Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A TURKEY HUNT IN TEXAS (AS TOLD AT DINNER), by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: No, sir; no turkey for me, sir Last Line: And then nailed our scalps to that turkey pen. Alternate Author Name(s): Miller, Joaquin Subject(s): Clouds | ||||||||
No, sir; no turkey for me, sir. But soft, place it there, Lest friends may make question and strangers may stare. Ah, the thought of that hunt in the canon, the blood -- Nay, gently, please, gently! You open a flood Of memories, memories melting me so That I rise in my place and -- excuse me -- I go. No? You must have the story? And you, lady fair? And you, and you all? Why, it's blood and despair; And 'twere not kind in me, not manly or wise To bring tears at such time to such beautiful eyes. I remember me now the last time I told This story a Persian in diamonds and gold Sat next to good Gladstone, there was Wales to the right, Then a Duke, then an Earl, and such ladies in white! But I stopped, sudden stopped, lest the story might start The blood freezing back to each feminine heart. But they all said, "The story!" just as you all have said, And the great Persian monarch he nodded his head Till his diamond-decked feathers fell, glittered and rose, Then nodded almost to his Ishmaelite nose. The story! Ah, pardon! 'Twas high Christmas tide And just beef and beans; yet the land, far and wide, Was alive with such turkeys of silver and gold, As never men born to the north may behold. And Apaches? Aye, Apaches, and they took this game In a pen, tolled it in. Might not we do the same? So two of us started, strewing corn, Indian corn, Tow'rd a great granite gorge with the first flush of morn; Started gay, laughing back from the broad mesa's breast, At the bravest of men, who but warned for the best. We built a great pen from the sweet cedar wood Tumbled down from a crown where the sentry stars stood. Scarce done, when the turkeys in line -- such a sight! Picking corn from the sand, russet gold, silver white, And so fat that they scarcely could waddle or hobble. And 'twas "Queek, tukee, queek," and 'twas, "gobble and gobble!" And their great, full crops they did wabble and wabble As their bright, high heads they did bob, bow and bobble, Down, up, through the trench, crowding up in the pen. Now, quick, block the trench! Then the mules and the men! Springing forth from our cove, guns leaned to a rock, How we laughed! What a feast! We had got the whole flock. How we worked till the trench was all blocked close and tight, For we hungered, and, too, the near coming of night, Then the thought of our welcome. The news? We could hear Already, we fancied, the great hearty cheer As we rushed into camp and exultingly told Of the mule loads of turkeys in silver and gold. Then we turned for our guns. Our guns? In their place Ten Apaches stood there, and five guns in each face. And we stood! we stood straight and stood strong, track solid to track. What, turn, try to fly and be shot in the back? No! We threw hats in the air. We should not need them more. And yelled! Yelled as never yelled man or Comanche before. We dared them, defied them, right there in their lair. Why, we leaned to their guns in our splendid despair. What! spared us for bravery, because we dared death? You know the tale? Tell it, and spare me my breath. No, sir. They killed us, killed us both, there and then, And then nailed our scalps to that turkey pen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PRESENCES by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE CLOUDHERD'S SONG by ROBERT KELLY THE IMPRESSMENT by WILLIAM MEREDITH THE CLOUDS ABOVE THE OCEAN by STEPHEN DOBYNS THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST A PORTRAIT OF MY ROOF by JAMES GALVIN ABOVE AND WITHIN by DAVID IGNATOW A CALIFORNIA CHRISTMAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER |
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