The goat can't well cover herself with her tail.
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXVI: Cover
We cover bitterness with satyr
We cover sadness with smile
We cover happiness with tears
We cover pride with stubbornness
We cover anger with jokes
We cover grudge with loyalty
We cover love with play
We cover lust with generosity
We cover sorrow with toughness
We cover ambition with hard work
We cover hope with pessimism
We cover fear with deniable
We cover dream with horror
We cover shame with sarcasm
We cover lone with rebellion
We cover clueless with boasting
We cover ignorance with invisibility
We cover truth with shadow
We cover trouble with distraction
We cover envy with humiliation
We cover lie with innocence
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Some Lizard Thoughts On Another Night When I’m Alone
the lizard licks its tail
in a playful mood remembering
the younger days of its
short life,
IT is playing with light
wishing that there will be fire on the ceiling
too eager to please itself
upon itself
which by the way is our way of defining
what narcissism is all
about,
the lizard bit its own tail and
eat it
not worrying though because it can grow
another tail
in the manner of
auto-regeneration
which we humans do not have
really the ability to do
i watch it closely
like the cover page of the poems
of Gratian
till now, i cannot really figure out
whether
envy has seeded its discord
inside my
heart
or i am just hungry myself
and wish i had a tail
for me to eat
for supper....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If the goat had a longer tail he could wipe the stars clean.
Do not mistake a goat's beard for a fine stallion's tail.
Memories Of The Male Snipe
Above his breeding territory in the night sky
with his wings and tail he sends out a warning as to and fro he fly
To the males of his own kind those living nearby
The sound that he creates seems like a goat like cry.
Often from the bogland road on evenings in May
In my northern Homeland from here far away
I heard the male snipe in his territorial display
He drummed out his warning 'til the dawning of day.
The snipe of the bogland elusive and shy
When flushed by day low to the ground in quick zig zag flight they fly
For the small game shooter the mottled brown bird with the long thin bill
Is the most elusive of targets to shoot at to kill.
The whirring flight sound of the male snipe to this day I recall
Above the quiet bogland 'til dawn from nightfall
With his wings and tail he makes a goat like sound
As above his territory he flies around and around.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tiger By The Tail
What a shock it was so surprising
You looked so small and frail
I didnt know what to do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
People said that you must be joking
You let emotions run away with you
I realized a little too late
I bit off more than I could chew
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
At times life can be so enlightening
But it can turn on you
Lately it gets so complicated i
I dont know what the tiger will do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiday meals
Here's a poem that will get your goat
But my goat ate my poem.
I'll get him for that
He ate all that i wrote.
I wrote such wounderous words
And all he does is burp
It's absurd.
Now all I can do
Is not let him get my goat
The words that I wrote
Were hastey and few
The goat that I had made such a great stew.
Goat Hill
Goat Hill
Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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Cover Me
The times are tough now, just getting tougher
This old world is rough, its just getting rougher
Cover me, come on baby, cover me
Well Im looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me
Promise me baby you wont let them find us
Hold me in your arms, lets let our love blind us
Cover me, shut the door and cover me
Well Im looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me
Outsides the rain, the driving snow
I can hear the wild wind blowing
Turn out the light, bolt the door
I aint going out there no more
This whole world is out there just trying to score
Ive seen enough I dont want to see any more,
Cover me, come on and cover me
Im looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me
Looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Concealment And Covering
you conceal so many things
for so many reasons
you cover them
for so many ratiocinations
you cover you cup of coffee
so it may not get cold that easily
in the same manner you cover your cooking pot
so it may get hot earlier and at least fuel
you cover your ears perhaps because there's so much noise
you cover your head because it may be so hot or there may be rain
you cover your book to protect it from stains
you cover your furnitures because there is so much dust
you cover your body, your heart, your mind
for so many reasons
to each his own because we want to survive we want to live
we want to be just left to ourselves in our chosen privacies
no one has ever said that survival is a crime, a sin, a wrong,
it is the most fitting thing to do, and you must do it too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Four Friends
Ernest was an elephant, a great big fellow,
Leonard was a lion with a six foot tail,
George was a goat, and his beard was yellow,
And James was a very small snail.
Leonard had a stall, and a great big strong one,
Earnest had a manger, and its walls were thick,
George found a pen, but I think it was the wrong one,
And James sat down on a brick
Earnest started trumpeting, and cracked his manger,
Leonard started roaring, and shivered his stall,
James gave a huffle of a snail in danger
And nobody heard him at all.
Earnest started trumpeting and raised such a rumpus,
Leonard started roaring and trying to kick,
James went on a journey with the goats new compass
And he reached the end of his brick.
Ernest was an elephant and very well intentioned,
Leonard was a lion with a brave new tail,
George was a goat, as I think I have mentioned,
but James was only a snail.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Medicate
I got somethin' up my sleeve
I know you will cover me
inside out and in between
I know you will cover me
I've got bruises on my knees
I know you will cover me
inside out and in between
and I know you will cover me
[chorus]
Run away
make hate
and get laid
we get laid
you turn me up
I've had enough
so medicate
medicate
I'm already incomplete
I know you will cover me
broken by your empathy
I know you will cover me
I've been lyin' here for weeks
I know you will cover me
inside out and in between
and I know you will cover me
[chorus x 3]
song performed by by Breaking Benjamin from Saturate
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goat
Lots of goat for dinner
Is all had on a skewer,
My kingdom has survived,
The lids of your eyes
Are lifted and they see
The meat of the kings
In consumption.
Force the goat to be eaten
By converting the king
To your crevice.
Food has might,
Food is the whim of our land.
We ghosts are relaxed tonight,
From the worry of the horror,
Frightened again by the double,
Load the goat into the pot and eat.
poem by Naveed Akram
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What for? If only the goat can tell.
O! The silly goat could have been a dove
White and meek
Soundless in the journey to air
Dove to another dove
Satisfied from among its likes
The horns could have been feathers
In a bird’s body
Another completing dove could have waited
Only if the silly goat knew
The transfiguration of its feet to claw
Its whiskers to beak
The goat’s life would have been complete
And fulfilled
But this the silly goat will never know
& learn and untie
& solve the crazy knot
That it has never untangled
Never has he learned from all the ages
Of his grass life
The seeds that the dove peck
And keep on its throat down to its guts
Its tummy
The goat stays
In the open field
Preoccupied with grass
And grass alone
Abiding by the rules of his master
Imprisoned in its cage
To the rules of their games
Suffering
But never understands the same
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Little Slit in the Tail
I’M GLAD that the Bushmen can’t see me now
A-doing it tall in the town;
I’ve an inch-brimmed hat on my sun-burnt brow—
And my collar jumps up and down.
I’m wearing a vest that would charm a snake,
And a tie like a lost soul’s wail;
And I’m dressed in a coat of the latest make,
With a little slit in the tail:
With a little slit in the tail of it,
With a little slit in the tail.
My pants alone are a thing of joy,
And they’re built to show my bends,
With a crease behind and a crease before,
And a little curl in the ends.
I carry my nose-rag in my cuff,
And the lot should get me gaol—
I paid five guineas for my rig-out,
And one for the slit in the tail:
For the little slit in the tail of it,
For the little slit in the tail.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Christmas Day At The Bunkhouse (Fun Poem 47)
It was Christmas day at the bunkhouse
everyone had sat down for a meal
when through the door walked a goat.
He stood and looked around,
then continued to eat an artichoke.
When he finished he sat and asked for a drink,
someone got up and gave him a bowel of water.
The goat looked at the offering with disgust.
Ain’t you got anything stronger that that?
Of course, we have, came the reply.
Well pour me out some the goats said,
and put some mud in my eye.
Someone had some scotch whiskey
and took the bottle out,
then gave the goat a dram.
The goat sniffed it, and then downed it
all in one swallow.
He then asked for more
saying his legs were still hollow.
Another dram was poured
and everyone was amazed to see,
an upside down goat
drinking a bottle of scotch whiskey.
The goat drank all day
and it drank all night.
The lights went out
and the old goat went to sleep.
He dreamed of himself
floating out the door
and all the way to heaven,
but when he got there,
St Peter wouldn’t let him in.
He said God will not tolerate
any drunken old goats here,
so you had better go back
and sleep it off, Billy.
Then put up a sign on the door.
No drunken old goats allowed,
signed by you know who.
You could always try
beneath the basement floor
he’ll greet you with a smile
and a shovel,
even make you hot and warm.
The moral of this story
whether you’re a goat or a man.
Don’t drink too much;
you could end up
jumping from the frying pan
and straight into the fire,
the one that they keep burning
permanently beneath the basement floor.
poem by David Harris
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The more the billy goat stinks, the more the nanny goat loves him.
Do not try to cook the goat's young in the goat's milk.
A man and a goat can be friends but it would be foolishness for the goat to pay the first visit.