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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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A dead cow or sheep lying in a pasture is recognized as carrion. The same sort of a carcass dressed and hung up in a butcher's stall passes as food.
quote by John Harvey Kellogg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The right one bows to the might.
The goat can’t expect mercy from the butcher.
The butcher has no guilt for his act on it.
The weak have necessarily to succumb
To the might, with their right notwithstanding.
24.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is man really courageous?
Is man really courageous?
He who says so
Must be lunatic.
Man fears life,
He fears death,
He fears disease,
He fears failure
And sometimes his success also,
He fears the truth,
He fears honesty,
He fears God
But on his terms,
And above all
He fears himself.
So why should he be called
A courageous?
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Fears For Fears
Death promises nothing for me
And I don't expect nothing from death
Either than pain and sorrows
Fears for fears
Live in me
When I walk late at night on the road
Because I never know what can happen to me
But I believe that God is always on my side
Fears for fears
I will never trust the promises of a lazy man
Fears for fears
I will drink the one
With my food
So that I can give gheers to my God
Fears for fears
I don't fear the thunder or lightning
Fears for fears
The pond is home to all ducks
Because all the ducks lives in the pond
Swimming away
Fears for fears
What more can I give to God
Than myself
Fears for fears
The paths are not clear of the snow
In the winter
In the city where I live
Fears for fears
The harbour is so quiet during the winter
Because no boats are in the harbour during the winter
And everything sleeps away in the harbour
Also the night comes early during the winter months
But summer is different
Because the light shines all day
Fears for fears
Our bodies are made of water
And we need water to survive in this heat
poem by Aldo Kraas
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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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Didn't He Ramble
Didn't he ramble.... he rambled
Rambled all around.... in and out of town
Didn't he ramble....didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher cut him down
His feet was in the market place..his head was in the street
Lady pass him by, said..look at the market meat
He grabbed her pocket book..and said i wish you well
She pulled out a forty-five..said i'm head of personnel
Didn't he ramble...i said he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Didn't he ramble...oh didn't he ramble
He rambled till the butcher shot him down
(instrumental break)
He slipped into the cat house..made love to the stable
Madam caught him cold..said i'll pay you when i be able
Six months had passed ..and she stood all she could stand
She said buddy when i'm through with you
Ole groundhog gonna be shakin yo' hand
And didn't he ramble...he rambled
Rambled all around...in and out of town
Oh didn't he ramble......he rambled
You know he rambled...till the butcher...cut him down
I said he rambled..lord...'till the butcher shot him down
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catch The Man
Catch the man who escapes for something,
His entrance to the jaws of life conveys nothing;
Might and power betrays the worker in outer life,
Mastered knowledge is the reality.
Caught in the act, a dog and man are the same,
The thief surpasses a butcher, but does the thief
Also butcher the one who is in his way,
The one in the way of success and prosperous conversation?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Butcher Boosted
Why do they flock,
To have their meat...
Stripped clean of fat?
And who is that selected...
To do just that?
This butcher boosted,
Is preferred!
And slices exactly what is wished.
To rid them of maggots leeching.
And feed to them a diet to feast...
With an increased desire,
To eat from a substance...
More nutritiously dished!
Without those promises of expectations...
That have left them with tastebuds,
Long on delusion!
And not fed with sensations demanded.
This butcher boosted...
Openly will command,
With an exposed and uncloaked hand...
Those who witness the slicing that is done,
Will come to understand!
This butcher boosted is no joke.
And each stroke is meant,
To rid them from all deceptions hidden.
And qualified are the intentions made...
To open all eyes along the way!
'There is no fat on this cat's back!
Down to basics.
With an eye on facts.
Delivered and received!
To nourish a return of reality believed.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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The Butcher's Shop - UK Style
Legs, Shoulders, Ribs and Shanks,
Chops, Sirloins, Breasts and Flanks,
These are all 'meats' of the Butcher's trade,
Where lots of delicious 'things' are made.
Hams, Pies, Pickles and Stuffing,
No I am really not bluffing,
Chicken, Goose, Turkey and Duck,
To buy these things you need some 'pluck'.
With these 'meats' you need to know,
How to steam and roast, real slow,
How to fry, simmer and grill,
It can be quite a difficult skill.
But the kindly Butcher will help you out,
You really only have to shout,
He knows the cuts, has all the info,
With all his knowledge, he's a real pro.
He knows how long to cook things for,
How the baste and how to score
The pork, so that lovely 'crackling' can be had,
Now think of it! That can't be bad.
There's livers, kidneys and chitterlings which,
Grab the taste buds, gee they're rich,
Bacon, sausages and corned beef slices,
Some with garlic, some with spices.
Whatever you like, it's all ready for you.
Even if you have to queue,
It's worth the wait, for what you'll get
It'll melt in the mouth, that I can bet!
Your friendly Butcher is a capable chap,
He'll answer your questions without a flap,
So try all his produce, the flavours are great,
You'll never have anything left on your plate.
There's variety beyond belief,
Try any 'meat' you'll come to no grief,
The choice is amazing, the recipes fab,
There's always a choice on the Butcher's slab.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Where all the poor in the village were buried?
Is this a cemetery?
The Gypsy Tinker, Negro Blacksmith, Grey-bearded Barber, One eyed Arabian butcher, Native Hangman & the family and the rest of all hide somewhere,
Nobody knows to point out so and so as no tombs were found there.
The flat graves show their innocence and poverty.
'Where is she? ' Hangman asks.
Butcher says; 'All are here brother and they are in a deep sleep.'
Hey! Now it's a playground for the children being a promise of the deceased dumb Mayor.
* Dedication to all the poet friends in the site.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sheep
From where I stand the sheep stand still
As stones against the stony hill.
The stones are gray
And so are they.
And both are weatherworn and round,
Leading the eye back to the ground.
Two mingled flocks -
The sheep, the rocks.
And still no sheep stirs from its place
Or lifts its Babylonian face.
poem by Robert Francis
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A Society of Grazing Sheep
The herd meanders, searching for the green
Pastures that hide past distant mountaintops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
The herd looks down, ignoring what they've seen.
They're too busy chewing grass to stop.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
The herd wanders only to convene
In the pursuit of inhaling more crops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
They don't yet realize that hungry eyes
Guide them—that wolves are hiding in disguise.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Shepherd
The shepherd goads his sheep by staff,
And leads them on to pastures green,
Instructing them to watch for wolves
That come in sheep-skin, in their midst!
The shepherd knows each sheep by name,
And calls them sweetly when they stray,
Or when they near the ledge atop
A valley deep or hill-side steep!
The sheep too know their shepherd's call,
And graze on meadows, keeping near;
They know he is their protector,
And will save them at any cost!
How safe it is when shepherd's near!
No sheep can ever lose its way;
The shepherd takes care of the flock,
But cannot bear to see one, lost!
Dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius, Parish Priest,
Holy Family Church, Perundurai, by his beloved parishioners
Copyright by Dr John Celes 31-05-2012
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Butcher
There has been a butcher at my heart
I have been cut, severed and served
Diced up to a presentation
The mince of my forlorn desire
Left sitting in a bowl to waste
A consumption to indigestion
A poison to the pallet of love
The colour or romance blood red
Cut out drained away
There has been a butcher at my heart
Splicing, stabbing, hacking away
No delicate cuts to present
The back table offerings
Usually kept for the dogs
Is this all my heart has to offer
A bargain counter deal
On left over’s
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A Shepherd's Dream
A silly shepherd lately sat
Among a flock of sheep;
Where musing long on this and that,
At last he fell asleep.
And in the slumber as he lay,
He gave a piteous groan;
He thought his sheep were run away,
And he was left alone.
He whoop'd, he whistled, and he call'd,
But not a sheep came near him;
Which made the shepherd sore appall'd
To see that none would hear him.
But as the swain amazèd stood,
In this most solemn vein,
Came Phyllida forth of the wood,
And stood before the swain.
Whom when the shepherd did behold
He straight began to weep,
And at the heart he grew a-cold,
To think upon his sheep.
For well he knew, where came the queen,
The shepherd durst not stay:
And where that he durst not be seen,
The sheep must needs away.
To ask her if she saw his flock,
Might happen patience move,
And have an answer with a mock,
That such demanders prove.
Yet for because he saw her come
Alone out of the wood,
He thought he would not stand as dumb,
When speech might do him good;
And therefore falling on his knees,
To ask but for his sheep,
He did awake, and so did leese
The honour of his sleep.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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Counting Sheep
I shall not count the sheep by night
I shall not see them leap
The countless hours I do not sleep
mean nothing to the sheep
Someone else shall count them
Perhaps it will be you
I would like to think that so
Then I'd know you too
are losing sleep like me
and have me on your mind
And as the night turns into day
you'll leave the sheep behind
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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