Langwidge
'The flamin' cows!' 'e ses; 'e did, an' worse;
'Twas 'orrible the langwidge that 'e used.
It made me blood run cold to 'ear 'im curse;
An' me that taken-back-like an' confused;
W'ile them poor beasts 'e belted an' abused.
'They couldn't shift,' 'e ses, 'a blanky 'earse!
The flamin' cows!'
'The flamin' cows!' You oughter 'eard 'im curse.
You would a bin that shocked. . . . An' the idear!
'Im usin' such remarks about a 'earse;
An' 'is own brother buried not a year.
'Not move a blanky 'earee!' 'e ses. My dear,
You 'ardly could imagine langwidge worse.
'The flamin' cows!'
'The flamin' cows!' Wot would the parson say?
An' 'im so friendly-like with 'im an' 'er.
I pity 'er; I do, 'cos, in 'er way.
She is respectable. But 'i! It's fur
From me, as you well know, to cast a slur,
On anyone; but wot I 'eard that day. . . .
'The flamin' cows!'
'The flamin' cows!' I know quite well that we
Ain't wot you'd call thin-skinned; and nasty pride
Is wot I never 'ad.... But 'er! ... W'y she
She's allus that stuck-up an' full o' side;
A sorter thing I never could abide.
An' all the time 'er 'usband.... Goodness me!
'The flamin' cows!'
'The flamin' cows!' O' course 'e never knowed
That I was list'nin' to 'im all the w'ile.
'E muster bin a full hour on the road;
An', Lord, you could 'a' 'eard 'im for a mile.
Jes' cos they stuck 'im in that boggy sile:
'If they ain't blanky swine,' 'e ses, 'I'm blowed!
The flamin' cows!'
'The flamin' cows!' W'y, if it 'ad occurred,
An' me not 'eard, I'd 'ardly think it true.
An', you know well, I wouldn't breathe a word
Against a livin' soul, I don't care 'oo;
Not if the Queen of Hingland arst me to.
But, oh! that langwidge! If you only 'eard!
'The flamin' cows!'
'The flamin' cows!' 'e ses,, an' more besides.
An' fancy! 'Im! To think that 'e would swear!
W'y 'Blarst!' 'e sez... Yes! 'Blarst the'r blanky 'ides!'
(Oh, you may well throw up your 'ands an' stare!)
Yes - 'Blarst,' 'e ses, 'the'r blanky 'ides an' 'air!
I'll out the blanky skin off er the'r sides!
The flamin' cows!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Smile At You
Go on save yourself
Leave the key here
Well, you love someone else
And I shouldnt be here
Well, dont ask me why
My walls are flamin
Shes so willing..little one
I wont be stayin
I have come to know
This world of changing faces
But I cant change the world
And I cant face it
So be true to me
My walls are flamin
If youre so willing little one
Then I cant be stayin
What you did not need
Was a woman that was stronger
Well, you needed someone
To depend on you
Well, I could not be her..baby
I didnt not want to
But my first mistake was to smile at you
Oh...yeah
Oh...yeah
And now you feel the light
You run from the darkness
Well, you never saw the change
Well, that womans softness
So you be true to me...yeah
What love was stolen
And there was nothing more
cause then the heart was broken
Oh-ho..i was flamin
I could not see the light
I would not..yeah
Flamin...flamin...flamin...flamin
Yeah...yeah...
What you did not need
Was a lady who was stronger
Well, you needed someone
To depend on you
Well, I could not be her..baby
I didnt not want to
My first mistake was to smile at you
Oh..ah-ha...
Flame...
So be true to me
What love was stolen
And there was nothing more
cause my heart was broken
My heart was broken
Flame...well, to your castle in the sky
Ooh, dont see the change
Flamin...flamin...
Flaming...flaming...flaming
Yeah..ohhhh
Ooh..well..yeah..yeah..yeah..
Yeah..yeah..yeah..yeah..yeah
Dont ask me why
That love was stolen...
Its my heart...my heart was broken
My heart...my heart was broken
My heart...my heart...
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
Food In Heaven
He made the cows to want the rain to fall he made the grass that they use to eat to fill the want inside a cow he makes grass as bread for cows they just continue there to graze in some places in the desert spaces there is grass for cows to eat this is called heaven sweet to cows they drink water when they have it in a drink flavored pouch oh no see eh ewe caught me making lies no listen while eye smile and tell ewe this poem is so nice there is grass for all the cows there is grass on every hill and every cow can eat in heaven they still have grass for every cow there is food in heaven there is food there in a drink flavored pouch.
poem by Charles Hice
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Cows are my passion. What I have ever sighed for has been to retreat to a Swiss farm, and live entirely surrounded by cows - and china.
quote by Charles Dickens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broremann The Farmhand
Broremann, the farmer worker.
Every morning at five thirty sharp, my brother Broremann
had to milk five cows by hand bring bucket full of goodness
to the scullery where maid sifted it and in a churn it went.
He had to start milking Rose first, she was the mother cow
other cows wouldn´t give milk unless he started with her.
After milking Broremann had to clean the barn five cows
make a lot of dung; he pushed it down in a hole in the wall
it was later used to fertilize the land. My brother was proud
of his ability to milk and his hands were, firm yet gentle.
There was a problem though Rose didn´t yield as much milk
as before as she was getting elderly and the farmer sold her
to the knacker’s yard. It was a sad day and the other cows
mooed woefully. The farmer bought a new cow to take Rosa´s
place, but Broremann couldn´t milk her first, as she was new-
comer, so he started with Gerda, now the oldest cow, and milk
the new one last, thus rural peace continued in the cow shed.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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War
'E sez to me, 'Wot's orl this flamin' war?
The papers torks uv nothin' else but scraps.
An'wot's ole England got snake-'eaded for?
An' wot's the strength uv callin' out our chaps?'
'E sez to me, 'Struth! Don't she rule the sea?
Wot does she want wiv us?' 'e sez to me.
Ole Ginger Mick is loadin' up 'is truck
One mornin' in the markit feelin' sore.
'E sez to me, 'Well, mate, I've done me luck;
An' Rose is arstin', 'Wot about this war?'
I'm gone a tenner at the two-up school;
The game is crook, an' Rose is turnin' cool.
'E sez to me, ''Ow is it fer a beer?'
I tips 'im 'ow I've told me wife, Doreen,
That when I comes down to the markit 'ere
I dodges pubs, an' chucks the tipple, clean.
Wiv 'er an' kid alone up on the farm
She's full uv fancies that I'll come to 'arm.
''Enpecked!' 'e sez. An' then, 'Ar, I dunno.
I wouldn't mind if I wus in yer place.
I've 'arf a mind to give cold tea a go
It's no game, pourin' snake-juice in yer face.
But, lad, I 'ave to, wiv the thirst I got.
I'm goin' over now to stop a pot.'
'E goes acrost to find a pint a 'ome;
An' meets a pal an' keeps another down.
Ten minutes later, when 'e starts to roam
Back to the markit, wiv an ugly frown,
'E spags a soljer bloke 'oo's passin' by,
An' sez 'e'd like to dot 'im in the eye.
'Your sort,' sez Mick, 'don't know yer silly mind!
They lead yeh like a sheep; it's time yeh woke
The 'eads is makin' piles out uv your kind!'
'Aw, git yer 'ead read!' sez the soljer bloke.
'Struth! 'e wus willin' wus that Kharki' chap;
I 'ad me work cut out to stop a scrap.
An 'as the soljer fades acrost the street,
Mick strikes a light an' sits down on 'is truck,
An' chews 'is fag - a sign 'is nerve is beat
An' swears a bit, an' sez 'e's done is luck.
'E grouches there ten minutes, maybe more,
Then sez quite sudden, 'Blarst the flamin'war!'
Jist then a motor car goes glidin' by
Wiv two fat toffs be'ind two fat cigars;
Mick twigs 'em frum the corner uv 'is eye
'I 'ope,' 'e sez, 'the 'Uns don't git my cars.
Me di'mons, too, don't let me sleep a wink…
Ar, 'Struth! I'd fight fer that sort - I don't think.'
'E sits there while I 'arness up me prad,
Chewin' 'is gag an' starin' at the ground.
I tumbles that 'e's got the joes reel bad,
An' don't say nothin' till 'e comes around.
'E sez 'is luck's a nark, an' swears some more.
An' then: 'Wot is the strength uv this 'ere war?'
I tells 'im wot I read about the 'Uns,
An' wot they done in Beljum an' in France,
Wiv drivin' Janes an' kids before their guns,
An' never givin' blokes a stray dawg's chance;
An' 'ow they thing they got the whole world beat.
Sez 'e, 'I'll crack the first Ducth cow I meet!'
Mick listen, while I tell 'im 'ow they starts
Be burnin' pore coves 'omes an' killin' kids,
An' comin' it reel crook wiv decent tarts,
An' fightin' foul, as orl the rules forbids,
Leavin' a string uv stiff-uns in their track.
Sez Mick, 'The dirt cows! They wants a crack!'
'E chews it over soid fer a bit,
Workin' 'is copper-top a double shift.
I don't need specs to see that 'e wus 'it
be somethin' more than Rosie's little rift.
'If they'd done that,' 'e sez, 'out 'ere - Ar, rats!
Why don't ole Eng;and belt 'em in the slats?'
Then Mick gits up an' starts another fag.
'Ar, well,' 'e sez, 'it's no affair uv mine,
If I don't work they'd pinch me on the vag;
But I'm not keen to fight so toffs kin dine
On pickled olives . . . Blarst the flamin' war!
I ain't got nothin' worth the fightin' for.
'So long,' 'e sez. 'I got ter trade me stock;
An' when yeh 'ear I've took a soljer's job
I gave yeh leave to say I've done me block
An' got a flock uv weevils in me knob.'
An' then, orf-'anded-like, 'e arsts me: 'Say,
Wot are they slingin' soljers fer their pay?
I tells 'im; an' 'e sez to me, 'So long.
Some day this rabbit trade will git me beat.'
An' Ginger Mick shoves thro' the markit throng,
An' gits 'is barrer out into the street.
An' as 'e goes, I 'ears 'is gentle roar:
'Rabbee! Wile Rabbee! . . . Blarst the flamin' war!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Marriage Breakers Tent
The Marriage Breakers Tent
‘Cuppa tea’, me mate said to me
‘Sure’, said I with a smile
‘Then I’ll be putting the kettle on
It will only take a wee while.’
We sat there in the twilight
Chattin’ as the sun set low
Sippin’ on our cups o’ tea
And watchin’ the campfire glow.
When – BANG – I fairly jumped
Flamin’ well caught me on the hop -
A rusty old truck had backfired
And came to a sudden stop.
This old bloke and his wife climbed out
And started to unpack their load
Cursin’ as they threw their stuff
Right across the road.
Then out they come with the canvas
Old and ripped and spent
Me mate said, will you not be lookin’ at that
It’s a marriage breakers tent.
It was enormous – humungus
It was coloured green and brown
And tryin’ to erect this type of tent
Could, well, perhaps bring a marriage down.
‘You’ve got it round the wrong way
You’ve got it inside out
That’s not the door it’s the window’
The wife began to shout.
‘Leave me alone, who’s doin’ this
Get out of me flamin’ hair
Go and blow the mattress up
And get rid of all that air.’
The night came down and the moon went up
But the tent was far from done
‘Bet you a fiver’, me mate grinned at me
‘That it’s not up before the sun’.
And he could have been right, I surmised
As they kept up the hullabaloo
‘Don’t tie that flamin’ rope down there
I’ll trip over it when I get up to go to the loo.’
On and on and on they went
Til finally – ‘That’ll do – it’s good enough
I’ll fix the rest tomorrow
But now I’m really stuffed’.
‘Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow – always tomorrow
Why can’t you get things right
Why, you said yourself this morning
We’re only camping over night.’
‘Another cuppa’, said me mate
And I knew just what he meant
When he said, ‘will you be not looking at that
It’s a marriage breakers tent.’
Bill Clohesy 2007 - Inspired by Matt at Lake School Koroit - 2007
poem by Bill Clohesy
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Surroundings-28
Strange Friendship
Two cows two storks friendly strolling
As if storks white caring cows each
Strange sight on street wonders outreach
What most in me thrilled still trickling
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Once a man went into a forest to sell his cows
There was no one to buy except a pair of doves,
The doves asked the man: ' How much? '
Their question gave him an emotional touch.
He said that he would not sell the cows' hoofs.
quote by by MBJ Pancras
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The Wildy Ones
The sheep are in the silver wood,
The cows are in the broom;
The goats are in the wild mountain
And won't be home by noon.
My mother sang that olden tune
Most every night,
And to her newest she would croon
By candle light;
While cuddling in the velvet gloom
I'd dream of cows
That sought each dawn 'mid golden broom
To gently browse.
Or I would glimpse the silver wood,
The birchen glade,
Where pearly sheep in quiet mood
Cropped unafraid;
But how I loved in lapsing drowse
The mountain wild!
The goats were more than sheep and cows
To one wee child.
For cows and sheep are shelter-wise,
And love the lea;
While goats have starlight in their eyes,
In cragland free . . .
And now on edge of endless sleep
Wryly I note
How less I'm kin to kine and sheep
Than rebel goat!
poem by Robert William Service
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A Cows Rear Leg (Fun Poem 57)
A cowbell sounds for milking time,
a milkmaid on her three-legged stool,
remembering all the time that golden rule.
Never get behind a cows rear leg
as it could give you a nasty bump.
A jet of milk fires into the bucket
as she caresses the utter teats
with her soft hands.
Always watchful and wary
of the cows rear leg.
29 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Hyperboles and Such
A bubble floats,
Will pass on by,
The cows and goats
Begin to cry.
The balloon falls dead.
The whip cracks dawn.
The frog prince hopes.
The jungle kings yawn.
Until then, the till now plows.
And earth now weeps for goats and cows.
poem by Jesse Swedlund
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Two cows deconstruct Derrida
These two cows were ruminating
and one says, I was listening
to the milkmaid’s transistor
and this French philosopher
was explaining that there’s
no English translation of the French word
‘betise’ except ‘stupidity’ but
‘stupidity’ only refers to man
where the French ‘betise’ means
to behave like an animal…
and the other cow says
well what’s wrong with that
and the first cow says
well his point is, English cows
can’t be stupid; only man
can be stupid..
and the other cow says
well that’s a relief then
so does that mean that French cows
can be stupid
and the first cow says
no because they don’t have a word for it
in French
so the other cow says
so then is it better to be
an English cow
that can’t be stupid
or a French cow
that can’t be called stupid
and the first cow says
who cares, I’ve always said
the French ruminate too much
and then talk bullshit…
and the other cow says
I’m glad I’m a Jersey
what about that French milkmaid
I call sexyhands but
the farmer sometimes calls
a silly cow I wonder what
Derrida would say about that
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Snakes and cows
Foxes are cheats;
Snakes are venom;
Lions are cruel.
Are they all meant,
For that, to go to hell?
Cows are pious;
Deer are harmless;
Dogs are loyal.
Are they all meant,
For that, to go to heaven?
Some are by nature like snakes
And some are like cows.
26.05.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Perfect Kind of Day
It was the perfect kind of day
As I went for a little ride
Just me out with nature
Taking everything in stride
So relaxing to see the cows
Out in the fields so fresh and green
There is nothing more calming
That I have ever seen
I stopped and got out
Of my car so I could see
The cows right up close
They were fascinated with me
I was in no hurry though
Nothing else that I had to do
Enjoying this time I spent
And I’ll bet you’d enjoy it too
And then I climbed back
In my car and sped away
It truly was enjoyable
The perfect kind of day!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Those Who Come To Bull
When is BS,
BS?
And begins to spoil the atmosphere?
When bullies attempt to jump over the Moon,
To stumble over pebbles instead.
With a sneaking done over a fence,
To stench the field.
With disguises to pass themselves off,
As prized cows...
To spy on the thoroughbreds grazing.
As the real prized cows swoon,
To gain the attention...
Of those who are true champions.
No matter what those who come to bull do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Countin The Cows Every Day
Countin the cows every day
By: jimmy buffett
1975
Oh Im just a cowboy, an old hired hand
Never seen nothin majestic or grand
I just received a great big tax return
Now Im off to las vegas with money to burn
Its been a while since I last left this town
Bought a new suit and Im nevada bound
Gonna make it, gonna break it, Ive been there before
Nothins gone wrong, this towns such a bore
Chorus:
Aw, the train leaves at seven, all go to heaven
Nothin here to make me stay
cause that las vegas glitter sure beats kitty litter
Countin the cows every day
Chorus:
Yeah, the train leaves at seven, on up to heaven
Nothin here to make me stay
cause that las vegas glitter sure beats kitty litter
Countin the cows every day
And countin the cows every day
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Merciless men
No bulls! All bullocks!
All castrated, libido arrested,
They toil for their men-folks.
All cows! Only to yield calves,
With no bulls to mate them,
Or to beat cows’ heat.
Just to milk for the folks!
Bulls no more masculine
To fall in love with cow;
Cows, though fully feminine,
Excite no male to copulate.
Cows are delivered of their calves,
Having never gone to sex,
By seminal injections.
Bullocks are stripped of peak of sex..
Creations go without lovemaking.
Men and women of all walks,
From sixteen to sixty or more,
Learn to groom their passion,
With hormones and fashion,
To entertain their orgasm,
By nature way or manipulation,
As often as they desired,
In multitudes and with multitudes,
Whether for a child or not,
More often for no procreation.
Devices are found against confinement
And for a high erotic enjoyment.
Lovemaking goes without creation.
Animals are killed of sexual joy
To multiple the race.
Men-folks are filled of erotic joy
To limit the race.
05.02.99, Dindukal
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Whale
The Whale is found in seas and oceans,
Indulging there in fishlike motions,
But Science shows that Whales are mammals,
Like Jersey cows, and goats, and camels.
When undisturbed, the Whale will browse
Like camels, goats, and Jersey cows,
On food that satisfies its tongue,
Thus making milk to feed its young.
Asking no costly hay and oats,
Like camels, Jersey cows, and goats,
The Whale, prolific milk producer,
Should be our cheapest lactic juicer.
Our milk should all come from the sea,
But who, I ask, would want to be—
And here the proposition fails—
The milkmaid to a herd of Whales?
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Bringing Home The Cows
Shadows of the twilight falling
On the mountain's brow,
To each other birds are calling,
In the leafy bough.
Where the daisies are a-springing,
And the cattle bells are ringing,
Comes my Mary, gaily singing,
Bringing home the cows.
By a bush the pathway skirted,
Room for two allows.
All the cornfields are deserted,
Idle are the ploughs.
Striving for wealth's spoil and booty,
Farmer boys have finished duty,
When I meet my little beauty,
Bringing home the cows.
Tender words and kind addresses,
Most polite of bows,
Rosy cheeks and wavy tresses
Do my passions rouse
Dress so natty and so cleanly,
Air so modest and so queenly.
Oh! so haughty, yet serenely,
Bringing home the cows.
Arm-in-arm together walking,
While the cattle browse,
Earnestly together talking,
Plighting lovers' vows.
Where the daisies are a-springing,
Wedding bells will soon be ringing,
Then we'll watch our servant bringing
Mine and Mary's cows.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Oxford Cheese Ode
The ancient poets ne'er did dream
That Canada was land of cream,
They ne'er imagined it could flow
In this cold land of ice and snow,
Where everything did solid freeze,
They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.
A few years since our Oxford farms
Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
O'er cropped the weary land grew poor
And nearly barren as a moor,
But now the owners live at ease
Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.
And since they justly treat the soil,
Are well rewarded for their toil,
The land enriched by goodly cows,
Yie'ds plenty now to fill their mows,
Both wheat and barley, oats and peas
But still their greatest boast is cheese.
And you must careful fill your mows
With good provender for your cows,
And in the winter keep them warm,
Protect them safe all time from harm,
For cows do dearly love their ease,
Which doth insure best grade of cheese.
To us it is a glorious theme
To sing of milk and curds and cream,
Were it collected it could float
On its bosom, small steam boat,
Cows numerous as swarm of bees
Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.
poem by James McIntyre
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