Best Bleat Poems
‘far from the madding crowds’ and cars
this green and pleasant land of ours
conceals behind its dry stone walls
secrets, streams and waterfalls
where stepping stones that gather moss
shine forth and tempt us both across
to distant fields of eighties’ skies
now clouded through autumnal eyes
where sheep still bleat as we both pass
along old paths of weathered grass
rekindling thoughts as each track weaves
of first love, hope and burning leaves
that once infused a simpler air
but linger still inside somewhere
to guide us on those wistful miles
through woods, past farms and over stiles
in search of where we sat and spent
time dreaming dreams of dreams we dreamt
over the hills and far away
inside a world called yesterday
and where we’d stay ‘til light turned late
in fields beyond the kissing gate
where now through smiles and gentle tears
reflecting on those forty years
it feels like time has flown so fast
since young love asked if love could last.
Categories:
bleat, desire, friendship, love,
Form:
Couplet
clouds like sheep
grazing in the blue
scatter on the breeze
How marvelous was the first week of March in my state. The temperatures exceeded my hopeful expectations. If the old proverb is true, perhaps this month will go out with a lion’s roar, for I’m pretty sure it came in with the bleat of a lamb! Daylight Saving time also has arrived along with St. Patrick’s Day and the wearing of the green, and Easter and our Mother’s Day will follow. The day I most look forward to, however, is that day which turns my front yard into a bright fiesta. Right around the end of week one or two of April, my ornamental pear and plum trees always undergo their annual transformation.
pear tree’s white petals
pearlescent in the sun . . .
plum tree’s blush
Yes, each April it never fails to amaze me: nature’s orderly sequence of events which so beautifully welcome spring’s warmth. Birds whose nests are so well-hidden in each tree’s branches will decorate my yard with their flashes of color as they soar to the sky and then flit among the leaves of their new-found home. I enjoy catching glimpses of the swallows’ shiny dark wings and the red of the robin and of the occasional cardinal. Even more special are sudden glimpses of bluebirds and hummingbirds that I rarely get to see! These sightings so excite me!
lion or lamb -
spring turns me into
an April fool
March 21, 2021
for the Springtime Haibun Contest Poetry Contest of M. L. Kiser
Now for Brian Strand's 'ALL YOURS (Apr 12)' Poetry Contest
Categories:
bleat, spring,
Form:
Haibun
Watery eyed thoughts came,
Zap! Pow! a short circuited brain.
Inward turned burned ocular pain,
too many thoughts to restrain
I’m a cheap sheep making my mistakes again.
Smell my seared wool going down the drain.
Ba, ba, blackishly wishing I was right as rain.
Words accessed by my fingertips
help to quicken my sheepish heartbeat
Yet I bang on my keyboard, DELETE, DELETE!
Ripping out digital scores, sheet by sheet.
Never once listening to what other sheep bleat.
Instead I feel my brain draining
as my barnyard thoughts are straining
I can’t translate what they’re saying.
It sounds to much like blah blah complaining.
I’m watching you fake shepherd boy,
black sheep never sleep
into the darkness we’re destined to creep.
Sad sadistic secrets you’ve burdened us to keep
So we push our charred thoughts way down deep,
as we travel paths dangerous and steep.
Within the silence of the lambs,
you devilishly relish hearing us weep.
While I admire fleece as white as snow.
I’m not inclined to go where those sheep go.
Their path leads to your fictional rainbow.
They’re not safe just because they travel slow.
The True Shepherd wouldn’t lead them to and fro
I listen to my uneasy queazy feeling
and exit your proverbial row.
I wish I could stop them too
but, ba ba ba, to the slaughter they go.
For Wow Me Poetry Contest entered August 26, 2019.
Written August 21, 2019
Re-entered in John Hamilton’s N/A contest
Categories:
bleat, angst, anxiety, betrayal, child
Form:
Rhyme
September meets with warm embrace,
quickening the harvest pace,
though looming autumn can't efface
what's left of summer's arid grace.
The linen hanging on the line
dances with the gust and shine,
while maypops heavy on the vine,
with honeysuckle, twist and twine.
The cool grass tickles naked feet
while weaned lambs in the distance bleat,
and find some shelter from the heat
'neath leafy canopy retreat.
The gentle wind so jaunt'ly plays
and tousles copper hair ablaze
like furious dancing autumn rays
from Mabon's fiery upraise.
Through rustling leaves the sunbeams glint,
I catch the balm of sage and mint,
and every herb and floral scent
blown to me by the wind's dissent.
Breathing deep olfactory prose
until the old red rooster crows
waking me from my repose
and from beneath the tree, I rose.
When as I rose, a red leaf fell,
wisping down its last farewell;
a changing season to foretell;
the coming bounty doth compel.
Cicadas loudly buzz along
and sing their end of summer song,
o'er by the thorny brambles throng;
unto the prairie they belong.
By and by, I turned my mind
back to the farm and daily grind,
collecting eggs where I can find;
inside the henhouse, else behind.
The hens put up a bitter fuss
with feathers flying from the truss,
so I let out an angry cuss.
Still, they obliged; allowed me thus.
Upon it all, I took my leave,
finished with my blast and thieve
much to the angry birds' aggrieve;
giving them a day's reprieve.
Outside the coop, behind the fence,
my greedy boar approached me whence,
grunting for his recompense,
and so two eggs I offered thence.
Then on, as careful as I might
into the farmhouse kitchen white,
delivered up the shelled delight
to feed the morrow's appetite.
Upon the ending of this chore,
I happened back outside once more,
to watch the day fade into lore,
and Luna make her grand encore.
-----------------------------------------------
Categories:
bleat, autumn, day, farm, september,
Form:
Rhyme
A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream
Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens Hell's gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts
Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light
Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls
Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams
from everywhere and nowhere
Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind
Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye
Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries
Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning Hell fires
or cold earthworms await
Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
Categories:
bleat, animal, dark, dream, light,
Form:
Free verse
Winter’s snowy mantel is quietly disappearing
Slowly he abdicates his reign until next year
This year’s queen is putting on her freshest dress
Every day its tender colors blushingly appear …
The heart of every hungry poet gladdens now
The joy of renewal must now be put to pen
What was a dream becoming reality once again
And words flow from that hidden place within…..
Frantically we write of fields of yellow daffodils
The lamb’s bleat, the new bud upon the branch
Emotions twist and turn about in springtime breezes
And happily we explore the flavors of this year’s romance…
3/16/16
Categories:
bleat, poetry, spring, daffodils,
Form:
Quatrain
I live on poetry
Instead of money
Means and ends reversed
To alter the curse
Lifeblood runs thick
As stoic veins bleat out
Their passionate terrain
I will die knowing
What life means
So while money hawks circle
Chasing beer and dreams
I will float along
Making food out of song
Categories:
bleat, happiness, on writing and
Form:
Free verse
Alley cats meow
Bees buzz
Canines bark
Ducks quack
Elephants snort
Frogs croak
Geese honk
Horses neigh
Iquanas wheeze
Jaquars snarl
Kangaroos thump
Lions roar
Mice squeak
Northern flickers wick wick wick
Owls hoot
Parakeets chirp
Quaggas whoop
Roosters cock-a-doodle-doo
Scorpions snap
Turkeys gobble
Urials baa
Vultures hiss
Wolves howl
Xuhai goats bleat
Yaks moo
Zebras bray
Thursday, October 21, 2021
Categories:
bleat, animal,
Form:
Abecedarian
A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream
Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens hells gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts
Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light
Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls
Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams
from everywhere and nowhere
Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind
Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye
Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries
Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning hellfires
or cold earthworms await
Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
Categories:
bleat, dark, death, destiny, gothic,
Form:
Free verse
Percy pig was feeling quite shaken -
He'd heard pigs were slaughtered for bacon
Turning white as a sheet
He then started to bleat
As a sheep could he be mistaken!
Entered into 101 in a row contests ~14
sponsored by PD Linda:-)
17th June 2016
Categories:
bleat, animal, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
A predator among us.
A villian in our midst.
An entity of evil,
Clouding up our wits.
Preying on the innocent.
Devouring the strong.
A sycophant immortal.
Unbound by right and wrong.
White wool adorning
The curves of their form.
Cloven hooves dragging
on the ground with the worms.
No hoofprints behind them.
just the four toed paws
dotted at the tips
by their long and angry claws.
Nature is a cruel being.
Creating monsters in her storms.
No one understands
And everyone is torn.
The prey will always villify
those who are higher than they
on the food chains bottom
the sheep will always stay.
The wolves are meant to feed
without remourse consume
The psyches of the weak
to bring them to their doom.
The sheep will bleat and bellow
in fear of those wolves
And try to justify their blindness
by stamping hard their hooves.
Hiding in the herd,
the prey upon their back
the predators facade
turns their wool to black.
Such is natures way.
No one is at fault.
The circle of life.
The predators of thought.
For who can blame the hungry beast
for eating to survive
When you people create such feasts
And tantalize our eyes.
We can not feel guilty
for gaining our sustenance.
consider this my fealty
for i shall not repent.
Categories:
bleat, abuse, allegory, anger, animal,
Form:
Free verse
I rose not like flower or like tree
Not like eagle's hubris in the sun
Old skin shed in the divided city
Last clone of a manhood almost done
And so I tasted the salt that lingered in blood
When the sea was pushed to the edge
And the land was wet and squirming in mud
I was in the litter of its self-knowledge
I know my city better now, where met
The passions of my birth, life is beautiful
But shallow here, much to regret and forget
But I will exhume me from the bountiful
Shallowness and litter, I will my heart
To the silent stars and write my life
In words of truth. Montego Bay, let me start
In you, the doldrums where the fear was rife.
It was not the wind, but the fire that sent
My mother descending through smoke of tears
Along the pavement hard without lament
And her three children pined at crowded stairs
My brother was swallowed by the city's mire
My sister's drug was her desire, she called
Eight from her flesh to mother's feast of prayer
Thank you God for your mercies that enthralled
That's context now, while I bleat my life
From the ghetto's battlefield to stable and school
Something provoked my hunger and strife
Something led like a pen along the edge of a rule
For I have smelled the cordite fumes of death
And the magic scent of ganja on slum night air
I from school have fled and gasped for breath
Along a street where splintered blood appeared
So I dispense this news for you struggling child
Wriggling sand to walk out of my burning shoes
Soon I shall strip away the mask pile by pile
Promise you will dance, dance slowly to my blues
I give you more than wax feathers for the sun
For old Sisyphus by labor endless was worn down
And did not see the rise sinking to the run
In each man's failure another man's victory abound.
Categories:
bleat, history, life, philosophylife, me,
Form:
Verse
The beast of winter
crept off after Spring's first week.
Sun now strokes my cheek.
I can almost hear a bleat.
March will go out like a lamb.
An oldie revised for
Rick Parise' One Tanka- Old Or New - See Title Requirement Poetry Contest
Categories:
bleat, spring,
Form:
Tanka
Eyes furtive carry the reflected sheen of aluminium paint that is smooth a chrome flood
On the tin roof of the woodshed seen, with moonlight awash, awaking the dreaming scene.
The light has the tint of coyote’s hair; the furtive fox is rising to maraud with that
Peripheral stare, the balance tail is curving around a body still turning, his eyes red dots
Burn beside the russet and auburn fur, in the night full deep, guard dog in slumbering sleep,
With a stealthy gait the stooping steep steps you negotiate, around the mottled boulders
Grey you move or even! glide your way. The lightest breeze full on your face, with elegant
Tresses like a filigree trace, to soundless halt you poise your form upon the ledge with its
Girth two pace. Your.. goal in sight about to spring.! with visage grim, the huddled lambs
Sense... sudden..fear! They start to bleat hear querulous tones, the move was neat! Yet P D
Drops down on lightening feet, from her crop of rock with a body shock, she lands on him
With her forked tree limb, his neck is pinned, in her sundown boots she stands on his tail at
The very root, with feral fear his eyes a-glare, how now will the tale of the captured fox ensnared
Unfold? Don’t destroy the tail of this fox caught cold! She could train him as her reddy scout
He has a fine nose plus attuned senses that she alone caught out!.. or better still she could
Keep him well penned perhaps in documents contained, or back to herr schäffer send!
I have come out of retirement ha ha! for P D's inner animal contest .
© JOE MAVERICK 2-01-2011
Categories:
bleat, animalsbody,
Form:
Narrative
The mellow chords of a cello draw tears:
as its bow vibrates a combo of strings.
And when that sound found its way to my ears:
it tore my heart apart and clipped my wings.
The violin, akin to the fiddle,
expresses cheers and fears within its pitch.
And, I find my mind teased by a riddle
granted an hour of power to bewitch.
French horns, like brass thorns, both piercing and sharp,
float above each note, and I'm left reeling.
And the sweet bleat of a lingering harp
haunts and taunts with a heavenly feeling.
Music, on the whole, leaves my soul in awe;
every sound, bound to the conductor's will.
Perfect, and yet imperfect, like scrimshaw,
a way to convey both talent and skill.
Categories:
bleat, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme