaint, you
know only ten now remain?
None in the wild of course, where
their life cannot sustain,
better here locked under our
constraints where we have
so much wonder, so much recreation
and education to gain.

And true, from this bleak place
they can never migrate
but look at her, no where else to go
this man-made mistake.

Don’t worry about the pacing,
the maddened, gleaming eye
the freedom they miss
out there? They would die!
And they know no other way
than this.

I know she looks sad, but
that’s just your feelings projecting,
they’re just animals, my darling,
you’re innocent, shouting in consternation
save her in the name of conservation!

But we are all white lions
all now endangered, our steps
are no freer, our lives all
subject to external changes and we
cannot move but for the cage
they have constructed, their
lives are impacted but our
wonder is not deducted.

I feel like the white lion
this ambassador of our greatness
this one mistake, so very clever,
engineered to engage us, these lives that
were wrought solely to entertain us.

I feel it, their future entwined in mine
and in humans across the ages.

Meaning of life designed, its sibilant message
dangerous, a dumb animal wandering
a set path, disregarded, destructive, aimless.
John Stevens Jul 2010
When Mom died in June of 1991 Dad was rather lost,
like the rest of us. I started writing little letters in
big print so he could read them. He would not talk on
the phone so this was the only way to make contact.
I found out later that he carried them around in his
bib overall pocket and pulled them out from time to time.
Occasionally they would get washed and when Sharon
let me know I would run off another copy and mail it.
It became a means for me to remember the past and help
Dad at the same time. My kids loved to hear stories of
when I was a kid so I would recycle the stories between
the kids and Dad. Now as I read them it is a reminder of
things that have become a little fuzzy over the years,
also a reminder that I need to fill in the gaps of the stories
and leave them for my kids before it is too late. So here it is,
such as it is, if you are interested.

=======================================

    Letter­s to Dad

    Nov. 14, 1991

    Dear Dad,
    Your grandkiddies, as you call them,
    send you a big hug from Idaho. Sara is
    five and in Kindergarten this year and
    doing very well. Kristen is in the forth
    grade and made the Honor Roll list the
    first quarter of the year. We are very
    proud of both of our girls.

    Do you remember when toward late
    afternoon you and I would get in the car
    and “Drive around the block” as you
    always said? We would go up to Cliff’s
    and go east for a mile then down past
    Cleo Mae house and on back home. I
    remember you would stop at the junk
    piles and I would find neat stuff, like
    wheels from old toys, that I could make
    into my toys. I think of those times often.
    It was very enjoyable.

    I will be writing to you in the BIG PRINT
    so you can read it easier.

    It is snowing lightly here today. Supposed
    to be nasty weather for a while.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ——————————————————–

    Dec. 3, 1991

    Dear Dad,

    Just a note to say we love you. I miss very
    much talking to Mom on the phone and
    having you play Red Wing on your harmonica.

    I remember quite often when I was very
    young, 4 or 5, and we would go out to the
    field to change the water or something.
    The sand burrs would be so thick and you
    would pick me up on your back. I would
    put my feet into your back pockets and
    away we would go.

    These are the things childhood memories
    are supposed to be made of. Kristen and
    Sara love to hear the stories about when I
    was a kid and what you and I did
    together. I try with them to build the
    memories that they can tell their kids.
    Thanks Dad for a good childhood.

    Bye for now.
    Kristen and Sara send you a kiss and a
    hug.

    Your son, John

    —————————————————–

    Jan. 12, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    We went to Oregon for Christmas and
    had very good traveling weather. Do you
    remember when you and Mom went with
    us once to Oregon at Christmas and
    there were apples still hanging on the
    tree by the Williams house? We made
    apple pie from the apples that you
    picked. Turned out to be pretty good pie.
    There weren’t any apple on the tree this
    year. I thought of you picking the apples
    and bringing them into the kitchen in
    your hat if I remember right.

    We have had some pretty good times
    together. I was thinking the other day
    about a picture that I took of you about
    12 years ago. It captured you as I will
    always remember you. If I can locate it in
    all the stuff, I would like to get it blown
    up and submit it to the art section at the
    Twin Falls County Fair this year.

    I hope this finds you feeling well. I love
    you Dad. Kristen and Sara send you a
    kiss and a hug.

    Oh yes, I would like for you and Tracy to
    sit down sometime and talk about when
    you were a kid and record it on tape. I
    would like to put your remembrances
    down on paper.

    Bye for now.

    Your son, John

    ———————————————————

    Feb. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Happy Valentine’s Day!!

    Spring is on the way and soon you will be
    85. Just a spring chicken, right? I hope I
    can get around as well as you do by the
    time I am 85.

    Thanks for the letter. I will keep it for a
    very long time. It is the first letter I have
    received from my Father in 48 years.

    Talked to Ed the other day. He said he
    talked to you on the phone and that you
    were wearing your hearing aids and
    glasses. Great! Mom would be proud of
    you.

    Talked to a guy last week who is
    president of the John Deer tractor group
    here. He invited me to bring my “M”
    John Deer to the County Fair and
    participate in the tractor pull contest.
    Might just do that.

    Well the page is filling up using these big
    letters but if it makes it easier to read it is
    worth it.

    Bye for now Dad, I love you. Pennye,
    Kristen and Sara send their love too.

    Your son, John
    —————————————————-
    April 13, 1992

    Dad

    Though the years have past and you are now
    85, you are still the same as when I was a
    child. The memories of going with you to the
    field, when you were “riding the ditch”,
    surveying in a lateral, loading up the turkeys
    in the old Ford truck and taking them to the
    “Hoppers” - is just as if it were yesterday. I
    think of you playing Red Wing on the harp. I
    remember when during the looong cold
    winters we would play checkers. You would
    always beat me. I learned to play a good game.

    Not much has changed except we are both
    much older now. The values you did not speak
    but lived out in front of me has helped make
    me what I am today. I pray that I will be a
    good example before my children to help them
    on their way through life.

    On your 85th birthday, I want to wish you a
    Happy Birthday and thank you for being my
    Father.

    Love
    John

    April 13, 1992

    ————————————————–

    June 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    I hope this finds you well. The Stevens
    family in Twin Falls Idaho is having a
    busy summer. Kristen just finished the
    fourth grade and was on the Honor Roll
    for the entire year. Sara will now be a
    big First Grader next year.

    The other day we went out to eat and
    Kristen had chicken and noodles. She
    said, “This tastes just like Grandma
    Nellie’s noodles.” I hope they can keep
    these memories fresh and remember all
    the good times we had back in Nebraska.
    It is difficult to accept that things have
    changed and will never be the same again.
    We miss the weekly phone calls to Nebraska.

    It is clouding up and we might get rain
    this week. It is very dry around here.
    Some of the canals will be cut off in July.

    Bye for now.

    Your Son John

    Love you Dad. I think of you often.

    —————————————————-

    June 22, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Hope you had a good “HAPPY PAPPY”
    day. This note is to wish you a late
    “HAPPY PAPPY” day.

    I was thinking the other day about the
    times you would take me roller skating
    out at the fair ground on Sunday
    afternoons. I really enjoyed those times. I
    remember how you could give a little hop
    and skate backwards. For me staying on
    my feet was a challenge.

    Sara will be 6 years old June 29. Seems
    like yesterday when she was born. Time
    has a way of passing very quickly.

    Love you lots Dad. The family sends their
    love too.

    Bye for now.
    John

    —————————————————

    Aug. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Just a note to let you know that your
    Idaho family love you. It was good to talk
    to you for a minute or two the other day.
    I miss the harmonica playing you would
    do over the phone.

    We are all well even though the place
    was covered with smoke from all the
    forest fires last week. It got a little hard
    on the lungs at times but the smoke has
    moved on now. Probably went over
    Nebraska.

    Talked to brother Ed the other day. He
    had just returned from from Nebraska.
    Ed said you looked good for 85.

    Bye for now.

    John

    —————————————————–

    Sept. 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    I am sending a copy of what Mom sent
    me a few years ago of what she
    remembered about growing up. I wish I
    had more. How about sitting down with
    Tracy and Sharon and telling them some
    of the things you remember about
    growing up? They can record it and I will
    put it on paper. I would really like that.

    We are ok here in Idaho. Summer had
    disappeared and it is school time again.
    Kristen is in the 5th grade and Sara is in
    the 1st grade. The family went to the
    County Fair today for the second time.
    One day is enough for me.

    I think of you often and love you Dad.
    Thinking of the good times we had
    together while I was growing up always
    makes me happy. You and Mom raised
    four pretty good kids.
    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    —————————————————–

    Oct. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    We are fine out in Idaho. We are having
    beautiful fall weather. It has not frozen
    enough to get our tomato plants yet.

    Kristen and Sara are doing very well in
    school. They brought home their mid
    term report cards and are getting A’s
    and a B or two.

    Remember when we would go out in the
    corn field and pick the corn by hand? I
    would drive the tractor and you and Ed
    and Wayne picked the corn and threw it
    in the trailer. You guys kept warm from
    the work and I was freezing on the
    tractor. Before that we used the horses
    named Brownie and - was it Blackie?
    The one that kept getting out up north by
    the ditch was Brownie. He figured out
    how to open the gate.

    I remember the times that you were
    hauling cane or sorghum from the field
    east of Mercers and I would ride behind
    the wagon on my sled.

    I had a very good childhood really.
    Thanks for being my Dad.

    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ——————————————————-

    Nov. 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    It is snowy here and cold. I have a hole in
    the back of the house I must get sealed up
    to keep the cold out. We are redoing this
    part for the kitchen.

    Kristen and Sara made the Honor Roll
    this quarter in school. Kristen’s teacher
    said he wished he had a whole room full
    of Kristens to teach.

    Sorry the phone connection was so bad
    when I called the other day. It was good
    to here you say “hello hello….” any way.
    Glad you are feeling better.

    Your account in the credit union is about
    $34,000 now.

    I was just thinking back when we were
    cultivating corn with that “crazy wheel
    cultivator”. The one that you drove the
    tractor and I rode on the cultivator and
    used the foot pedals to steer it down the
    rows. I remember sometimes it cleaned
    out some of the corn row. Cultivator
    blight, right? It was kind of hard to keep
    straight. Those were the days.

    I keep remembering little bits of things
    while growing up. Sometime I will put
    them all together for my kids to read
    about the “good ole days”.

    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ————————————————
    Dec. 17, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    The snow has fallen and the kids stayed
    home from school today. The wind is now
    blowing so it will begin drifting the road
    shut. Besides that the whole family is sick
    with a cold.

    We are putting together a Christmas gift
    to you but it won’t be ready for
    Christmas. It is something that you can
    watch over and over if you want. So
    Merry Christmas for now.

    Last night was the kids’ school Christmas
    program. Kristen started playing the
    flute this fall and played with a group for
    the first time this week. She did very well
    and I got it on video.

    Time to get this in the mail. Love you
    Dad.
    Bye for now.

    Kristen and Sara send you a kiss and a
    hug.
    Your son, John

    ——————————————————

    Jan. 11, 1993

    Dear Dad,

    We have a lot of snow on the ground
    now. I was telling the family about the
    winter of 49 where the snow covered the
    door and you had to scoop the snow into
    the house to dig a tunnel out then haul
    the snow out through the tunnel. That
    was a 15 foot drift wasn’t it? It sure
    looked big to this 6 year old. Then the
    plane flew over the house for a few days
    until we could get out and signal an OK.
    Those were the days! What I do not
    remember is how you took care of the
    cows and stuff during this time. I
    remember being sick and Wayne took the
    horse and rode into Broadwater to get
    oranges and something else. The big
    white dog we had went along and was hit
    by a car. Wayne had to use a fence post
    to finish him off. I remember feeling very
    sad about the old dog.
    We haven’t had this much snow in 8
    years.

    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are with you all.
    Bye for now. Love you Dad
    The family send a BIG Hi!!!!

    Your son, John

    —————————————————-

    Feb. 9, 1993

    Dear Dad,

    When the kids go to bed they say “Tell us
    a story about when you were a kid on the
    farm”. So I tell them things that I write
    to you and a LOT that I don’t write to
    you. The other day going to school we
    were talking about one of the first snow
    falls we had this year. I spun the van
    around in circles in the parking lot and
    they thought that was GREAT fun. Then
    I told them about the time that their
    Grandpa cut some circles in the Kelly
    School yard and hit a pole with the back
    fender. Do you remember that? I
    remember Mom bringing it up every now
    and then. Then there was the time you
    got a little close to the guard posts along
    the highway just west of Broadwater and
    ripped the spare tire and bracket off the
    old Jeep. Of course none of US ever did
    anything like that. HA.

    It is good to remember back and tell the
    kids about the things we did “in the old
    days”. They find it hard to believe there
    was no TV and I walked through rattle
    snake country to go to the neighbors to
    play. It WAS a good time for me and I
    had a GOOD Dad to help me grow up.
    Thanks again Dad. You and Mom did a
    very good job on us four kids. Sometimes
    we don’t show it often enough but I for
    one thank you and LOVE you.

    Soon you will have another birthday.
    Before you know it you will be 90. I
    should be so lucky.

    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are with you all. Bye for now. Love you
    Dad
    The family send a BIG Hi!!!!

    Your son, John

    —————————————————–

    Mar. 9, 1993

    Dear Dad,
    Time has a way of disappearing so
    rapidly. I was going to write you a note
    two weeks ago and now here we are.

    It looks like spring is just about to arrive.
    I am ready for it. I’ll bet you are ready to
    get out side and do something. Do you
    miss not farming? I think often about the
    farm and the things we used to do. The
    kids always ask for stories about being on
    the farm. I tell them about raising a
    garden, rattlesnakes, floods, the BIG
    ONE in 49, anything that comes to mind.

    The family went to Sun Valley about 70
    miles north of here Sat. with Kristen’s
    Girl Scout troop for a day of ice skating.
    Pennye used the VCR and played back
    their falls and no falls. It reminded me of
    the times you would get your old clamp-
    on skates on a cut a figure on the ice. I
    never was very good at it. You could hop
    up and turn around. I couldn’t stay of
    my back side and head. I still have a big
    dent in the back of my head from the last
    time I tried. Nearly killed me. So much
    for that.

    Next month you will have another
    birthday. 86 years! Before you know it
    you will be 90.

    I paid your insurance for another year
    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are w
Kenna Nov 2012
During a walk through the hallway
of the primary school
I find hallways
filled with turkeys and leafs and stiff scrawled characters.
What is Mr. Smith's class thankful for?
Flowers and toys and cars and dresses and pink and purple and soccer and skirts and barbies and family.

How could you sum up all of the things you are thankful for in one word?
At the end of the hallway I am faced with a choice:
What are you thankful for?
-----------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------------------------------
What­ am I thankful for?
Happiness, and family and security and nature and
friends.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for laughs and chatts and cries and sobs and games and smiles.

I am thanful for ****** contortions and 80s dance sessions,
for inabilty to speak.
I am thankful for hobos, eating on the side of the road,
and for devious scheymes of intoxicatation.

Hep beni anlayan bir arkadaşım var müteşekkirim
and who listens to my sob stories.
I am thankful for singing in the rain.
And styling hair in the sink
for screeching and howling
and hissing.

I am thankful for obkirchergasses,
for Ströcks and for ice cream plarlours.
I am thankful for mentos,
and walnuts.

I am thankful for bad lip readings and hilarious youtube vidoes.
I am thankful for unknown languages and nymphs
and for eloquence.
I am thankful for good taste in music
and for strong opinions.

I am thankful for dancing indian pirates with demon chicks and fireballs.
I am thankful for two-headed teenagers and barbeques.
I am thankful for God and healthy choice prayers,
and Hawaii get aways.

I am thankful for huge, hanging sweaters and crazy, funky leggings.
I am thankful for deep talks about the world's lack of beauty
and for poetry buddies.

I am thankful for dodgeball playing mice,
and poor old wenches.
I am thankful for pirate and mermaid adventures.

I am thankful for the looks we get:
looks of loud disapproval,
and whispers of quiet exasperation.

I am thankful for golden men and loud singing,
for crazy dances with crazy cousins and cute brothers.
I am thankful for Aunt Jemima.

I am thankful for banging on metal bars with rocks and shouting at the top of our lungs.
I am thankful for climbing over gates in order to not step on cracks.
I am thankful for amazing humanities teachers.
I am thankful for a laugh when the day is over.
-----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------------------
How those kids manage to fit all of their thankfulness into one word  is beyond me.
Even the one-word things we are thankful for, must be described with a million words.
For my dearest, lovely Isabelle <3
Turkeys from the woods
Come to visit dear old Jim
Amidst thick snow.




March 2, 2011

© 2011 emilou (All rights reserved)
This haiku was inspired by a picture of wild turkeys taken by my friend Jim in his yard.
preservationman Nov 2023
Oven nice and hot
All Turkeys say not
Turkey dash run here and there
Stuffing with all the seasoning ready
The Turkeys have no choice but to hold steady
Knives are all prepared
Cook and serve
Giving thanks all deserve
Turkeys say why us?
Thanksgiving tradition being the must
Turkeys are always in a getaway rush
They are chanting, “NO”
Like it or not
Look Turkeys, you are the main course
We humans are the force
Turkeys rebel with a picket sign, ‘DOWN WITH THANKSGIVING”
Table set
Have a seat
Let’s eat
Turkey defeat
ClawedBeauty101 Mar 2018
I'm going to tell you a story about what a relationship in this day and age should look like

Except this isn't my story to tell. This story goes to the wild Turkey's, for love, they will fight

You see, I work at a rescue center, and we have 4 turkeys. 3 male, and 1 female.

The one female and 2 of the males are rescued.  The last male is a wild turkey. He visits every day without fail

He flies over the fence to visit his female, and she never loved another, not even with the other two

Although there were other wild females, and other recused males, they were determined to keep their loyalty true

And true and loyal they both have always been, and when one of the other males tried to attack

or scare Her love away. The female won't just stand around, she'll put on a fight, and peck at their backs

Their backs are bare, they learned the hard way. Not to mess with loyal love. He can't stay away

Even when I or any other people try to frighten him off, it won't stop him, he still comes every day

If only people could have a strong, loyal, love fighting relationship like these two turkey's.

They've been like this for 4 years... What a lovely lesson we could learn... It's something I want for me.
Turkey's.... Romance... What???? XD XD XD

This is a true story though, sometime I'll post a picture of them but it is the sweetest thing... I've never heard of a better loyal animal love story and it's like.... why can't people be JUST as willing... JUST as loyal.. JUST as faithful... and JUST as willing to fight for one another...

The Lord has taught me so many things through animals I wish I could share to more... but not everyone can relate and I guess thats why i don't share them that often. I hope this at least touched your heart and if you want to read more poems about lessons I've learned from animals, Please comment ;) I would be greatly encouraged by that... I know this poem... isn't really that good but.. I really felt like I should write about it :) Thank you!

3/22/18
Cat Lynn ///
I’ll split the hairs, I’ll split an atom
And never leave the bedroom.
I most identify with December,
Not because of the crushing temperature
But the lack of cosmic dawdling
Is no more mesmerizing than a frozen phoenix.

And as she arrives by train from Phoenix,
I study who she appears to be, the atoms
Composing her auburn hair with dawdling
Authenticity shout “Take me to the bedroom!”
While the wedge of geese in this temperature
Head to the Southern Hemisphere’s December.

The common chill of this morning in December
Prevents us from rising from out the covers like a phoenix,
And our blankets like ash defend us from the temperature
That stills the vibrations of the atmosphere’s atoms.
I curse the insulated walls of the bedroom,
Trapping in heat and discouraging our dawdling.

A rafter of turkeys outside my window are dawdling,
Printing their runes on the documents of December
Between the thickets surrounding the bedroom
While the sun, golden like the plumage of a phoenix,
Awakens in my bones every dormant atom,
Instilling in me courage to brave the temperature.

I follow her, dressed, from the bedroom
And her footsteps serve to punctuate the temperature
Like the smoldering beak of a phoenix
Too busy being risen for dawdling.
She leaves, by train through the chill of December,
Me daydreaming of fission. The splitting of an atom.

I’ll split an atom daily, safely within the bedroom
And sleep through December’s pitiless, hollow temperature,
Waking only for dawdling until Spring is a phoenix.
Raj Arumugam Jul 2012
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read…donkey as I am,
I can read
Where did I learn to read?
they taught me at home,
they taught me at school
they taught me at the camps and retreats
and at all the Assemblies and Gatherings
and at various Thought Adjustment Programs
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
I can read…donkey as I am,
I can read and I can recite
They trained me well to recite
and to memorize and to regurgitate
and to repeat and repeat and repeat
at the Houses of Prayer
the Holy Ones stood before us
and they trained us, they drilled us
thousands and thousands of us
and millions and millions of us
and through years and years
and centuries and centuries
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw*
No variation, no change, just -
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw

I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
they trained us well at Animal Farm –
word for word, repeat and repeat and repeat
and when in doubt, we have our Great Leaders
Pigs for Pigs, Goats for Goats, Turkeys for Turkeys
and Donkeys for Donkeys
who will speak for us
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw

I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
so must you, if you should be pure,
if you should be saved
if you should see the Truth
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw

I can read, I can recite, I can repeat
*Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
Hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw
companion picture: Hasta su abuelo, Caprichos by Francisco Goya (1746 - 1828)
Keegan Nov 2018
The turkeys are gone
Empty fields,
Once full of birds,
Now with empty plucked skin.
The turkeys are gone,

The turkeys are gone. 
Empty chairs,
Around tables full of plates
With only remnants of their plenty.
Doors open in an empty house,
Once full of laughter,
Now silent.
The turkeys are gone
JMG Dec 2010
Before I knew it, He had a dead locked grip
But the monster is breathing his last dying breath

It's pitiful I had to feel it to hate it
I saw him ******* our empire
He had his grip on my family tree
While I was a fetus
It happened near the time I was born
At 20 he eased his grip on my father
And it took me so, so long to realize that it was simply so
He could tighten his grip on me
I thought my mortal soul
Could handle a Real Killer Demon
All by myself
Yeah ******* right
I have to admit, I kept him at bay for longer than most
I just rode around on his back for the first years
When she left, I didn't stop buying her share
I just did twice as ******* much
And I thought I was way past rock bottom
280 milligrams
Still not where I wanna be          
I still got a bag full, though                 [keep going man, you got this]
But i loosened my grip on him                   - th' demon whispers-
I played dead for a while
I just had to put it down
I have to admit
The scars were painful
His hand really sticks, and believe me....
The longer he's got you, the harder it sticks
You gotta grow a backbone
And a set of big *****
                            To force out of his grip
Everybody around me is just trading drugs for other drugs
Like really
There is a ******* drug
that helps you to get off drugs
That is truly *******
Did you hear what I just said?
People actually think drugs...
Are gonna help you....
Get off drugs....
Cold Turkey is tride and true
The only bona-fide method
I did it, and I promise you can too
Ten days or so is worth the rest of your life, I promise....
Good thing I kicked in-between semesters
I would have never made it through class Detoxing
And I surely wouldn't have the top spot
That means no student of the month
Only questionable job prospects...
**** that
I really am gonna be the best of the best
I just can't settle for "At-Least" Livin'
The Pharmaceutical monster lost his grip a long time ago
Oxycontin is dead
But there's one loose end
I really gotta clear the fog
Epic change is among us
It was a great ride
But I have to say goodbye to you Mrs. Mary Jane   :(
I really do love you
I do
And yes I can still be great if you come along for the ride
But I can only be the best if I leave you here for a while
Goodbye my dear
We have had much fun
We might surely cross path later
You never know what direction the world will go
We'll just have to see
I really never thought I would see this day
But I have decided
That it has to be tonight
You have it here on paper
Finally nippin' it in the bud....
I gotta let you go, too Mary
Peace
JG, December 2010
No more ******
****
Stanley Mungai Jun 2012
****-a-doodle doo.
Pigs snorting and grunt.
Bleat baa the sheep.
Hidden in the trees squeak the squirrels.
Gobble gobble gobbling turkeys.
Low oxen moo the cows.
Hohi-a-hohhle hi
Bray donkeys so similar.
Rolling on the red dust.
The village.

A swallow-tailed bee-eater.
Calling and singing.
A green barbet, dark brown head.
Answers the call.
A red-capped lark, black bill.
Entertains the morning.
An emerald-spotted wood dove.
Seated lonely somewhere.
Coos to the extravaganza.
The village.
*Away from the hustle of the city, from the noise and the pollution, the moral decay and the insecurity, The village.*
Najwa Kareem Jan 2019
We fed ourselves on New Year's well

Gifts were exchanged over the song The First Noel

The evening before Christmas drinks were had

Many fooling themselves that they are glad

Throughout the cheer, men, women, and children in Yemen forgotten

Leftover turkeys and roasts would be hurriedly eaten even if found rotten

Starvation has Yemeni bodies eating themselves

Have you seen photos of their emaciated figures on newspapers' shelves

Pregnant women and newborn babies with dead husbands and dead fathers

How do they care for themselves when in the grand scheme of things no one bothers

Saudi military should go **** on themselves

Murderous cowards that they are playing with Santa's elves

Women in Yemen being ***** and domestic violence bring me to tears

Would they get away with their satanic work if the U.S. wasn't kissing their filthy rears

Seriously dangerous diseases running rampant

Yemenis beautiful skin no longer so lambent

So few of us care enough to choke up for our Ahmeds and for our Imans

I ask infuriatingly will it take a whole country's destruction to rise for Yemen's Marwans
SE Reimer Feb 2018
~

fowl flock to a gathering,
exactly why? no one knows.
an unkindness of ravens,
a ****** of crows;
a siege of blue heron,
gather geese in a horde;
seem to come in their sadness,
but stay for the show.
see swan sail in wedges,
jay scoff in their scold;
assembly, their strength,
nom de plume from of old.

ask me why do they gather?
could it be they’re unhappy?
might we also feel slighted,
a disservice agreed;
if our strength were declared
our insufficiency?
why do finches and
hummingbirds meet in a charm?
penguins, get to huddle,
and in happiness, those larks?

the cranes come in dances,
in company those parrots;
to parliaments owls,
in wisdom who-hoo-ing;
flamingoes to stand,
for an eagle’s convocation?
no, a nye’s not unpleasant,
for a pheasant you see;
and benign is a bevy,
quail flush neath a tree.

but, ’tis a bit scary,
lurking turkey in gangs,
hawk’s shadowy cast;
and warblers in confusion,
with buzzards in wake;
a wisp full of snipe,
whisp’ring, “good night”;
yet glorious are pelicans,
a squadron in flight;

and nothing so stirring, as
a starling’s constellation,
while an asylum’s
assembly for loons,
and a quarrel of sparrows,
are entirely drowned out,
by a drumming of peckers,
the wood kind, that is!

while sticks and stones,
may break all one’s bones;
those labels and words, do
leave a sting and a hurt;
all human, one race,
can unkindness defer,
diffusing by choosing,
our union assert!
but slinging maligning,
and kicking of dirt,
by abusers and losers,
let's leave for the birds!

~

*post script.

numerous fellow poets far more skilled than i, have posted a variety of well-written pieces using fowl flocking terminology. this is intended to be an assembly of the sometimes-silly, often-absurd and mostly-always-humorous assignments of those flocking terms, used in an imagined treatise about the hurtful labels we humans use to judge one another; labels that vilify, rather than unify.  for would not a battle that hasn’t any "winner" be far better fought hand-in-hand, than hand-to-hand?

terms for flocking fowl in order of use
(a few fowl have two flocking terms, and some flocking terms are claimed by two fowls)

an unkindness (ravens)
a ****** (crows)
a siege (herons)
a horde (geese)
a wedge (swans)
a scold (jays)
a charm (hummingbird, finches)
a huddle (penguins)
a happiness (larks)
a dance (cranes)
a company (parrots)
a parliament (owls)
a stand (flamingos)
a convocation (eagles)
a nye (pheasants)
a bevy (quail)
a flush (also quail)
a cast (hawks)
a gang (turkeys)
a wisp (snipes)
a squadron (pelicans)
a confusion (warblers)
a wake (buzzards)
an asylum (loons)
a constellation (starlings)
a quarrel (sparrows)
a drumming (woodpeckers)

oh yes, there are many more.  i'd love to see your favorite(s) left in the comments.
Steve (:
Turkey hunting with his pappy
The dogs let loose into the marsh
Birds flew out, and guns went off
The end result was rather harsh
Willie Joe jumped first at nothing
Shot at turkeys in the air
First shot missed, but hit a target
He'd shot Jim Joseph in the ear

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

Jolene was all set for college
Had a baby on the way
One quick fling in the hay with Joseph
There was nothing left for her to say
Joseph stood and did deny it
Said that Jolene told a lie
Jolene's daddy got his shotgun
And with no wedding, Joseph'd die

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

The wedding went off without trouble
Both families were there in force
Jolene's dad had brought his shotgun
The best man was old Joseph's horse
The moonshine flowed like holy water
There was no jar that wasn't filled
And through it all, poor pregnant Jolene
Wondered who would end up killed

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

The preacher preached and people listened
Amened here and there throughout
A few well placed hallelujahs
Praise the lord was heard no doubt
All dressed in black with eyes just shining
He couldn't have done smiled more
For who in town knew that the preacher
Owned the gun and ammo store?

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
And the preacher would refill the gun.
Wal, Thanksgivin’ do be comin’ round.
With the price of turkeys on the bound,
And coal, by gum! Thet were just found,
Is surely gettin’ cheaper.

The winds will soon begin to howl,
And winter, in its yearly growl,
Across the medders begin to prowl,
And Jack Frost gettin’ deeper.

By shucks! It seems to me,
That you I orter be
Thankful, that our Ted could see
A way to operate it.

I sez to Mandy, sure, sez I,
I’ll bet thet air patch o’ rye
Thet he’ll squash ’em by-and-by,
And he did, by cricket!

No use talkin’, he’s the man—
One of the best thet ever ran,
Fer didn’t I turn Republican
One o’ the fust?

I ‘lowed as how he’d beat the rest,
But old Si Perkins, he hemmed and guessed,
And sed as how it wuzn’t best
To meddle with the trust.
louis rams Dec 2014
Christmas countdown has begun and family members are on the run
Looking for the bargains everywhere, and how they get it they don’t care.
All the retailers have put up their displays
As they prepare for Christmas day.
Grocery stores and supermarkets with their specials on the floor
And in every aisle there are treats galore.
Turkeys and hams, candied yams too- all the treats just for you.
Department stores and shopping malls- filled with shoppers wall to wall.
The children are in total awe as they look from store to store.
And every new item that’s on TV.  In the stores for them to see.
Yes!  The Christmas countdown has begun. And the children
Are preparing for the fun, from bicycles and dolls and all the rest
Knowing they’ve gotten all the best.
Look around; look around, the Christmas spirit is all around.
MERY CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL, THIS IS THE SEASON TO HAVE A BALL!
©L.RAMS 112214
Long ago in a poultry yard
One dull November morn,
Beneath a motherly soft wing
A little goose was born.

Who straightway peeped out of the shell
To view the world beyond,
Longing at once to sally forth
And paddle in the pond.

"Oh! be not rash," her father said,
A mild Socratic bird;
Her mother begged her not to stray
With many a warning word.

But little goosey was perverse,
And eagerly did cry,
"I've got a lovely pair of wings,
Of course I ought to fly."

In vain parental cacklings,
In vain the cold sky's frown,
Ambitious goosey tried to soar,
But always tumbled down.

The farmyard jeered at her attempts,
The peacocks screamed, "Oh fie!
You're only a domestic goose,
So don't pretend to fly."

Great ****-a-doodle from his perch
Crowed daily loud and clear,
"Stay in the puddle, foolish bird,
That is your proper sphere,"

The ducks and hens said, one and all,
In gossip by the pool,
"Our children never play such pranks;
My dear, that fowl's a fool."

The owls came out and flew about,
Hooting above the rest,
"No useful egg was ever hatched
From transcendental nest."

Good little goslings at their play
And well-conducted chicks
Were taught to think poor goosey's flights
Were naughty, ill-bred tricks.

They were content to swim and scratch,
And not at all inclined
For any wild goose chase in search
Of something undefined.

Hard times she had as one may guess,
That young aspiring bird,
Who still from every fall arose
Saddened but undeterred.

She knew she was no nightingale
Yet spite of much abuse,
She longed to help and cheer the world,
Although a plain gray goose

She could not sing, she could not fly,
Nor even walk, with grace,
And all the farmyard had declared
A puddle was her place.

But something stronger than herself
Would cry, "Go on, go on!
Remember, though an humble fowl,
You're cousin to a swan."

So up and down poor goosey went,
A busy, hopeful bird.
Searched many wide unfruitful fields,
And many waters stirred.

At length she came unto a stream
Most fertile of all Niles,
Where tuneful birds might soar and sing
Among the leafy isles.

Here did she build a little nest
Beside the waters still,
Where the parental goose could rest
Unvexed by any bill.

And here she paused to smooth her plumes,
Ruffled by many plagues;
When suddenly arose the cry,
"This goose lays golden eggs."

At once the farmyard was agog;
The ducks began to quack;
Prim Guinea fowls relenting called,
"Come back, come back, come back."

Great chanticleer was pleased to give
A patronizing crow,
And the contemptuous biddies clucked,
"I wish my chicks did so."

The peacocks spread their shining tails,
And cried in accents soft,
"We want to know you, gifted one,
Come up and sit aloft."

Wise owls awoke and gravely said,
With proudly swelling *******,
"Rare birds have always been evoked
From transcendental nests!"

News-hunting turkeys from afar
Now ran with all thin legs
To gobble facts and fictions of
The goose with golden eggs.

But best of all the little fowls
Still playing on the shore,
Soft downy chicks and goslings gay,
Chirped out, "Dear Goose, lay more."

But goosey all these weary years
Had toiled like any ant,
And wearied out she now replied
"My little dears, I can't.

"When I was starving, half this corn
Had been of vital use,
Now I am surfeited with food
Like any Strasbourg goose."

So to escape too many friends,
Without uncivil strife,
She ran to the Atlantic pond
And paddled for her life.

Soon up among the grand old Alps
She found two blessed things,
The health she had so nearly lost,
And rest for weary limbs.

But still across the briny deep
Couched in most friendly words,
Came prayers for letters, tales, or verse
From literary birds.

Whereat the renovated fowl
With grateful thanks profuse,
Took from her wing a quill and wrote
This lay of a Golden Goose.
Paul Butters Jan 2019
Let’s get hysterical.
Let’s go mad
About the Winter Solstice passing
And our football team winning.

We party hard
For Christmas and New Year.
The Americans do Thanksgiving too.
Bad times for turkeys
Great days for making sales.

Anniversaries, birthdays and Celebrity celebrations,
Big Brother and Get Me Out of here.
X Factor and Lithuania’s Got Talent.
All excuses
For making mayhem
And a fast buck.

Any present will do
No matter how useless
Or banal
At times like these.
Compulsory enjoyment
Even if you’re ill.

Oh what sheep we are.
(Apologies to sheep).
We must conform
Comply
Follow fickle fashion
And hug the herd.

We may be social animals,
But woe betide anyone
Who is
Different.

“Be yourself” they say,
But do they mean it?
Course not.
The “Individual” is cursed,
Cast out
A *****.

It’s time to stand back,
See the truth
And find your inner soul.
Break the brainwash,
Defy the dictators
The Nanny State
And really,
Really
Be You.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\1\2019.
Influenced by the glibly funny UK comedian Richard Ayoade.
Where Shelter Jul 2017
raise ourselves, rouse ourselves, rising to race up versus the sun,
to ferry dock, to catch the first, the 5:10am to the mainland,
which is just an island-too-but-longer,
on the first boat of the workweek, the first leg
of an island to island to island journey-poem, but that
for another morning, unless already writ, but forgot?

the north fork, an herb garden of vegetables and fruits,
family farms & rural suburbs, towns of English & Indian names,
all cheek to jowl, corn rows, tractor museums,
high school football victory banners of a prior year,  
and alas, always fresh, aged-woe reminders,
too many streets, ferries, bridges named for young boys who didn't return from foreign wars and whom we all knew by right sight

me, a summer sojourner, a summer visa, an off-islander,
a Hebrew, living among the native island born hareleggers,^
the Methodists, Quakers, and the rest of a varietal potpourri of "Egyptians," come here by choice, all, living in a paradisal
farmers market, all faiths enjoying seven times seven
years of plenty

Country Road (CR) 48, plainly named, snakes it way to the city,  
a  hundred miles, a hundred miles, as the song says,
to a distant, invisible emerald mecca,
which magically emanates
waves of gravitational pull powerful,
where I heard that human city folk go to do derring do,
battling with numbers, creativity and keenest human instincts,
game playing for a throne that may not even exist

as we go west, the sun sneaks up behind us
spotted in the steve sideview mirror, watching our
winking red tails,
moving away, asking us why, are we somehow dissatisfied,
with the rich purple soil of this little refuge it protects?

this soil, blessed, brings forth the babies of summer,
truly a fruited plain cornucopia, the famed potatoes,
fresh eggs, for sale by unseen and oft unattended hands,
plant it and it will come, the peonies flowers, the sod, tomatoes,
the Christmas trees, local duck and fresh caught striped bass,,
over flowing fruit stands endless,
where they debate no politics but only
which fruit will become tomorrow's pies?

and always, first and foremost, the vineyards, the vineyards

not yet six am, sun still too weak, to do the ***** work burn,
fields full of snow white mist lying over man tall vines,
the mist, ground swelling up to the chest level, then north
to the nostrils and head, intoxicating the lungs, the brain,
inculcating the chest with a salve of moisture,
a blend of sea and farm fresh air,
containing the designer's secret arts of earth creation

the fine mist so thick, no different than a snowy white out,
leaves me marveling and a-wonder, why do I leave,
dictated to by boxes on a hardware store calendar?

why not bide and hide in the morn mist,
never will-would we-be found, the vineyards and corn rows,
my protectors, the bay and sound, my natural moats,
is the music of wind + leaves, symphonic insufficient,
isn't the theater of the birds, wild turkeys, families of deer, osprey,
tern, visiting Canadian geese, and the hard to spot, Broadway stars,
those little foxes, wondrous enough?

this guising vineyard mist offers solutions to questions
I should not be asking, especially, primarily,
where is shelter,

for that is asked and answered
July 2017
for the island and the fork folk

http://definithing.com/harelegger/
there was a christmas turkey he  was big and round
it was christmas day and his heart began to pound
would he be a dinner lying on plate
with potatoes and some veg was this to be his fate
turkey he was sad was he out of luck
then with a change of fate everyone ate duck
turkey he was happy christmas day had past
now another year turkey he will last
It’s getting to be pumpkin time
The time of magic and fun
A time when there’s a chill in the air
Apples abound along with scents of cinnamon
Carved jack o lanterns
Faces etched creatively
Candles lit


It’s getting to be pumpkin time
The beginning of the holiday season
When cookies are baked
Pies made
Children dress up in costumes
Seeking a reward of candy and other goodies

It’s getting to be pumpkin time
A time of celebration
A time of remembering
Good friends
Families
And traditions
Where turkeys are roasted
Sweet potatoes baked
Cranberries served

It’s getting to be pumpkin time
A time of holiday cheer
Hot chocolate
Apple cider
Herbal tea
And peppermint

It’s getting to be pumpkin time
A time of snow falls
Sledding
Snowball fights
Laughter and glee
Trees decorated

It’s getting to be pumpkin time
Unlike most the mail thats filled with  annoying **** like bills and DNA results this one  stood out  for some odd reason.
The name seemed familar  the invite was a wedding better known as a stand up funeral  a gathering of  hopeful women  and hung over men.

But what called to my eyes like a driver  parked at a catholic schoolgirl
cross walk  on a windy day was a true statement of sheer  beauty.
Open bar  gonzo  didnt know much but he knew he had a busted toaster   and a bruised liver and purpose a  of which I never  truley do understand.


This gathering was promising many women of which  had no idea  
I was a total ***  were here.
This crowd included many types
large small  young old   cross eyed   lazy eyed and even **** eyed
but no time for foreplay  children.

The bar was calling yet for some reason we had to sit through this
wedding ****  who the hell comes to  this stuff to watch  such sappy ****
the bride  walked down the isle  in white  face covered  dear lord
she couldnt be that ugly  hey wheres the  guy who sells  penuts and beers.

I sat for hours in agony  waitting to meet with my open
bar mistress  like some hot ****  women waiting behind a  
locked door so willing   calling to Gonzo.
come drink me  drink me hard  you drunk ******* im so wet
and refreshing get your minds outta the gutter.

When the man  who seemed to be the cult leader finally shut up the
groom finally pulled back  that veil thingy like a bad episode of ****** doo to reveal   the woman underneath it.
I was shocked to see a familar  face  hey i remember her
Kathy, Susan ,Rebecca,Something  yes when in doubt always shout
out every name you can think.
that way you appear either a total *****  or if your wearing a helmet
*******.

I had left mine at home selfish  ***** of a brother  just had to have it
Gonzo what if I fall down from a seisure ****** man duck tape a pillow to your head.

the ******* aside finally came a true moment of true brillance the bar   the bar where the **** was the bar!
Like a child being told santa wasnt coming this christmas
cause daddy  got busted selling drugs to the same undercover cop again
dad wasnt bright  something inside hurt deep as tears welled up from
my shallow heart.

then she appeared  Sara, Rabeca ,Susan,Eunice what did it matter really?
Gonzo are you hurt?
You know how much I care for you always.
Yeah  not enough to have a open bar Tabitha,Elieen ,Bathsheba,Drew,Elliot ****** woman whatever your name is.

Really you selfish woman  what do you think just   cause it's your wedding its all about you and this oversized bodybuilder   who appears
very unhappy dam you network tv for canceling american  gladiators

Like any true man would do faced  in the same situation.
I kissed the bride for old times sake  kicked the groom in the ***** and ran  for the boreder i'll miss you Susan,Kat,Jessica ****** woman whatever your name is.

As i sit at the pub deep in reflection as jack ask's me  so what will
you miss about her  the most you crazy ******* a chicken tucked under his arm  but I seldom  cared  to meet his new girlfriends.

Yes after deep thought and many wild turkeys.
It finally came to me ya know jack it's probaly  the free ***.
yes i was gonnna miss   Rabecca,Susan,Samantha,Kat, Beth,Baths,
Becky,Tarzan,Eunice,Cheeta, Taylor,Elivis,Ladyy Ga Ga whats here name  cheers to ya darlin.

Love John, Elliot ,Chris,Jack,Gary,My Chemicle Imbalance,Obama,
Bob, JD,Drew ,Goldie,whatever the hell my name is.    

Stay Crazy Gonzo
Dedicated to a friend of mine thats getting married
she always said  gonzo why dont ya write about me?
well be careful what ya ask for.

Cheers and good luck my friend
BS hunter Nov 2013
Northern Michigan has got some pretty twisted people  but call themselves decent, God faring Christians. Copy pasting two typical posts on rants & raves forum exchanged between two typical Northern Michiganders. Not like them but think they are weirdos and get a good old belly laugh at the ignorance in the good old deep south errrr, I mean northern michigan. We got spared today from reading that Obama was chief ***** head but did get to read his racist post faking being  American Indian.

From northern michigan craigslist poster #1

RE; Curious in Fairview (TC)
You sure were quick to figure out what "passes for" debate on this place.
Good Job!

Here's what I do....first, I don't give a hoot what any of them say or do to my posts.
The name calling, and personal bashing are simply humorous to me. Truthfully though, I sometimes egg them on....It simply helps prove that the common IQ level
is somewhat ( ???? ) LOW!
Secondly---"Chief Itchybutt" is the ONLY one worth reading---he tells some
pretty incredible stories....he should probably write a book in my opinion.
As for all the rest of the spew---let it roll off your back like water on a wet
duck...just read it and be glad your not one of "them"...
Advice from:
YBBB--the one, the only!



Craigslist poster #2 with pic of Obama with huge photoshopped lips.

Special for Bob, a deer hunting story (in my woods)

Ugg! How! Chief IIttccheebutt of the Neverwiippee Tribe here to tell all what I see in woods hunting for deer, Ugg! Me go out with boomstick early in morning when turkeys are on roost to sit by deer trail to **** a buck.Very windy out, see no deer, me not even see a tree rat with fuzzy tail. Me wait and wait and wait, still no deer. It get dark now so me go in and try next day. Next day come, same thing,no deer, me think I pick a different spot tomorrow. Tommorrow come and I sit by the edge of a big field with sand holes and short grass with flags in little holes, it very quiet and me hear leaves crunching, me crouch down and get gun ready. Noise get closer and closer then it stop so I look out from behind tree and put gun down and pick up I-phone and snap pic of most stupid looking buck me ever see... then me start big belly laugh, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ugg! How!
barnoahMike Aug 2012
If bedbugs become  pets~ is there a possibility~someone is spending to much time in the sack~and not stepping out into what the Real World~ "Offers Up"~even tho the Bedbugs seem more friendly.....   If you Cry over White onions~why cry over the Red one ? ?      Turkeys Trot to a dance taught by man~Pretending to be foxes~always close  to the tail .    A Truly honest man~Would~Not be believed~if it weren't for the Falsehoods that Truly exist ! !   Staples when firmly pressed~Usually hold things together~SO_What makes these staples unworthy of being served up at dinner ?    Ever think about yard sticks? ~  and How Come your neighbors don't have any sticking up~   and your the only one that meets the measure. . .      POE only hinted at the torment of Modern  man~Stories in Stupors don't find the center of the heart~ Unless they are really experienced . .   It's sorta like being poured  into a Landfill~But like a Good Cork~You can't seem to sink all the way~Your head just bobbing above~and continually being that ready target~as additional waste'PILES AROUND ! !    It's like walking into a familiar room~But as you turn on the light switch~you discover~that you are now the "Stranger"~in a strange place. .     Life  is like a Trampoline~casting ones thoughts up and down for review~NOT considering that some may be actually measuring the values presented.  . *The *Broken heart of a man'who loves the woman who opened that door~ May Never be receptive to repair~NOT ENOUGH PARTS LEFT ! !    As the Lights "Come-On"~ it's like being at the Helm of the 'TITANIC" ~ assured that all others are off safely~AND~ the Shaking of Life Begins .......
copyright @ 2012 by barnoahMike        Mike Ham
Unlike most the mail thats filled with  annoying **** like bills and DNA results this one  stood out  for some odd reason.
The name seemed familar  the invite was a wedding better known as a stand up funeral  a gathering of  hopeful women  and hung over men.

But what called to my eyes like a driver  parked at a catholic schoolgirl
cross walk  on a windy day was a true statement of sheer  beauty.
Open bar  gonzo  didnt know much but he knew he had a busted toaster   and a bruised liver and purpose a  of which I never  truley do understand.


This gathering was promising many women of which  had no idea  
I was a total ***  were here.
This crowd included many types
large small  young old   cross eyed   lazy eyed and even **** eyed
but no time for foreplay  children.

The bar was calling yet for some reason we had to sit through this
wedding ****  who the hell comes to  this stuff to watch  such sappy ****
the bride  walked down the isle  in white  face covered  dear lord
she couldnt be that ugly  hey wheres the  guy who sells  penuts and beers.

I sat for hours in agony  waitting to meet with my open
bar mistress  like some hot ****  women waiting behind a  
locked door so willing   calling to Gonzo.
come drink me  drink me hard  you drunk ******* im so wet
and refreshing get your minds outta the gutter.

When the man  who seemed to be the cult leader finally shut up the
groom finally pulled back  that veil thingy like a bad episode of ****** doo to reveal   the woman underneath it.
I was shocked to see a familar  face  hey i remember her
Kathy, Susan ,Rebecca,Something  yes when in doubt always shout
out every name you can think.
that way you appear either a total *****  or if your wearing a helmet
*******.

I had left mine at home selfish  ***** of a brother  just had to have it
Gonzo what if I fall down from a seisure ****** man duck tape a pillow to your head.

the ******* aside finally came a true moment of true brillance the bar   the bar where the **** was the bar!
Like a child being told santa wasnt coming this christmas
cause daddy  got busted selling drugs to the same undercover cop again
dad wasnt bright  something inside hurt deep as tears welled up from
my shallow heart.

then she appeared  Sara, Rabeca ,Susan,Eunice what did it matter really?
Gonzo are you hurt?
You know how much I care for you always.
Yeah  not enough to have a open bar Tabitha,Elieen ,Bathsheba,Drew,Elliot ****** woman whatever your name is.

Really you selfish woman  what do you think just   cause it's your wedding its all about you and this oversized bodybuilder   who appears
very unhappy dam you network tv for canceling american  gladiators

Like any true man would do faced  in the same situation.
I kissed the bride for old times sake  kicked the groom in the ***** and ran  for the boreder i'll miss you Susan,Kat,Jessica ****** woman whatever your name is.

As i sit at the pub deep in reflection as jack ask's me  so what will
you miss about her  the most you crazy ******* a chicken tucked under his arm  but I seldom  cared  to meet his new girlfriends.

Yes after deep thought and many wild turkeys.
It finally came to me ya know jack it's probaly  the free ***.
yes i was gonnna miss   Rabecca,Susan,Samantha,Kat, Beth,Baths,
Becky,Tarzan,Eunice,Cheeta, Taylor,Elivis,Ladyy Ga Ga whats here name  cheers to ya darlin.

Love John, Elliot ,Chris,Jack,Gary,My Chemicle Imbalance,Obama,
Bob, JD,Drew ,Goldie,whatever the hell my name is.    

Stay Crazy Gonzo
Dedicated to a friend of mine thats getting married
she always said  gonzo why dont ya write about me?
well be careful what ya ask for.

Cheers and good luck my friend
Faith Barron Sep 2015
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Pigs, chickens, goats, ducks, geese, turkeys;
feed them all.

Always as a girl she walked without shoes.
She played in the mud and yet was still beautiful.
Up and down she chased that boy.
The painter boy;
the one who did not all that much care for mud.

The big man with the heavy boots stopped coming here;
many years ago he stopped.
The three ladies with the pointy shoes came then.
I became ridden with new holes  and dips daily.
I became even more worn and torn up.

One would think I spent all my time with the likes of chickens;
continuously pecking and clawing and picking.
Ripping me away from myself layer by layer.

Mostly I waited;
waited for all of them to just leave.
Leave her to her farm.
To her animals.
To her life.

One night,
just as the sun decided to sleep,
she left; slipping away.
The ladies with the pointed shoes were gone.
She was leaving too.

But mercy!
Her feet were not bare and her calluses were hidden.
I knew soon life for us all would change.
For on her feet there was something new.

Glass slippers soft as silk caressed my face.
The hems of white satin and silk slipped over my eyes carefully.
She was afraid but anticipation shook her breath,
and weighed her feet.
I wished her luck and sent warm prayers up through me.

I waited patiently,
the rain pounded rudely upon me and
the night raced on.
It held feelings of pain but also of hope,
and I waited.

After humiliation and hurt passed,
carrying defiance and anger with them,
joy and happiness exploded in the air
as forgiveness spread silently around.
Satisfaction crept slyly in and decided to stay.

With petty arrogance the three of them pranced;
down the steps and across my face, stabbing me
with every new step.
They laughed and taunted and gossiped,
reveling in what splendor they thought they had,
and the royalty they believed they deservedly were to receive.
With false fragility they were lifted into the coach
where they sat with straight backs, gloved hands, bejeweled
everywhere they could be...

The ladies with the pointed shoes didn’t come back.
No, but she did.
Of course she did, she had to say
So long for now, even though
every once and awhile she’d be back.

Now someone else would tend the pigs,
the chickens, the goats and ducks and geese and turkeys.
Someone else with calloused feet and a ragged dress
would walk me over each morning.
But I didn’t care.
I smiled, that is, if dirt can do such things.
Cause as sure as anything in the world,
she was happy.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
symphony arrangement for poetry - personae distinctions of hidden violins and woodwinds, somewhere along the way brass - leaving Cabaret Voltaire (Zurich), moving to the Beat Hotel (9 Rue Gît-le-Cœur, Paris), ending up on the Cowgate (Edinburgh).

when you read newspapers you realise that dinosaurs roam
the land, the fortress of printing press, unlike the printing press
(which was taken seriously from the word go!)
the internet has been largely squandered; you read these
things in newspapers, the evolutionary reaction - ensuring that
among these dinosaurs are also opinion pieces, dinosaurs write accounts of what's happening, batrachotoxin amphibians write
opinions: i.e. what isn't happening: opinions go forward unchecked
and undisputed, added that there are many potions in the cauldron
it's hard to pick one out and dig deeper until both parties are in no position to hold such and such opinion, given the missing
muscle of implementing change or the skeleton to keep
the status quo - but this is a slight deviation from what i
was intending to convey - the old guard of printing is worried
sick that it might be usurped in the long run - it prints damaging
reports about the existence of the internet, looking at it as not
a niche environment, which it technically is - but cats, ****, cats,
****, apparently we all log on to meow and moan -
as a tool of entertainment it's the least thrilling source of
the desired "entertainment", the unscripted nature of this niche environment is what's actually good about it, in that a single
person can become both writer, editor and publisher -
but indeed, the internet has been squandered,
although it improved from what used to be a wholly anonymous
environment peppered with dangers of random encounters -
the infamous chat rooms changed even more to infamous
phone-books: you heard it, stories of cyber bullying - the internet
has been squandered, by all means, trying to save it is a bit like
trying to save the world, or as one Tao principle suggested to me
early on forged in me: the best way you can aid the world
is to forget the world, and let the world forget you.
a film director would say, well, i'm stuck in the house,
i'm thinking of shooting a biopic of Lawrence of Arabia...
i see a desert, a man riding a camel through it...
but you have to then start muling over the facts: you'll have to get funding, get the casting right,  but no one likes shooting in
the desert, you have to get  the catering sorted, you start shooting,
but the camera track ruins the desert, so you have to move
to another part of the desert that's pristine with wind parallel
ridges in the sand, then the studio calls you and says you're
spending too much money, then peter o'toole stumbles
out from the trailer hungover almost everyday; sure, you need inspiration and ideas, but that's only 1% or the whole,
99% is working with people - as a director you're not actually
playing god, you're helping other people, De Niro preferred
mumbling something prior to a scene, but Seymour Hoffman
went into a scene like a crocodile quickly snapping
to the shout of cut! and the clapperboard.
i suppose poetry could be like that too,
99% being the audience and the necessary oration,
that would work - unless of course you'd do the same with
painting - but whereas with painting you're invited to critical
thinking, see an artist next to his painting elaborating on
the themes and use of colours? i don't want to assert common sense
wisdom from one profession and apply the same wisdom
                                      to another with a trans-occupational
relativism: that red           is relative to               crimson -
              but we'll have to do away with lighting,
              darkening and what not, so yes,
red is relative to crimson insofar as we forget lighting
and Edward Hopper. anyone can appreciate the
lazy approach, but i took to some mammoths without the help
of audio books, a reasoning man, not a mob gob emotive conjurer worth a tonne of heckles and haggles - but i guess the dream
through this gamble would be the monetary reward...
you know... after so many years writing for peanuts i have lost
all appetite for spending money beyond what i consider
to be a workable cure for insomnia - i don't have to buy music
any more since i can stream it, i have more privacy without
a mobile phone, all i have is this little brick wall that's stationary
in this virtual jungle on which i scribble - with the radius from
this point being anything ranging from 1 to 6 sensible miles,
beyond 6 and we're talking blisters on feet; can you imagine what
our predecessors could endure in terms of walking? they had hoofs
instead of feet, while we have skin as smooth as a baby's buttock
cheeks on the soles of our feet. the strangeness of modernity:
1. a man drives a car with with a bicycle on the roof, just so he can    
    peddle down a scenic route...
2. the volume of skimmed milk bottle is the same as full fat milk,
    but if you bought full fat milk and added water to it the volume
    would triple (via semi, so yes, triple)...
3. healthy diets - 350% increase in vegan population
   in Britain over the past 10 years - the protein problem
   (once it was the fat problem, low fat yoghurt came about,
    turned everything into a sugar problem), i.e. women aged
    between 19 & 24 requiring to hit the 58 gram daily
    recommendation of protein would have to eat:

everyday foods
chicken breast (251g = 276Kcal)
eggs x4 (460g = 658Kcal)
salmon fillet (291g = 533Kcal)                                 v.

clean-eating foods
quinoa (1,318g = 1,582Kcal)
chia seeds (371g = 1,818Kcal)
                              goji berries (405g = 1,504Kcal)
                              kimchi (3,222g = 863Kcal)
                              tofu (707g = 70Kcal)
                              ******* (384g = 632Kcal)
                              coconut yoghurt (3,422g = 6,844Kcal)
almond milk (14,500ml = 3,625Kcal)
avocado (2,900g = 4,843Kcal)

  as healthy as stuffing turkeys for Thanksgiving, can you imagine
  drinking fourteen, fourteen litres of almond milk?! i don't even
  have to imagine drinking 700ml of whiskey to get the point
  and reach the threshold of the effectiveness of sleeping pills...
  no alcohol, no sleeping pills, better sit it out than take so near  
  ineffective buggers; although as a warning: you might end up
  sleeping for *12 hours
- variations on the BMI and previous habits
  of drinking - socially? not so much, medically? primarily -
  not in favour of the anti-alcohol lobby being part of the "safety"  
  guidelines given to the public...
4. charities' costs eat up 78% of donations,
    another 21st century anomaly, effectively dismissed
    by the church's alms giving history depicted in Sistine opulence,
    so no wonder whether in cardinal robes or suited and booted for
    the near-invisible secular religiosity, such poverty of symbolism
    compared with the predecessors, at least back then you'd
    know who to send to the guillotine - and this is how Louis XIV
    treated his courtesans, he made a certain type of clothing
    mandatory, a Versailles school uniform as it were,
    most the the courtesans went bankrupt having to buy the
    clothes, some pieces would be equivalent of a sports car,
    they went bankrupt to remain in the club,
    so they borrowed monkey from Louis, and so Louis kept
    them in his pocket: poor rich people, or necessary
    leeches (as once used in medicine, Louis' absolutism
    being the sole malady, abuse of power necessitates
    paranoia); or to quote Lisolette about the royal *******
    'mouse droppings in pepper.' Philippe (Duc d'Orléans)
    was the transvestite who charged into battle
    and conquered the Dutch, much to his brother's
    shame at having only made conquests in the bed - well
money here, money there, shoving a piano into a concert hall accompanied by an orchestra, something Chopin would never
do not wishing to leave the comforts of salons - although
Metallica dared to.
                                                             ­           welcome to
the age of silica and chameleons (cha cha cha champ a camcorder anyone? well, imagine what scrutiny Narcissus would pay a photograph, imagine giving a photograph to Narcissus and
wonder would he change his behaviour), get fooled by
the adverts once, second time you'll eventually see needing to feed
a charity's bureaucracy rather than an African, hence the migrant
                                                                                                    crisis...
sometimes there are no surprises as to where certain things
originate, Marxism and England, zenith of the empire,
or as historians claim, the decadence of the Romans was their fascination with food prior to the end: ready-meals and
microwaves among cooking shows, currently the daily program
of channels, esp. that of 4 is culinary and horse racing,
all the interesting programs are broadcast when everyone
is about to fall asleep... Saville bankrupted the B.B.C.
posthumously: a game show, "jackpot" of one grand.
- advertisement didn't expect live T.V., the mute button,
the pause button and the fast forward button...
but in a 100 years time if not more they'll look back at us as
having finally exhausted Groundhog Day (starring Bill Murray) -
sure, the technological breakthroughs were great, magical,
but the content? 20th century most probably,
the ideal time of fluid and at ease plagiarism - obviously
exceptions were made, but this walking nightmare
of the exhausted second half of the 20th century caught up
in the 21st century - dialogue replaced by visuals,
clash of the titans (1981) v. clash of the titans (2010) -
the only good bit of the latter is the inclusion of Hades -
it's beautiful, i'm nostalgic to a history i was born in and
belonged to, i'm not a nostalgic Nietzsche or Hölderlin
bumming about singing praises of the Ancient Greeks -
you see, it's close-at-heart nostalgia because i belonged to it,
the infant of it - a peculiar circumstance to be in; or coming
to terms with the first signs of decay: cartoon network's
cow & chicken with i r baboon - have you seen the horrors
of modern cartoons compared with computer graphics?
readies them to  pick up gaming soon after,
given gaming graphics. in summary - some say sitting behind
a computer screen is a sign of a lack of self-assurance,
or confidence, self- anything you want to suffix with, well,
that could be true, but you have a photograph included,
and the days of the typewriter are over - but i could also say
the same about certain brands or shops, are they too lacking
self-confidence to stop their existence on  the high street?
the royal mail delivers junk, you might get 100 junk envelopes
and a christmas  card... o.k. make that 1000 to 10,000 envelopes
of junk and one letter directly addressing you that hasn't been
written using an analogue like

dear mr. / mrs. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

we would like to inform you that your insurance
claim has expired.            etc.

the infancy of this century is what's deceptive, the greatest
deception i can think of - the great health scares and subsequent
over-usage of antibiotics breeding super-bugs in hospitals
anything and everything under the sun - including
that damnable idea that the planet Mars employs people whom
it's attracting into its orbit - earthly geologists must be bewildered
that the only subject of learning from all of man's
capacity to send into space is geology: and on the return flight
home we realised that we'd only be bringing back some arenite
(sandstone); that quote about about painting being 50 years
ahead of writing, the same is true with science fiction and
actual science.
John F McCullagh Mar 2012
My work site is climate controlled,
No Pigeons threaten my peace.
Of all of my gigs, this one is the best,
no acid rain scours my cheeks.
Yes, it is boring at times;
stuck in the Louvre, night and day,
but, as I’m a creature of Marble,
I cannot run outside and play.
Instead I’ve become an observer
of the tourists who whisper and gawk.
That girl with nice ***** is from Paris,
that fat little guys’ from New Yawk.
I pose for their pictures for free
as they snap up some memories for home.
My maker, long dead, was the master
who painted those frescoes in Rome.
Its hard to believe that the heirs
of the Renaissance men of my time
have gotten so fat and complacent,
gorging on fast food and cheap wine.
pig like are their fat chubby faces.
They prate like some fatuous child.
They are, compared to their forebears,
like butterball turkeys to wild.
Michael W Noland Nov 2012
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower

from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power

cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness

saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression

and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions

imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?

opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right

shanky gone unscrupulous

shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls

stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor

as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion

a crime of passion

we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives

jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times

but we were alive
while others were not

fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points

disjointed
in Freudian
ointments

self anointed
as god

standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog

how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention

i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her

but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way

my f--king way

stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds

who am i?
but the guy
who spaced

hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries

disappointingly
underwhelmed

still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film

disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV

as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock

to shelter
my anxiety or not

gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways

the way
of sheep

sleeping
soundly
in decay

blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day

be
real
one
day

one

day

1


d
a
y
a rewrite from a couple months ago. there some effed up lines that were driving me crazy.
On the 12th day of Christmas
My troubles gave to me........

12 unpaid bills
11 ringing cash tills
10 packets of batteries
09 invites to parties
08 year olds a screaming
07 unwanted toys redeeming
06 packets of dog biscuits
05 unwanted parking tickets
04 overdrawn credit cards
03 strange looking leotards
02 forgotten to buy turkeys
And a garage for those car keys
Special season wishes ; )

— The End —