address to the fowl

[RockyR]

For those of us in America celebrating Thanksgiving, I think we should write our own poem..

Address to the fowl.

Would any of our resident poets care to create?

[Nighthawk]

Seconded! I was actually thinking about this earlier. I usually make a haggis for Thanksgiving day lunch, but I forgot to get my ground lamb. I thought that the least I could do was address the bird... I logged on to ask this exact question!

[vmac3205]

Fair fa ye pokey beaked face,
Great symbol of the fowlest race....

[MacLowlife]

A hail to ye, me hearty fowl
Big as an eagle, wise as an owl
Yer beak as sharp as a spur's star rowell
Some Ottoman bird who saw ye jerk, he
went and named ye after Turkey

We all have parts we love the best
We steal yer eggs from oot the nest
I'm partial to your swelling breast
You feed the army and the navy
As lang as we have plenty o' gravy

Is there some fool who'd rather have veg
Who makes his living on the edge
No biscuit in the gravy to dredge?
No wonder he still wears small sizes
His nightlife harbors no surprises

But mark the turkey eater's girth
His pride of place has come from birth
He'll wrestle those from all the earth.
Though he would not refuse some dressing
And sneak a bite before the blessing.

Ye powers that ponder us below
And wonder if we're slightly slow
Of course we eat- for we must grow
And grow and grow until we wobbles
Give us a bird that struts and gobbles!

Thankful for all assembled here,
your humble and obedient savant
MacLL

[Nighthawk]

A hail to ye, me hearty fowl
Big as an eagle, wise as an owl
Yer beak as sharp as a spur's star rowell
Some Ottoman bird who saw ye jerk, he
went and named ye after Turkey

We all have parts we love the best
We steal yer eggs from oot the nest
I'm partial to your swelling breast
You feed the army and the navy
As lang as we have plenty o' gravy

Is there some fool who'd rather have veg
Who makes his living on the edge
No biscuit in the gravy to dredge?
No wonder he still wears small sizes
His nightlife harbors no surprises

But mark the turkey eater's girth
His pride of place has come from birth
He'll wrestle those from all the earth.
Though he would not refuse some dressing
And sneak a bite before the blessing.

Ye powers that ponder us below
And wonder if we're slightly slow
Of course we eat- for we must grow
And grow and grow until we wobbles
Give us a bird that struts and gobbles!

Thankful for all assembled here,
your humble and obedient savant
MacLL

That'll do, good sir. That'll do.

[Smitty]

Ha! Well done!

[james a. husky]

All I could think of was a rather distinctively colonial:

"Friends...

I Give You...

"The Bird"!!!

I'm afraid (for the auld warl' bunch of us) that that will have to do!

Or, as Tiny Tim would have said (The little Dickens!!!) "God Bless Us, Everyone!!!".


The proclaiming of "Days of Thanksgiving" was VERY prominent in early English Colonial America... A lot of such proclaimations can be found in the files of the Library of Congress and other on-line sites as printed Broadsides.


So, whether you're celebrating your good blessings in life (and I fervantly Pray that you DO have them...) by Torching the Turkey, Boiling the Haggis, or Baking the Brie (for our "Frenchie Friends... and darn, if that dosent seem like a mighty fine alternative)... I hope that your are surrounded by the realities of ALL the goodness that you EACH have available to yourselves, with the knowledge that there are MANY MORE people than you realize who hold you in good regard!

Stay Well, Friends!

Jim aka kiltiemon

[Nighthawk]

...so...stuffed...

I'm not the only kiltie at dinner tonight- my best friend, an Anderson, wore his tonight- much to the dismay of my sister in law, who thinks that men in kilts are cross dressers. The look on her face when she walked in the door and saw him was priceless!

[ForresterModern]

" you are yummy,
in my tummy."

[KFCarter]

Can't pass this up, even though I probably should, suffering as I am from Turkey over-dose. This is the best I can summon under the circumstances:

Fear na’ his grizzled buzzard face
This chief of fowl will fill our plates
With crisp’ed skin and flesh that sates
Dark, wings or white:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a nap
As lang’s a fortnight.

Our groaning bellies ye soon fill
Washed down well with amber swill
Our EMT’s soon know the drill
To stand by spark and paddles
When we staggering, fall
And breathe in gasps and rattles

But now we’ll slice with grim delight
Rend flesh from bone in widening bight
As piling tenders yield a sight
Emerging from the pan
Once eaten, out will go our lights
succumbed to tryptophan

Is there him who’s noodle fed
Or thus to pizza’s often led
Who takes his burgers tween his bread
With ketchup or with pickle
Who’d eat a “dog” in Turkey’s stead
His misery’s a mickle

But mark the Yank, who’s turkey-fed
His truth is blue, his blood is red
And white’s his teeth, and strong his tread
And single-malt he’s drinking,
Which dark brown liquor wreaths his head
In dreams as he is sinking

When comes the morn he’ll wake and rise
And make a brunch of Turkey thighs
Strap on a kilt that’s upward-sized
And sally to the TV
Where belches now come highly prized
Made rich with Turkey gravy