Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, and one by one.
quote by Charles Mackay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Serranilla
FROM Calatrava as I took my way
At holy Mary's shrine to kneel and pray,
And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay,
There where the ground was very rough and wild,
I lost my path and met a peasant child:
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
There in the fields I found her.
Upon a meadow green with tender grass,
With other rustic cowherds, lad and lass,
So sweet a thing to see I watched her pass:
My eyes could scarce believe her what they found her,
There with the herds around her.
I do not think that roses in the Spring
Are half so lovely in their fashioning:
My heart must needs avow this secret thing,
That had I known her first as then I found her,
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
I had not strayed so far her face to see
That it might rob me of my liberty.
I questioned her, to know what she might say:
'Has she of Finojosa passed this way? '
She smiled and answered me: 'In vain you sue,
Full well my heart discerns the hope in you:
But she of whom you speak, and have not found her.
Her heart is free, no thought of love has bound her,
Here with the herds around her.'
poem by Íñigo López de Mendoza
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Great Herds
there were great herds
of buffalo then...
racing wildly across
the plains,
bodies painted,
ponies nostrils flared,
bow and arrow ready...
to the victor
the spoils...
a prayer of gratitude
to the spirit
of the beast....
meat for the long winter...
maybe even a taste
of raw liver...
there were great herds
of buffalo then...
when the people
of the earth
were free!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We're Predators and Prey
Are we truly so distant from our primitive past
Are we no longer the hunter or considered fair prey
Were the truth put before you, you’d be most aghast
There are predators among us and they hunt us each day
We’re not truly different from the ones at herds rear
Which the predator watches with hard hungry eye
The prey starts and senses, that death is quite near
On the lonely herds edges, the weak always die
Our modern world is a jungle, and human beasts are a fact
Camouflaged with normalcy, clothed in disarming disguise
Preying on the young and the weakest with terrifying tact
Before melting in to community, they disappear to our eyes
The gazelle in the herd is as the child on the walk
Safety in numbers causes inborn defenses to relax
A lion creeping closer is as a van stopping to stalk
And they’ll both culminate in deadly attacks
No.. we’re not so far distant from our primitive past
Yes.. we’re the hunter and also too, are considered fair prey
don’t allow yourself or your children to lag or be last
Yes… there are predators among us and they hunt us each day
poem by David Whalen
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Order
Playing with words
I try to get the order right.
Like a shaggy sheepdog herds
Before they take flight.
poem by Paul Brookes
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The Sojourner
Are your herds all dead
That you walk the street alone?
And do you have your own bed
When the toiling day is done?
City nomad without his herd
Wanderer, pilgrim of the mind
Wont you rest your tired head
You herdsman of a kind?
Were your ancestors cattle rearers
Who sought where grasses were green?
But you have mingled with the city dwellers
Leaving your herds either dead or lean
Tell me, city nomad
Why did you leave your father's way
And choose the city, tis' sad
That you roam the streets day by day
Or are you of the gypsy race
And your clan, minstrels and magicians?
Who wander from place to place
Sleeping and waking in caravans
Foxes have holes, and bird the trees
Do you have any to call your home?
Some live in houses, some in tents
Why do choose the streets to roam?
I am but a sojourner in every city
Seeking my God and the crown
And may he lead me to that heavenly city
A better place to call my own! !
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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On Certain Pastorals
So rude and tuneless are thy lays,
The weary audience vow
'Tis not th' Arcadian swain that sings,
But 'tis his herds that low.
poem by William Shenstone
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Fainthearted animals move about in herds. The lion walks alone in the desert. Let the poet always walk thus.
quote by Alfred Victor Vigny
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Drover
To Meath of the pastures,
From wet hills by the sea,
Through Leitrim and Longford
Go my cattle and me.
I hear in the darkness
Their slipping and breathing.
I name them the bye-ways
They’re to pass without heeding.
Then the wet, winding roads,
Brown bogs with black water;
And my thoughts on white ships
And the King o’ Spain’s daughter.
O! farmer, strong farmer!
You can spend at the fair
But your face you must turn
To your crops and your care.
And soldiers—red soldiers!
You’ve seen many lands;
But you walk two by two,
And by captain’s commands.
O! the smell of the beasts,
The wet wind in the morn;
And the proud and hard earth
Never broken for corn;
And the crowds at the fair,
The herds loosened and blind,
Loud words and dark faces
And the wild blood behind.
(O! strong men with your best
I would strive breast to breast
I could quiet your herds
With my words, with my words.)
I will bring you, my kine,
Where there’s grass to the knee;
But you’ll think of scant croppings
Harsh with salt of the sea.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Though large herds of deer do much harm to the neighbourhood, yet the injury to the morals of the people is of more moment than the loss of their crops.
quote by Gilbert White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lions, wolves, and vultures don't live together in herds, droves or flocks. Of all animals of prey, man is the only sociable one. Every one of us preys upon his neighbor, and yet we herd together.
Cashel of Munster, from the Irish
I'D wed you without herds, without money or rich array,
And I'd wed you on a dewy morn at day-dawn gray;
My bitter woe it is, love, that we are not far away
In Cashel town, tho' the bare deal board were our marriage-bed this
day!
O fair maid, remember the green hill-side,
Remember how I hunted about the valleys wide;
Time now has worn me; my locks are turn'd to gray;
The year is scarce and I am poor--but send me not, love, away!
O deem not my blood is of base strain, my girl;
O think not my birth was as the birth of a churl;
Marry me and prove me, and say soon you will
That noble blood is written on my right side still.
My purse holds no red gold, no coin of the silver white;
No herds are mine to drive through the long twilight;
But the pretty girl that would take me, all bare tho' I be and lone,
O, I'd take her with me kindly to the county Tyrone!
O my girl, I can see 'tis in trouble you are;
And O my girl, I see 'tis your people's reproach you bear!
--I am a girl in trouble for his sake with whom I fly,
And, O, may no other maiden know such reproach as I!
poem by Sir Samuel Ferguson
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Cashel of Munster
I’D wed you without herds, without money or rich array,
And I’d wed you on a dewy morn at day-dawn gray;
My bitter woe it is, love, that we are not far away
In Cashel town, tho’ the bare deal board were our marriage-
bed this day!
O fair maid, remember the green hill-side,
Remember how I hunted about the valleys wide;
Time now has worn me; my locks are turn’d to gray;
They year is scarce and I am poor—but send me not, love,
away!
O deem not my blood is of base strain, my girl;
O think not my birth was as the birth of a churl;
Marry me and prove me, and say soon you will
That noble blood is written on my right side still.
My purse holds no red gold, no coin of the silver white;
No herds are mine to drive through the long twilight;
But the pretty girl that would take me, all bare tho’ I be and lone,
O, I’d take her with me kindly to the county Tyrone!
O my girl, I can see ’tis in trouble you are;
And O my girl, I see ’tis your people’s reproach you bear!
—I am a girl in trouble for his sake with whom I fly,
And, O, may no other maiden know such reproach as I!
poem by Sir Samuel Ferguson
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The land is not in the least bit fertile and yet the cattle herds grow larger and larger. A cow represents capital investment here.
quote by Richard Leakey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song Of Spring
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
The trees are out in Heaven they say.
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up our way.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Old Bridge
An very old bridge stood dominate,
Over rushing river prominent.
No doubt by now had seen better days,
Many years covered in summers haze.
Timbers now creak with foot or hoof,
Although now few animals and little proof.
Small animals prints and perhaps a horse,
Herds would bring about deathly remorse.
But in its day it saw great commerce,
Moreover a horse drawn blackened hearse.
It saw sheep and dusty cattle herds,
It carried secretive meetings of lovebirds.
Lawbreakers and lawmakers also traversed,
Church goers, quilt sewers and drovers dusty thirst.
The old bridge remembers histories deeds,
Suicides, soldier's braded on handsome steeds.
Now her timbers are a valued resource,
And workman here steel away this concourse.
Every nail and knot memories numerous,
But now a dinner or coffee table for hubris.
Let us stand as our histories custodians,
Renovate and repair, keep her from brigands.
Protect our history for the child to come,
Once history is lost, it is lost forever son.
By the way, it was his simulations that helped out in Jurassic Park - without them, there would have been only a few dinosaurs. Based on his techniques, Industrial Light and Magic could make whole herds of dinosaurs race across the screen.
quote by Marvin Minsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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