A Christmas Turkey
It's Gobble, gobble, gobble
A very tasty meal.
quote by by Ernestine Northover
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Related quotes
Here We Go, Again!
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
You are getting on my nerves,
With those mumbles done.
Do you expect to be heard,
With those mumbles done.
Are you on the run,
With those mumbles done.
And if you're on the run,
Who is it from?
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
And I wont be the one to strain,
For what comes.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again...
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
And I wont be the one to strain,
For what comes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Ping Spike after Spike Milligan A Thousand Hairy Savages
Ten thousand airy AP raps
w[r]itting down ra[n]t hunch
gobbledy-gook, yap yap,
crun[t]ch mu[n]ch punch
... core cause caws
(19 January 2007 revised 27 November 2008 robi03_1579_mill02_0002 PWX_IXX)
A Thousand Hairy Savages
A Thousand hairy savages
Sitting down to lunch
Gobble gobble glup glup
Munch munch munch.
Spike Milligan 1918_2002
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Gobble Gobble 4
This is a special time
we celebrate each year
Honey, something in your eye
or could that be a tear
The past is the past
this year I'll behave
Are you disgusted
or starting the wave
I know in the past
I have let you down
You told me last year
I played a naked clown
I may not remember
all the things I've done
But you know of Turkeys
all call me number one
Yep, I'm a Turkey
that I proudly admit
But I can't be a Turkey
if no one pitches a fit
So I guess you could say
that I do it all for you
You see, Turkeys may GOBBLE
but like all, they need Love too
This Thanksgiving remember
if your Turkey plays the part
He would not be a Turkey
if he were not in your heart
Terry M
The Suburban Classes
There is far too much of the suburban classes
Spiritually not geographically speaking. They’re asses.
Menacing the greatness of our beloved England, they lie
Propagating their kind in an eightroomed stye.
Now I have a plan which I will enfold
(There’s this to be said for them, they do as they’re told)
Then tell them their country’s in mortal peril
They believed it before and again will not cavil
Put it in caption form firm and slick
If they see it in print it is bound to stick:
‘Your King and your Country need you Dead’
You see the idea? Well, let it spread.
Have a suitable drug under string and label
Free for every Registered Reader’s table.
For the rest of the gang who are not patriotic
I’ve another appeal they’ll discover hypnotic:
Tell them it’s smart to be dead and won’t hurt
And they’ll gobble up drug as they gobble up dirt.
poem by Stevie Smith
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Happy Thanksgiving
It's time for Tom to lose his wattled head.
He's designated martyr for the feast.
We pluck him naked and stuff him with bread
Then roast his hapless carcass whole or pieced.
We carve, dismember, separate his flesh
and pile it high upon a festive plate.
Oh, Butterball you juicy thing, so fresh
and tasty, every bite is simply great.
Although we never heard him gobble
without a head he cannot demonstrate.
A turkeys future cannot be squabbled
his life is brief and predetermined fate.
Without a turkey there's no misgiving
there would not be a Happy Thanksgiving.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Frog Prince
look at the frog so small and cute
top to tail in his green suite
never dry not always wet
every child wants one for a pet
only the newt for a friend
swim in the pond from end to end
deep under water breath held tight
look at him swim such a delight
hear him call all through the night
a prince in waiting a king by right
leaping high jumping long
for his size he is so strong
from lilly pads he loves to hop
as he hits the water plip plip plop
see him catch the fly swallow swallow
with a blink of his eyes gobble gobble
look at the frog so small and cute
top to tail in his green suite
poem by John Mc Cudden
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Thanksgiving
Time to put our problems aside and get along for
Thanksgiving
With family, friends, and relatives
We all have something to be thankful for
I'm thankful for my family, friends, and God
Without them I won't be here today
I feel so lucky and grateful for what I have
Some of us are less fortunate and don't get to celebrate
Thanksgiving
It time to give back
You will feel great about yourself
It make you think about life
Some of us don't care about this holiday and we should stop and think and care
That we all are so forunate and grateful for what we have
Some of our tradition we do are watch football, family dinner or party
Thanksgiving
It time when we all get together, laugh, eat, smile, and have a great time
Thanksgiving
Gobble, gobble
I wish you all Happy
Thanksgiving
I hope you all have wonderful time because I'm going to have fun, and be thankful for what I got now
Thanksgiving
poem by Christina Phan
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Little Orphant Annie
To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.
Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was 'company,' an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Children today are tyrants. They contradict their parents, gobble their food, and tyrannize their teachers.
Children today are tyrants. They contradict their parents, gobble their food, and tyrannize their teachers.
Always there has been some terrible evil at home or some monstrous foreign power that was going to gobble us up if we did not blindly rally behind it.
quote by Douglas MacArthur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sliced Bread
Sliced bread...
Whole wheat and toasted.
Buttered with jam,
And munched.
Either with tea, punch...
Or just plain water for lunch!
Sliced bread...
With cheddar cheese and tomato.
Add Romaine lettuce,
Topped with fried strips of bacon.
This too will certainly do.
Sliced bread...
Oatmeal raisin,
Oven baked and fed.
Sliced bread...
Crumbed to stuff a turkey.
And seasoned to gobble...
With an aftertaste on the tongue,
Deliciously nutmeged!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Spiritual nature, like bodily nature, will be served; deny it food and it will gobble poison.
quote by Clive Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heavy Meal
You're the firstest with the mostest in hell
Observing creepy demons carrying tridents
You fear what you don't see and it rings a bell
Unseen shadows of subversive elements
Hunted by evil monsters foiling an escape
All they're after are immaculate souls
If a body ain't fit for abuse and rape
It's gonna fry slowly over the coals
For the most like you there is no hereafter
From your saviour you got a rotten deal
Only blowing would provoke contagious laughter
They got all the fixins to gobble the heavy meal
poem by Aram Stefanian
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A shady wine bar in Hackney
He was obviously not a la carte,
a ready meal, waiting for the tall blonde to gobble him up.
He was 'today's special' with a free cappuccino.
He sauntered over, wafting of eau de toilette,
and giving her that 'get a load of me' look, in a sumptuous way
while displaying his je ne c'est quoi.
His meat and two veg looked a bit greasy
and his plum tart was askew and rather tired
but she was desperate for it and made an attempt at the menu.
Well, what's a blonde to do when she hasn't ‘eaten' for days
and her waist band is so loose,
her strides are just about to fall to her ankles.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Poem about Poetry - Essence
i do not like writing poetry for the
self professed sophisticated people
they cannot take words for what they are
and have the penchant to take more than
what you wish to say; they gobble up words
like the black hole and expect every new line
to have a word from the thesaurus when all i want
to say is simply I love the world for what it is
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Lies
Let the gods be forced to religion,
Yesterday we signed a pact with constitution.
Your lies do not affect me as a word and deed,
Let them cheer and also jeer, be a man who has agreed.
Never can we gobble up the tries of others,
Quite like gangs we destroy, with the flutters.
Feathers arrange themselves with awe,
Let authority begin answering and then draw.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Homage To The Turkey (Second Try) ....[Birds; American History]
I sent off as suggested, my first effort to my Italian friend Carmi.
She read it and then requested something 'lower key'; to me that's Irish blarney!
I had mentioned, first time, Ben Franklin's affection for The Turkey; she thought THAT was nice.
I didn't mind naming Ben the first time around; this will make it twice.
Ben was famous as a diplomat when America was newly 'free'.
He was also an inventor I believe. I think once he used a 'lower key'
while performing an experiment with lightning, Nature's electricity.
It involved using a kite, and a kite string on which was tied a key ('lower'?) .
But back to Turkey: Ben thought the native Turkey to be noble as could be.
Despite Ben's efforts, the Bald Eagle, instead, was picked as a symbol of 'The Land of The Free'.
I must admit I admire and enjoy seeing both birds I did now name,
but the Eagle's pictured on money and well protected, while the Turkey's wild game.
Turkeys can be quite majestic when they strut about, their feathers ruffled and spread,
but unlike the soaring Eagle, in turkey season a hunter may shoot a turkey dead.
Death would not be my preference for either of these noble birds. I wonder now
if Carmi is reading and enjoying at least some of my words.
I helped New York Conservation Department return Turkeys to my home state.
That was near Ithaca, where in the 1960's, no turkey had been seen of late.
I guess the effort worked. In late years I saw turkeys; Toms and at times a hen.
They probably emigrated from Pennsylvania, to the south, the state of dear old Ben.
I've never heard an eagle cry, but to hear a Turkey gobble from woods is thrilling.
Carmi I would have voted for The Turkey. Alas! The Eagle got top billing.
(Nov.2012)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Song In My Ears
My heart is filled
tons of laughter,
tons of merriment
your eyes sparkle as pearl in milk.
You talk, music in my soul
darling sweet keys on board
my ears gobble your voice
lullabies I drift to slumber-land
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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