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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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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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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The Little Shy Grass Along Your Path
the little shy grass along the path
the one with thorns and hairy leaves
stepped upon by the hoofs of cows
and carabaos and goats and pigs
has taken the patience and courage
to grow three red flowers on its branch
as i see them bloom under the hot sun
the shy little grass has a word for you:
the three lovely red flowers are for you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The milk of black goats and white goats is all the same.
The Pleasure Of The Thought
A cat lays stretched out, contented on a wall,
The Farmer's Boy comes whistling down the lane,
One cockerel now proclaims his morning call,
And day begins to make swift way again.
Then others enter now upon this scene,
As to their daily duties they attend,
Some goats are tethered on the Village Green,
And the Miller, slowly starts, his flour to blend.
Three dairymaids with tasks to do, now run,
To cows, who await, their creamy milk to yield,
And as the dawn now welcomes in the sun,
It beams, from all the heavens, this land to gild.
What a pleasant picture here for us is wrought,
Leaving one with all the pleasure of the thought.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Wild Goats
Rock of escaping goats,
Your own eyes have seen this day;
But understand and perceive the muse of my love.
From evil doers comes evil deeds,
But i will pay homage to the things which are right;
And like the crags of the wild goats.
Give me a special blessing and let me love you,
Give me a special love and let me guide you,
Give me a special care and let me be with you always;
And she became the trap for him who was asleep.
On the crag of the wild goats,
Do love yourself first before loving me;
For you can't love others by hating yourself.
Rock of escaping goats,
I am a poor man and little known by you;
But my mind is faster than the bullets of war!
To the son-in-law of the king,
And to the daughter-in-law of the queen;
This is the time that i am free from war,
And like the rock of escaping goats.
Whose son is this boy?
Whose daughter is this girl?
Whose husband is this man?
Whose wife is this woman?
On the cage of the wild goast to take a rest;
But this is the day that Yahweh spoke of.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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
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Till The Land
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cows and your pigs,
always stop to give thanks.
close to the earth, the seasons,
to your family, to your heart....
to your neighbors, to your friends, .
do your best, do your part.
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cows and your chickens,
always stop to give thanks.
from generation to generation,
the traditions handed down.
take care of the land you work,
keep the wheel going 'round.
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cows and your horses,
always stop to give thanks.
now the times have changed,
you're not needed anymore.
the bank's come to take away
all the things you've stood for.
till the land, till the land,
plant the seeds, pray for rain.
feed your cattle and your family,
always stop to give thanks.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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There Is This And There Is Also Always That
there is always a star
and there are always trees that want to reach it
there is a cliff that knows the void up there
there is always a river that sings for it
there are grasses that spread
too there are goats and cows to graze over them
there are seas that rage with big waves
there are rocks waiting for them at the shore
there are dreams that do not come true
there are those who listen and write about them
there are those that die
there those who are newly born
there are ends
and there are beginnings too
war sleeps and peace is awake
this world spins and revolves as the sun looks unblinking
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sunday Morning Despite the Hectic Shedule
today the mountains are well dressed
with green grass and trees
the flocks of sheep and goats and cows
crowd with its abundance
the sun shines brightly and the sea afar
is a horizon so tranquil
the birds are coming to feed on the grains
clouds meet on the top of the hill
today all of them are joyful
praising the wonders of creation
today God is felt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Fall of Dhaka
When we all were small girls and boys,
And played with dolls, and ball like toys,
Were often asked to drift and lead the cattle;
To the nearby meadows, farms and forest,
To have them grazed from morn to eve,
And freshened them with the water clean.
We the little masters of cows, goats and sheep,
Letting them loose sat on top of the mound,
Among the old reverend shepherds,
Who told us the tales of olden times;
Ups and downs of the world they had seen,
How they fought the World War Second,
How they did see the roaring fighter jets;
How the rumbling sounds of the shells,
Did resound and reverberate in the valleys,
How they did watch meadows, fields and farms,
Littered with the human blood flesh and shreds,
How the two shining glaring cities of Japan,
Were obliterated casting perpetual horror.
One day as we sat in the sunshine of December,
Among us someone broke the depressing news,
That our one hundred thousand sons of the land,
Spotting, smudging, smearing the whole history,
Surrendered themselves throwing the weapons.
We the little masters of cows, goats and sheep,
Sat sad and silence prevailed wrapping us all,
As in the days of frost often fog envelops,
The visible objects and blurs the beauties,
The waves of rage and wrath formed and broke,
Emerged and submerged in the ocean of heart,
Then someone of us set a bush on fire,
We all then ran, made the torches of the sticks,
And soon the whole forest was on fire,
We all wished the entire world be burnt,
For we had lost our dear Dhaka.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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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A Bubble In My Heart...!
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that floats
Like it is made out of soap
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that dance
Like it is riding on the breeze
A bubble a bubble in my heart
A bubble a bubble that fills my heart
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that sings
Like it knows how to sing
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that roams
Out of my heart in to the storms
A bubble a bubble in my heart
A bubble a bubble that fills my heart
There's a bubble in my heart
Baby can you see that
Yeah the bubble in my heart
There's a bubble in my heart
A bubble that shines
Much more than sunshine
A bubble a bubble in my heart
Yeah baby, there is a bubble, a bubble in my heart....!
poem by Rowving Smith
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Tigers And Goats
Tigers and goats,
And the tigers ate up the goats;
But they will get the signals when the church bell rings,
And like Medo-Persia, Greece and Rome!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pedro, Pablo and Little José
I have spent an hour
lying in the sun
on Joe Brickle's farm
waiting for Pedro and Pablo
to fetch Little José
with his sickle and scythe
to cut down the high grass
so Pedro and Pablo
can gun their mowers
over the cowlicks.
After Joe Brickle died
the grass on his farm
soared to the sky.
His goats ate it all
till his son flew home
and trucked all the goats
to the slaughterhouse.
At Sadie's Cafe in town
old friends of Joe declare
goats bring a good dollar.
I have not wasted my time
lying in the sun today.
I've been watching
two doves on the ground
walking in circles
waiting for a sparrow
to land and dance on
the rungs of the feeder
Joe Brickle hung
in his Dogwood.
The doves need the seed
the sparrow will scatter.
Joe Brickle named goats
after prophets in the Bible.
He might be happy to know
that I've named the doves
Pedro and Pablo
and the sparrow
now landing
is Little José.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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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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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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The Village Pond
Here, there, women, children and men
Talk animatedly, little water waves disrupted by scooping
Water vessels, the faded green water lilies, shoved aside.
Cows moo, the goats bleat,
School children scramble for a spill,
The edges, slippery and muddy, non of a bother.
The gold, liquid of life, simmers under the hot sun,
Though, shrinking in size, by every draw,
The earth is bare, the pond tags their hope.
Here in the pond, they see, sigh and fall
The feminine and masculine bodies attract
The gossip, filters, confirmed, a new life sees dawn.
Wild tree fruits, like monsters surround the village pond
I'm told the fruits, purify the village pond
Lives ruled, made to see day, Honor to the village pond.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Goddess of the Goats
Full moon high in the sky
fog coming in
breaking like waves
against the hills and fences
Rudder was crying
baaing her silly head off
because
she couldn't find her baby
at 3am
and I
Goddess of the goats
get up from my warm bed
not that it mattered
since I was awake anyway
in my flannell pj's and rubber boots
find the baby
sleeping under what's left
of the catapah tree
a tiny little creature
smaller than the big ginger cat
who guards the farm
against invasions of rodents
when he feels the urge
I take the baby to Rudder
who sniffs it and decides
yes, this is my baby
you may go away now human
Fog rolls in
while in the shrine
erected in the hallow
of the one tree
left standing
candles burn down
smoke and fog uniting
Smoke and fog
moonlight on the fields
white goats shining in moonglow
dancing hooves in the night
whip-poor-will song
with cricket harmony
And I
Goddess of the Goats
with the knowlege
that all my goat girls
and their babies
are safe
can go back to bed
poem by Maggie DeMay
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Goats
He sends prophets
For every ages and for every nations
You can not deny of having His messages
And He made each and every prophet
a shepherd in their early life
with a definite purpose
as prophets suppose to guide those
who are worse than the goats
push them ahead
they will pull you back
if you pull them back
they will drag you ahead
basic characteristics of goats.
So He sends shepherds in every age and for each nations
To guide us to reach the definite destination
To protect us from evils
But we never learn
And behave like goats..
poem by Abdul Wahab
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