Bringin' the Bacon Home

A piece of bacon took a pen

To write a little poem

About the way it feels to be

Accepted, loved, at home.

At first he wrote: “I am at home

When I am on a pig.

Within its belly, near the mud

It’s quite a pleasant gig.”

The bacon paused, then crossed this out

It sounded like a lie

To act as if he felt at home

Inside a dirty sty.

And so he wrote: “There is one place

That makes me feel fantastic

It’s when I’m in a person’s fridge

Tucked into shrink-wrapped plastic.”

The bacon paused, then crossed this out

And said, “That just won’t do.

For though it rhymes quite nicely

I don’t think it’s strictly true.”

And so he wrote: “I am at home

When I am in a pan.

Sizzling hot and spitting fat

I feel like I’m the man.”

The bacon paused, then crossed this out

It didn’t sound correct.

“Who knew,” he thought, “that poems

Would be so tiresome to perfect?”

And so he wrote: “I am at home

When I am on a tongue.

Within a human mouth, I feel

Invigorated, young!

For though I die as I am chewed

I know, deep down, I should

Because I sacrifice myself

To reach a greater good.

Indeed, I am a martyr

And when eaten, I dispel

All worry, fear and tragedy

All agony and hell.

I give, for just a moment,

The experience of bliss

I am the springtime robin’s song,

The long-lost lover’s kiss.

And to those who condemn me

And declare I’m not nutritious

I say, “What’s home? More vitamins?

Nay. Home is what’s delicious.”

The bacon dropped his pen; he smiled

And said, “Now that’s a poem!”

And moments later, he was cooked

And gently taken home.

This poem won this: http://baconfestchicago.com/2014baconpoem

I Throwed My Lover Down A Well

I throwed my lover down a well

And listened to ‘er drown

I wish I didn’t, but I did

And then I fled the town.

I moved into another state

Where no one knowed my name

But met another lover there

And—oops!—I did the same.

Tarnation! Two gals down a well!

That sure warn’t very wise

I left that city, moved again

And buyed a good disguise.

But shucks, the mask I buyed myself

Made me look right attractive

So then a lover came to me

Although I warn’t proactive.

I hate to say I drowned ‘er

But I did, just like the others

And then I flew the coop, ‘cause

She had six pig-angry brothers!

Those brothers chased me ‘round the state

But I was quick, by gum!

And they warn’t awful smart, in fact

The eldest sucked his thumb.

So they gave up, and I had

All the countryside to roam

“I am a travelin’ man,” I said

“Who lives without a home.”

But shucks, the roamers in the world

Are gals as well as men

And ‘fore I snapped my fingers

I was datin’ Jenny Wren.

“Oh Jenny gal,” I telled her

“I’m officially forbiddin’

This romance to continue

Or I’ll drown ya, I ain’t kiddin’.”

“I drowns my lovers too!” she said

“You does?” I said, “That’s great!”

But turned out, she was kiddin’

And by then, it was too late.

Well, curse my boots! Four lovers drowned!

Ain’t that a nasty habit!

I wished I’d been a smoker

Or a gamblin’ man, dagnabbit!

And so I said at that point

“Shucks, I’m goin’ ta see a shrink!”

And that I did, and he said:

“Find a gal who doesn’t sink!”

“A gal who doesn’t sink!?” I said

“Well, that’s a load of phoeey!”

But then it hit me: “Hey! Why don’t

I buy myself a buoy?”

I thinked of what would happen then

And shaked myself with laughter

“I’ll toss the gal first down the well,

And toss the buoy after!”

And that, my friends, is what I does

And, golly, it’s worked swell!

Except, just once or twice…

When there warn’t water in the well.

The Time We Cooked A Goose Egg

We chased away a mother goose

By spraying off her poop

She’d defecated on the deck

A mound of moon-gray goop.

And when she left, she left her eggs

Abandoned in the nest

They wouldn’t last without her

As I’m sure you could have guessed.

And so we brought the eggs inside

And mourned they hadn’t hatched

We wondered what to do with them

Our puzzled heads we scratched.

And one said, “Let us bury them,

And sing a song of woe.”

And one said, “That seems silly.”

And I said, “Hey, I know!

Let’s cook ‘em up for breakfast!

Well, don’t you think we ought?”

The others shrugged and looked around

And one said, “Hey, why not?”

And so we cracked the giant egg

And put it in a bowl

And soon its wild and eggy scent

Had filled our nostrils full.

The cook said, “Over-easy?”

And I answered: “That sounds great!”

Then soon we had a yolk and white

Upon a dinner plate.

We felt a little nervous then

To eat this goosey dish

We put the egg upon our tongues

It tasted like a fish.

“That’s odd,” I said, “It tastes like it

Was gathered from the sea.

Does anybody like it?”

And all replied: “Not me.”

“Why does it taste like fish?” I asked.

“It wasn’t fishy raw.”

But then we looked upon the deck

And this is what we saw:

The mother goose who’d left her eggs

Was full-on makin’ out

Her tongue was halfway down the throat

Of one large, manly trout!

“What if those eggs had hatched?!” I asked

The cook said, “I deduce

That if they’d hatched, the offspring

Might have been half-fish, half-goose!”

“That would have been,” another said

“A strange anomaly!

A scaly goose, or feathered fish?

I wonder which it’d be?”

Then the kissing couple vanished

And the deck looked bare and clean

I asked, “Did we hallucinate

The make-out sesh we’ve seen?”

We looked around; we all just shrugged

The cook broke into tears

And when I asked, “Who’d like more egg?”

There were no volunteers.

The Chicken's Wink

The rain was spitting gracefully

The wind was whistling bright

A little chicken came to me

And whispered, “Hold me tight.”

I held the little chicken

And I sang a lullaby

The chicken grunted, “Sing!

But do not look me in the eye.”

I closed my eyes for safety

And I held the chicken tight

I sang until my throat was raw

I sang throughout the night.

And when the rain had ceased to spit

And wind had ceased to blow

I told the chicken, “Chicken, dear…

It’s time for you to go.”

“Keep singing!” growled the chicken

“Sing an endless lullaby!

And if you stop, I warn you

I shall look you in the eye.”

“For shame!” I cried, “Who taught you

Such bad manners, child? Tut-tut!

I defy your ultimatum!

And besides, my eyes are shut!”

“They can’t be shut forever!”

Cried the chicken, “So I’ll wait.

They have to open sometime.

They are not a padlocked gate.”

“Your silly threats,” I told the bird

“Are far too much to swallow.

I’ll go home with my eyes closed

If you want to, you can follow.”

I started stumbling home then

Feeling blindly all the way

I thought the chicken would get bored

Alas, he did not stray.

He followed right behind me

And repeated, “I advise

You get around to singing

Or I’ll look you in the eyes.”

“Shut up!” I said, “I’ve sung enough.

You are a greedy brat.

I don’t take orders from a fowl.

A foul fowl, at that.”

It took a year to stumble home

Without the use of sight

With eyelids shut, I felt myself

A prisoner of night.

And there were times I thought

“Oh hell, I’ll open up my eyes!”

But I feared that awful chicken

And his threats of my demise.

“You still won’t sing?” the chicken asked

Once I had reached my home

“Well, then I’ll have to follow you

Wherever you may roam.”

“I will not roam,” I told him

“I shall stay here in my house.

And hope that you are bitten

By a rabid little mouse!”

I stayed for years; but couldn’t read

Or even watch the skies

Because, from fear and stubbornness,

I would not blink my eyes.

“I’m telling you,” the chicken said

“If you would only sing

A never-ending lullaby

I wouldn’t do a thing.”

“No!” I said, and shook my head

And said aloud my prayer:

“May a rabid mouse attack you

Or perhaps a rabid bear.”

But the chicken wasn’t bitten

So we carried on that way

He a crook, and me a blind man

‘Til I reached my dying day.

“And now you’ll die,” he whispered

“Yes, I know,” I said. “Time flies.”

“You’ve naught to lose,” he told me

“Won’t you open up your eyes?”

“I’m dying, so I might as well.”

I said. “At least I’ll try.”

“Be warned,” he said, “For when you do

I’ll look you in the eye.”

I opened up my eyes and saw

The chicken staring back

His eyeballs held the cosmos

Whirling gently through the black

And in that black, I realized

There was pure and total trust

For he and I were merely specks

Of sparkling cosmic dust.

“Oh, endless universe!” I gasped.

“Why did I try to hide?”

The chicken winked, and I did too

And that is how we died.

The Caveman

The caveman likes to hunt

And the caveman likes to grunt

He’s naked from behind

And he’s naked from the front.

He eats a piece of mammoth

And he eats a piece of fish

He doesn’t use a knife, a fork,

A napkin or a dish.

He likes to love a lady

And he doesn’t stop at one

He loves the ladies, loves the land

And loves the setting sun.

He sleeps in caves in winter

That’s his namesake, don’t you know?

And though he’s nude, his matted hair

Protects him from the snow.

The caveman is artistic, too

He paints upon the wall

He can even take some sticks and mud

And make a little doll.

Would you like to meet the caveman?

He can teach you how to hunt

He can teach you how to cave-paint

He can teach you how to grunt

He cannot do equations

But you ought not call him dull

Yes, you’d better treat him nicely

Or he’ll crush your puny skull, my dear

He’ll crush your puny skull.

The Daily Grind

“Daddy, what’s the daily grind?”

I asked my aging father

He shook his head, and softly said,

“It’s rubbish, child. Don’t bother.”

“But does it bring you money, Dad?”

I asked. “And lots of candy?”

“It does,” he said, “But then again,

The beach is nice and sandy.”

“But don’t you get a nice, big house?”

I asked. “And fancy cars?”

“You do,” he said, “But then again,

Our atoms came from stars.”

“But Michael’s dad is rich,"

I said, “And he said life’s a grind.”

“Then Michael’s dad,” my daddy said

“Has lost his bloody mind.”

“Has lost his bloody mind?” I asked

“Has lost his bloody mind.”

A Balancing Act

A walrus and stork on the head of a pin

One is salvation, the other is sin

The walrus has tusks and the stork has long legs

The walrus demands but the stork only begs

The walrus is tough, but the stork brings a child

The stork is self-conscious, the walrus is wild

The walrus can’t dance, he’s too dreadfully fat

The stork cannot sing, he’s too bashful for that

The two of them balance; they don’t move an inch

The pin would soon topple if either one flinched

They chat and they daydream, they giggle and grin
They’re best friends forever, salvation and sin.

An Ignorant Otter

There once was an ignorant otter

Who always lost track of his daughter

He’s like me, I suppose

‘Cause he keeps his eyes closed

Whenever he enters the water.

The Cutpurse

Behold the cutpurse as he stalks
A plump and wealthy lady
He does not walk in sunlight
But in alleys dark and shady
He follows slender purse strings
That hang gently on her shoulder
And inches slowly towards them
Feeling craftier and bolder
The lady stops, she looks around
Intuiting wrongdoing
The cutpurse ducks behind a door
Outside her line of viewing
The lady sighs and shakes her head
“I’m paranoid,” she thinks
The cutpurse grins and follows her
How silently he slinks!
And when the lady stops to watch
A blackbird beat its wings
The cutpurse slides his scissors
Toward the shoulder-hanging strings
Snip, snip! The bag’s released
He slowly slips it off her body
It is a jewel-encrusted purse
Quite glittery and gaudy
The cutpurse hides in shadow
Has his crime gone undetected?
Indeed, the wealthy lady
Seems entirely unaffected
The cutpurse grins and celebrates
What wealth he must have won!
He opens up the purse and finds
Great Scott! A loaded gun!
“Well, well, I’d hoped for money,”
Thinks the cutpurse, “But I guess
This gun will come in handy
Should I ever face distress.”
The muzzle opens up its mouth
And says, “I doubt that, sir.
You see, I am the lady’s gun
And I belong to her.”
On hearing this, the cutpurse pales
And drops the talking gun
“That’s it!” he cries as he runs off
“My cutpurse days are done!”
“Be sure of that!” the gun replies
And shoots him in the heel
The cutpurse falls, and eats a bit
Of pavement for his meal
The lady hears the shot and finds
The cutpurse on the ground
“What fun!” she cries, "What jolly fun!
Look what my gun has found!”
“I’m sorry!” cries the cutpurse
“I apologize sincerely!
Besides, as you can see,
I have been punished quite severely!”
“That’s true,” the lady says
“I guess we don’t need the police.
I’ll simply take your wallet
And in that way, we’ll make peace.”
“Yes, take it!” cries the cutpurse
“And I thank you for your mercy!”
The lady smiles and pats his head
“You are a dear cutpursy.”
She takes the shot man’s wallet then
And helps him to his feet
He limps away and she calls out
“Farewell! It’s been a treat!”
She then goes to a market
So to spend her robber’s money
There’s just enough to buy
Her favorite biscuits, topped with honey.