First a turnip, then a sheep; next a cow, and then the gallows.
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Mr. Finney's Turnip
Mr. Finney had a turnip,
And it grew, and it grew,
And it grew behind the barn,
And the turnip did no harm.
And it grew, and it grew,
Till it could grow no taller;
Then Mr. Finney took it up
And put it in the cellar.
There it lay, there it lay,
Till it began to rot ;
When his daughter Susie washed it
And put it in the pot.
Then she boiled it and boiled it,
As long as she was able;
Then his daughter Susie took it
And put it on the table.
Mr. Finney and his wife
Both sat down to sup;
And they ate, and they ate,
Until they ate the turnip up.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Mr. Sheep
Golly, mister, where you going? you'll be late for work careful or you'll drop your briefcase jesus, what a jerk there he goes down to the subway off to catch the train too bad for him he forgot
Umbrella poor mr. sheep you're wet mr. sheep walk on, mr. sheep walk on tell me, how's your little family? how's your little wife? are you going to live with these monsters for the rest of your
Maybe you got a little girlfriend stashed somewhere in town may be you ain't got a little girlfriend ha ha ha ha ha poor mr. sheep he's a lonely guy too walk on mr. sheep walk on dance, mister!
He's doin' ok oh, oh oh, he's all right let him get up by himself now i don't want to be too rough and i don't want to be too mean you're right - this world is awful tough i know exactly what y
An but i want you to know exactly how i feel and to tell you the truth right now i feel like going i feel like going baa baa mr. sheep careful, you're walking all over your own self now walk on,
Sheep walk on, mr. sheep walk
On, mr. sheep walk on
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sheep
Sometimes I get so angry with the simple life they lead
The shepherds smile seems to confirm my fears
Theyve never questioned anything, theyve never disagreed
Sometimes I think they must have wool in their ears
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
When I was young they used to get me counting sheep
But the counting I did was all in vain
No when Im tired and Im trying to get to sleep
I count humans jumping onto trains
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
[influential guitar break]
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Only Can They Squeeze Blood From a Turnip
When a society's entire financial structure,
Is based upon a failing system...
Already built upon the hidden talents,
Of those gifted with deceit.
And those institutions are given cartoon names,
Such as Freddie and Fannie...
There are going to be problems.
Ones without realistic solutions faced.
At least not honest ones.
And now trillions of dollars will be borrowed,
To pay for their failures.
If a society is already suffering from an economic crunch...
At who's expense are these fresh lies being told?
Those embittered by an abrupt awakening,
From their delusions?
Or those sold on the bottomless pockets,
Fed on having 'great' aspirations?
My mother once said to me...
'Boy, I ain't got no money!
What do you think I am?
A turnip?
You can't squeeze blood from a turnip.
Nor is there a money tree outside!
I do not have money for you and your sister,
To have lunch today!
And you will get over it! '
I wish my mother was alive today!
She would be amazed to see...
The things being done,
At DisneyWorld!
They are creating remarkable fantasies.
And...
The people leave the grounds totally conditioned,
To accept anything they are told!
'Mama,
If you can hear me,
Not only can they squeeze blood from a turnip today...
A dollar can be produced from thin air!
I haven't seen that yet.
But that's the latest rumor.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Love Gone Wrong (A Nightmare Song and an Answer to the Evangelists)
Christ spoke to me from the gallows
And burned a hole in my heart.
He said I'd never be the same again,
I'd always feel pain.
He set me apart from my fellows.
He's nailed me to a system of belief
That brings me endless grief.
Christ speaks to me from the gallows.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Gallows Pole
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,
Think I see my friends coming,
Riding a many mile.
Friends, did you get a little silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my dear friends,
To keep me from the gallows pole?
What did you bring me to keep me from the gallows pole?
I couldnt get no silver, I couldnt get no gold,
You know that were too damn poor
To keep you from the gallows pole.
Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,
I think I see my brother coming,
Riding a many mile.
Brother, did you get me some silver?
Did you get a little gold?
What did you bring me, my brother,
To keep me from the gallows pole?
Brother, I brought you some silver,
I brought a little gold,
I brought a little of evry thing
To keep you from the gallows pole.
Yes, I brought you to keep you from the gallows pole.
Hangman, hangman, turn your head awhile,
I think I see my sister coming,
Riding a many mile, mile, mile, mile, mile.
Sister, I implore you, take him by the hand,
Take him to some shady bower,
Save me from the wrath of this man,
Please take him,
Save me from the wrath of this man, man.
Hangman, hangman, upon your face a smile,
Pray tell me that Im free to ride,
Ride for many mile, mile, mile.
Oh, yes, you got a fine sister,
She warmed my blood from cold,
Brought my face to boiling hot
To keep you from the gallows pole,
Your brother brought me silver,
Your sister warmed my soul,
But now I laugh and pull so hard
And see you swinging on the gallows pole
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Moonlit Heath and Lonesome Bank
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The sheep beside me graze;
And yon the gallows used to clank
Fast by the four cross ways.
A careless shepherd once would keep
The flocks by moonlight there, *
And high amongst the glimmering sheep
The dead man stood on air.
They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail:
The whistles blow forlorn,
And trains all night groan on the rail
To men that die at morn.
There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night,
Or wakes, as may betide,
A better lad, if things went right,
Than most that sleep outside.
And naked to the hangman's noose
The morning clocks will ring
A neck God made for other use
Than strangling in a string.
And sharp the link of life will snap,
And dead on air will stand
Heels that held up as straight a chap
As treads upon the land.
So here I'll watch the night and wait
To see the morning shine,
When he will hear the stroke of eight
And not the stroke of nine;
And wish my friend as sound a sleep
As lads' I did not know,
That shepherded the moonlit sheep
A hundred years ago.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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In a distant land many years ago, there lived a black sheep. It was executed by firing squad. A century later, the grieving flock erected an equestrian statue in honor of the slain sheep that looked very nice in the park. In the years that followed, every time a black sheep appeared, it was executed so that ordinary sheep could practice sculpture.
Augusto Monterroso in The Black Sheep and Other Fables (1969)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Sheep
The Sheep adorns the landscape rural
And is both singular and plural—
It gives grammarians the creeps
To hear one say, 'A flock of sheeps.'
The Sheep is gentle, meek and mild,
And led in herds by man or child—
Being less savage than the rabbit,
Sheep are gregarious by habit.
The Sheep grows wool and thus promotes
The making of vests, pants and coats—
Vests, pants and coats and woolen cloths
Provide good food for hungry moths.
With vegetables added to
The Sheep, we get our mutton stew—
Experiments long since revealed
The Sheep should first be killed and peeled.
Thus, with our debt to them so deep,
All men should cry 'Praise be for Sheep!'—
And, if we happen to be shepherds,
'Praise be they’re not as fierce as leopards!'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Divorce
Why do we have to slaughter
our love in the gallows
of rudeness and indifference?
Why do we have
to chop off our love
with the sharp knives
of hate, anger and fear?
Why do we have to come
to these gallows
and slaughter our love?
Why do we have to proclaim
the death of our love?
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Sonnet: God's Warning to Shepherds!
‘My sheep lie scattered and not tended well.
I'll find new shepherds who will do this job;
To ones who failed their duty, ‘twill be hell;
From me, my sheep, no one can ever rob! '
‘Disaster to shepherds who don't take care
Of my loved sheep, who leave my pastures green;
I'll get new shepherds, fearless and will dare,
Preventing sheep, from getting lost from scene! '
‘In prophets, priests, now Godlessness prevails;
They do not preach to people what's God-say;
They tell own versions and their made-up tales,
Deluding people, leading sheep astray! '
‘So, prophesy what comes from Yahweh's mouth.'
The Lord declares, ‘Just speak the Gospel's truth! '
poem by John Celes
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Hospital For Defectives
By your unnumbered charities
A miracle disclose,
Lord of the Images, whose love
The eyelids and the rose
Takes for a language, and today
Tell to me what is said
By these men in a turnip field
And their unleavened bread.
For all things seem to figure out
The stirrings of your heart,
And two men pick the turnips up
And two men pull the cart;
And yet between the four of them
No word is ever said
Because the yeast was not put in
Which makes the human bread.
But three men stare on vacancy
And one man strokes his knees;
What is the meaning to be found
In such dark vowels as these?
Lord of the Images, whose love
The eyelid and the rose
Takes for a metaphor, today,
Beneath the warder's blows,
The unleavened man did not cry out
Or turn his face away;
Through such men in a turnip field
What is it that you say?
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by Thomas Blackburn
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This diamond has so many carats it's almost a turnip.
quote by Richard Burton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bush Justice
A Dealer, bewitched by gain-promising dreams
Settled down near my Station, to trade with my Teams,
And to sell to, my men too! from whom, through the nose,
Until then, I had screw'd just what prices I chose;
And for this, to be sure, I so hated the man,
That I swore ne'er to rest till I'd settled some plan
Whereby in the Lockup to cleverly cram him!
And so to my Super the matter I put,
Who thereupon 'found' a sheep's head near his hut,
And the 'how came it there?' was sufficient to damn him,
The Beak before who I then lugg'd him, as you
May suppose, being neck-deep in Squattery too.
'Twas a beautiful Hearing, as noted at large
By the Clerk (who was bonuss'd)-sheep-stealing the charge;
'Twould make your hearts laugh in the Records to see
How we bullied him out of his wits! -I say we,
Because while on this side against him 1 banged,
On the other the Beak said he ought to be hanged,
For a gallows-grained, scandalous son of transgression!
And committing him then-the case being so plain,
We sent him three hundred miles 'down on the chain'
To his Trial-and eke to his 'acquittal', at Session!
For what care we Squatters for Law on a push?
And for Justice! what has she to do with the Bush?
poem by Charles Harpur
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A degenerate nobleman is like a turnip. There is nothing good of him but that which is underground.
I was the fattest baby in Clark County, Arkansas. They put me in the newspaper. It was like a prize turnip.
quote by Billy Bob Thornton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Couplet: A Place To Stay
There was a stingy, hateful man named Old Jack that died uncaring;
Too mean to pass through heaven's gates—he missed hearing angels singing.
Jack was sent to the Devil's Pit that roars with redhot, burning coals;
The smoke's too dark, the heat's too hot—the devil lives there with lost souls.
And after all promised rewards for living each devilish day;
One hot coal was Jack's lifetime prize—Jack was burned and sent on his way.
Jack found an oversized turnip, carved creepy eyes and a weird face;
Into the dried up turnip shell—one hot coal lit it's inside space.
Now Jack wanders the countryside, his coal burns to this very day;
Inside Jack's old Jack-O-Lantern—while he scouts for a place to stay.
Author's Note: A story about a Halloween “Jack-O-Lantern” Legend. Jack is not
real but the Devil and his dark pit are real.
poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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