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Bulls make money and bears make money, but hogs just get slaughtered.
My parents moved to Los Angeles when I was really young, but I spent every summer with my grandparents, and I'd stay with my grandfather on the farm in Longview. He was retired from the railroad, and he had a small farm with some cows and some pigs. I remember part of my youth was feeding hogs and plowing fields and stuff, so that's a part of me.
quote by Forest Whitaker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pigs and the Charcoal-burner
The old Pig said to the little pigs,
'In the forest is truffles and mast,
Follow me then, all ye little pigs,
Follow me fast!'
The Charcoal-burner sat in the shade
With his chin oil his thumb,
And saw the big Pig and the little pigs
Chuffling come.
He watched 'neath a green and giant bough,
And the pigs in the ground
Made a wonderful grisling and gruzzling
And greedy sound.
And when, full-fed, they were gone, and Night
Walked her starry ways,
He stared with his cheeks in his hands
At his sullen blaze.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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I shall not ever return to you, my pigs, because, at worst, to die valorously is better than to sleep out one's youth in the sun. A man has but one life. It is his all. Therefore I now depart from you, my
pigs, to win me a fine wife and much wealth and leisure wherein to discharge my geas. And when my geas is lifted I shall not come back to you, my pigs, but I shall travel everywhither, and into the last limits of earth, so that I may see the ends of this world and may judge them while my life endures. For after that, they say, I judge not, but am judged: and a man whose life has gone out of him, my pigs, is not even good bacon.
quote by James Branch Cabell
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Prodigal Son
Here come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again,
Claimed by bone of my bone again
And cheered by flesh of my flesh.
The fatted calf is dressed for me,
But the husks have greater rest for me,
I think my pigs will be best for me,
So I'm off to the Yards afresh.
I never was very refined, you see,
(And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see)
But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see,
For being a bit of a swine.
So I'm off with wallet and staff to eat
The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat,
But glory be! - there's a laugh to it,
Which isn't the case when we dine.
My father glooms and advises me,
My brother sulks and despises me,
And Mother catechises me
Till I want to go out and swear.
And, in spite of the butler's gravity,
I know that the servants have it I
Am a monster of moral depravity,
And I'm damned if I think it's fair!
I wasted my substance, I know I did,
On riotous living, so I did,
But there's nothing on record to show I did
Worse than my betters have done.
They talk of the money I spent out there -
They hint at the pace that I went out there -
But they all forget I was sent out there
Alone as a rich man's son.
So I was a mark for plunder at once,
And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once,
But I didn't give up and knock under at once,
I worked in the Yards, for a spell,
Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs.
And shared their milk and maize with hogs,
Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs
And - I have that knowledge to sell!
So back I go to my job again,
Not so easy to rob again,
Or quite so ready to sob again
On any neck that's around.
I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you!
God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you!
I wouldn't be impolite to you,
But, Brother, you are a hound!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Bulls make money. Bears make money. Pigs get slaughtered.
Lydia Puckett
Knowlt Hoheimer ran away to the war
The day before Curl Trenary
Swore out a warrant through Justice Arnett
For stealing hogs.
But that's not the reason he turned a soldier.
He caught me running with Lucius Atherton.
We quarreled and I told him never again
To cross my path.
Then he stole the hogs and went to the war --
Back of every soldier is a woman.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Pig Farming
Pig Farming
British farmers treat their pigs better
than their European counterparts,
straw strewn floors to walk on and
toys (usually footballs) to kick around
in the pen while they wait…
Alas, like their European brethrens
they will be slaughtered roasted, boiled
or smoked, usually when very young;
straw and toys are for you and I so we
can say we’re kind to animals we eat.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young pigs grunt as as old pigs grunted before them.
Young pigs grunt as old pigs grunted before them.
I Am Responsible....
i think about...
the 12 year old child
working in sweatshop conditions,
for a couple dollars a day,
who made the shirt on the shelf.
the cows, pigs, and chickens
slaughtered, after living
in horrid conditions,
to fill the shelves
at the grocery store.
i think about invasions,
gunfire and bombing,
every time i fill my tank.
i think about the hungry,
and the homeless...
every night when i eat,
and go to bed.
i know, by my actions,
and inactions,
i am responsible.
do you?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vino Rosso Della Guerra
I
My father spoke of eating rats
to stay alive in World War I
as he lay in bloodied fields
while in the distance
he watched the vineyards glinting in the sun.
His mother had wailed as she watched him go
while his father’s bony finger
traced a purple cross
bare feet wedded to the grapes
marching
marching
marching
to the beat of the drums
II
My mother said Mussolini was good
because he made everyone
throw their pigs out
of the house and made sure
everyone got pasta every day
but no meat.
By then the pigs had all been slaughtered
to feed the army.
In the garden behind her shack,
broccoli withered in the hot Sicilian sun,
water doled out like vino rosso to dying alcoholics.
'One liter too much and Il Duce’s soldati
might die of thirst, ' the peasants would hiss,
rolling their eyes, while huddling in dark cellars
where wine presses used to dwell.
The purple grapes that once graced
the countryside had all been razed
the culls remaining
just so many
rotting raisins.
poem by Allesandra Patti
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Circe's Power
I never turned anyone into a pig.
Some people are pigs; I make them
Look like pigs.
I'm sick of your world
That lets the outside disguise the inside. Your men weren't bad men;
Undisciplined life
Did that to them. As pigs,
Under the care of
Me and my ladies, they
Sweetened right up.
Then I reversed the spell, showing you my goodness
As well as my power. I saw
We could be happy here,
As men and women are
When their needs are simple. In the same breath,
I foresaw your departure,
Your men with my help braving
The crying and pounding sea. You think
A few tears upset me? My friend,
Every sorceress is
A pragmatist at heart; nobody sees essence who can't
Face limitation. If I wanted only to hold you
I could hold you prisoner.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Slaughterhood
Never seen the light
Never seen the night
The pigs, kept in the dark
Tiny cages
eating whatever crap
They’re fed
Waiting for nothing
Struggling to survive
A stranger grabs one of them
Pokes the stomach
Drags him squealing away
The placid creature
Hypnotized by the stun
The pulsing electric shock
Pulling tugging hanging
Abused it’s ankles with chains
Holding the entire body; upside down
The evil figure thrusting the
Sharp rod; Metal, evil rod
Into the innocent animals throat
Out runs it’s life blood
Out pours out its feeling
Out pours out its chance
The gushing,
Almost as if a water fall
A red, river rushing to a pool
a pool of blood collecting on the floor
The animal, now a
slaughtered corpse
Murdered
Just hung there
Until it was
Cut down
Cut up
Cooked up
Eaten
Without a second thought
They deserve something
**
As soon as an organism dies, so does all the cells that keep you alive, and healthy. This means, as soon as the last breath has been breathed, the body instantly starts to rot.
I am not weird for being vegetarian. You’re the weird one for finding a rotting corpse of a slaughtered innocent animal appetizing.
poem by Tahlia Hilton
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Tabloid Pigs
Tabloid pigs to the slaughter house
Tomorrows chip-papers looking thin
The hacks and waiting to be hacked
Front page headline ‘Karma wins’
The corrupt uncaring vices you undertook
On which you built your little empire
Is now falling apart around your feet
You have no friends left in this town
Now after every story you ran
Tabloid pigs to the slaughter house
Come answer to your crimes
Stand, be counted for what you’ve done
In the public interest I do believe
Is what you have always said
You were not journalists or news reporters
Just vile little piggy’s snorting around
In the dirt for what you could sell
Regardless of crime or consequence
Tabloid pigs to the slaughter house
The time has come, last edition
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A Tenant of Mrs. Van Kleeck
Translation of a letter from a tenant of Mrs. Van Kleeck to that lady, dated January 9, 1787
My very good landlady, Mistress Van Kleeck,
(For the tears that o'erwhelm me I scarcely can speak)
I know that I promis'd you hogs two or three
(But who knows his destiny? Certain not me!)
That I promis'd three hogs I don't mean to deny
(I can prove that I had five or six upon sty.)
Three hogs did I say? Three sows I say then
'Pon honour I ne'er had a male upon pen.
Well Madam, the long and the short of the clatter
For mumbling & mincing will not better the matter;
And murder and truth, my dear mammy wd say
By some means or other forever saw day;
And Daddy himself, as we chop'd in the wood,
Would often observe that lying wasn't good.
Tell truth, my sweet fellow, no matter who feels it,
It ne'er can do hurt to the man who reveals it.
But stop! While my Daddy and Mammy's the subject
I am running aside the original object --
The sows, my sweet madam, the sows I repeat,
Which you and your household expected to eat,
Instead of attending their corn and their swill
Gave way to an ugly he-sow's wicked will.
When 'twill end your good ladyship need not be told,
For Nature is still as she hath been of old,
And when he cries YES mortal may not cry NO -
So Madam, farewell, with my holliday bow.
poem by Major Henry Livingston Jr.
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I may have exaggerated a bit when I said that 80 per cent of the top 100 women are fat pigs. What I meant to say was 75 per cent of the top 100 women are fat pigs.
quote by Richard Krajicek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiday meals two
A woman in england is breeding mini pigs as pets
She might have some regrets.
My crabapples will have a mouth where to park
Pork so tender with meat white and dark.
Small indoor cookers will make such a come back
Mini chittilings will be just a new snack
Bagged al natural
Or bar-B-que flavored
Wont that be wild.
I like em hot
Some like em mild.
For a party of twenty
There will be plenty.
We will cook two or three
As directed.
The big bad wolf will be happy cause he has emphazima
Old Yeller could surley handle the rest.
Babe is at odds with no mini sheep to herd
So from him you will not even here one word.
Clinton upset cause not bred in Arkansas
But Hillary wants one real bad
To keep up with this latest pig fad.
Mini Razorback hogs
Will be the talk of the town.
We can train them like tunnel rats
To infiltrate Afganistans deep hidden caverns
For the pig is smarter than
Us drunkerds in most taverns.