Best Boar Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Boar poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of boar poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Boar poems, articles about Boar poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Boar poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
New Boar Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Boar poems are below this new poems list.
The Boar of Dumm - a Jabberwocky parody
by Writer, Amice
Tracey and The Boar
by Foster, Gail
What a boar - limerick contest
by Roberts, Seren
Our Boar Head Bar Maiden
by Goodson, Mark
by Knop, Gert W.
A Rabid Boar (Footle)
by Anderson, Jimmy
View all new Boar Poems
The Best Boar Poems
Yer briny whore
akin to boar
wit' mangy hide 'n scurvy-pocked
chomped 'n chewed
me black 'n blue
wit' carnassial chompers as of croc
Be curs'd, yer nit
me ample bits
equated ter yer own be nowt
yerz be carnivorous
scaly 'n scabrous
yer plaque be axed ter beef up grout
yer skunky stench
blunted me hook 'n scorched me beard
me peepers stung
me hornpipe hung
shorn ter th' bone 'n shrivelled 'n seared
Comely 'n curvy
riddled wit' scurvy
th' cap'n's whore-maid tooken yer whole
yer rat o' th' sea
holed and *****
yer fired yer cannon in a rottin' port'ole
Blow me down, lover!! I love it when we talk dirty.
(Hahahaha. I see the Soup powers-that-be deleted my word. I swear it's not used as a swearword. The word rhymes with "hussy". lol)
Copyright © delysia hendricks | Year Posted 2013
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.
Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2017
Spring takes its bow early in Florida’s climate
Winds expire, February debuts in quiet
Dazzling lavender blooms on cherry trees wake first
Sweet aroma o’er the verdant landscape’s dispersed
Summer lures eager tourists to beaches in May
Dipping their toes, they feel the ocean’s salty spray
Torrid heat ushers hurricane season in June
Cautious homeowners await the year’s first typhoon
But for late November, Fall seems nonexistent
Taking to nature trails, hikers’ hours are now spent
Wild boar and turkeys identified by their musk
Gopher tortoises chill in shells, deer await dusk
Locals celebrate yuletide holidays with joy
Brevity of winter - nature’s cruelest ploy
*Written August 22, 2014
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
Ah but what a radiant lass
Blonde and soft and born with class
Nightingale and nursing the unborn
Her heart is wrapped around all the forlorn
As only a Star knows
Her smile is soft and always glows
Cuddles and cwtch by the river that flows
Ah but one you see… says she’s crass
Now who says that to a beautiful lass?
Little man with ego bruised
Shall we buy you manners or remove your shoes?
Some in this world are sad and mean
They toss out bitterness, they so keen
The reaper one day shall even the score
Stars shall shine, as we slaughter the boar
Angels and Stars way up high
Their beauty we admire up in the sky
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Glowing, half transparent
underneath the pot, burnt,
yes I'm scorched but not sweating,
because I'm furious, so hurt!
Horrid, nagging insults
though they break before my skin,
salt unto the open wound
fire on oil's brim.
My tongue is dull as a dagger,
my bones rot like pure gold,
only like the fire,
I'm not at all bold.
I'm as weak as a boulder,
I'm as kind as an angry beast;
generous as I rip and tear
bones and sinful meat!
Oh, weak am I? and sissy?
brainless? or no wit?
a syllable of another word,
my teeth will loose grit!
Thoughtless and unworthy?
boiling in a pit?
One more word I'll eat you up,
slash you into bits!
Glowering near translucent,
underneath the pot, burnt,
and the pot is a a-brimmin'
'cuz man, I am so hurt.
Worthless noogy insult,
'though they shatter upon my bones
spice upon a wet fresh cut
fire melting gold...
I'm nearsighted like an eagle,
I can only fight a boar,
one insult I'll show them
see if they'd ask for more.
Copyright © Jamie Girl | Year Posted 2014
There's no such thing as a Hindu horse, nor a Catholic cat
There's no such thing as a Protestant parrot, you can always be sure of that
There's no such thing as a Rasta rabbit, nor a Mormon mouse
There's no such thing as a sheep thats a Sikh, on that you can bet your house
These creatures have no religion at all, no sectarian divide
Their only ''rules'' are created by nature; and nature will provide
If only the ''clever'' human race had no superstitions
There'd be no more wars at all, no more senseless missions
For religion is based on superstition, filled with legend and myth
Telling you how to live your life and whom you should walk with
Back to that nesting bird in the tree, or even that wild boar
Have you ever heard of an animal that created a world war ?
Copyright © David Lowe | Year Posted 2011
Across the lands and shores
Plants and spores
So much life in different shapes and forms
Many storms cold or warm
Always been an omnivore
So I eat vegetables like corn
And meats like albacore and boar
I don't care about the odds on the board
It's about so much more
And not just the reward
I'll continue to row without an oar
Near and far from the seafloor
As well as any trees such as sycamore
One up the highest score
And maintain a good rapport
I've always had an interest in lore
Minerals and ores
I'm not rich or technically poor
Worse than any apple, some people rotten to the core
Such foolish things people support
And over such petty stuff people go to war
Still there are areas on this Earth that have yet to be explored
And possible fossils of new dinosaurs
Looking up at the full moon shining beyond so many other orbs
By: Dalton Ogletree
Copyright © Dalton Ogletree | Year Posted 2017
She was an estranged angel
On the backbone of a boar
She never put her hair up
Was a missile without a war
She broke a wild stallion
With the motion of her hips
She stifled a chameleon
With the color of her lips
She drowned a hundred hearts
With the ocean in her eyes
She never stayed for dinner
Had a trick bag full of lies
She's the chairman of your love
It's the least you stand to lose
Reinvested into futures
The kind you'd never care to chose
She shone just like a savior
To a crowd of men like me
In the dark and dreary alley
She convinced us we'd be free
She locked our souls together
With chain of solid gold
To wander through the streets
Starving, in love, and cold
On rainy nights she'd tell me
Of the millions she would make
We pounded solid granite
Until it'd crack, until it'd break
She delivered forty hammers
On a bull, without a sound
She had hundreds of 'em stowed
Somewhere buried in the ground
We bore our chains and sang it loud
We wrote a thousand songs
God save your children's virgin eyes
From seeing such a throng
She promised me the world inside
A thimble she'd unhide
Upon completion of a house
Built on the black hillside
She promised me so many things
I believe I did lose track
But if I could somehow free these boys
they'd sure be headed back
To living simple there in town
No vixen to demand
Just a table for to drink at
And to play a couple hands
But the hand that feeds the bread
Now riddled so with grubs
Would never be allowing that
A world with beds and tubs
Her power is a mighty thing
That crushes bone and brow
It brings one to believe it right
To stumble, kneel, and bow
We're just too worn and sore
To ever execute our coup
Best rest until the morning comes
There's plenty of work to do
Copyright © Andy Ellsworth | Year Posted 2013
Let’s hve haggis and drinks mi luve
Find de bes ina de ole land
Lay yu head on mi chest mi luve
Whilst wi dance musik wid de band
Dance wid de band in de Highlands
Backyard jig good fer de ole soul
Tickle mi nose with yu gold locks
Tigether wi bade ead to toe’s sole
Call Fionn mi Luve with his jug
Nice poems he read at de gate
Summon the Clooties with a mug
Aye, they will cum and bles dis date
We’ll sail de river on Loch Ness
Kelpies will protect our flanks
Goddess Scotia says we bless
Oh mi chamin' sweet Sidhe, tanks
Aye! Mi sweet luve; Boobrie will fly
He will fetch up the Salmon Ring
And a knot cross de land we tye
Red Caps our guard til cum de spring
Then wid haggis and drinks mi luve
Goddesses'pipes blow dem great songs
In the grey mist we skip and dance
Then like Boobrie we fly with doves
Scottish Mythical Legends:
1. Fionn is a Scottish magician, warrior and poet
2. Clootie is a Scottish name for the devil. The name originated from the word cloot, which
mean a division in the cleft hoof of an animal.
3. Kelpie is a Scottish water devil who lurks in lakes and rivers and drowns its victims.
4. Scotia is a goddess normally portrayed as an old hag with the tusks of a wild boar
5. Sidhe (Shee) is the Gaelic name for fairies in the Highlands of Scotland and also Ireland.
6. Boodrie is a wonderful water-bird from the Highlands. It haunts and protects the lakes
7. Red Cap is a sort of short, stocky old guy with long gray hair and claws instead of hands
and fingers. He lives on the Scottish border and guard the ancient ruins of castles
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2010
Young Barred Jeff the hair once heired and was bard
from Barred Bare Camp cause when bear he was hard.
Neigh,said he in the bairn wear the auld stud nayed,
Owe, eye oh fare Merry her fair must bee paid.
Her fair's dew her an' eye'll faint with me stave.
The auld counselor feinted ass Jeff misbehaved.
My stave is like ewe just ask Merry's made
oar ask the yew in the dew; she'll bleat what eye said.
Barred Jeff maid a song witch told of his whiles
it went on two long wile marry Merry beguiled.
Know boatman with or, oar blacksmith can boar
wench better, he said, of this eye am sure.
Perhaps, a black stallion, perhaps a bold bore
butt, barred Jeff beared was the won who scored.
Young Bard Jeff the heir once erred and was barred
from Bard Bear Camp cause when bare he was hard.
Nay said he in the barn where the old stud neighed,
Oh, I owe fair Mary her fare must be paid.
Her fare's due her an' I'll feint with me stave
the old counselor fainted as Jeff misbehaved.
My stave is like yew, just ask Mary's maid
or ask the ewe in the dew it'll bleat what I said.
Bard Jeff made a song which told of his wiles
it went on too long while merry Mary beguiled.
No boatmen with oar, or blacksmith can bore
wench better, he said, of this I'm quite sure.
Perhaps, a black stallion, perhaps a bold boar,
but, Bard Jeff bared was the one who scored.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015
Laying inn the grass watching the clouds float buy, my mined wanders aweigh as eye smell that apple pi.
I've patiently waited four spring and now that's it's hear awl eye want two dew is sit outside and drink a bier.
I've waited four warmer whether and too bee outdoors, butt today I'm stuck inside and that's such a boar.
Spring inn Pennsylvania isn't as it seams, it goes from wareing shorts on a Monday then down to zero degrees.
Copyright © Jillian Sabecky | Year Posted 2015
(Continues after part 1)
Stopped to talk, and then “Since his voice now dries”,
Told poet to me, “your time don’t lose, be fast;
But speak, and ask him, if like that more arise”.
And I to him: “Let you again questions cast
About what you imagine for me are good;
‘Cause I can’t, by pity being harassed”.
Thus he started: “If this man to do should
Freely what you asked him acting with pray,
Soul imprisoned, please yet again you could
Tell us how souls are bonded in such way
Within these knots; and tell us, if you can,
If any of those can ever go away”.
Then strongly blew the trunk, and such a fan
Became in short a voice which sudden made:
“In brief an answer out of here will span.
When the wild spirit is finally conveyed
Out of body from which itself could rip,
Minos sends it to the seventh down grade.
It falls in the wood, and for choice no tip;
But only where the randomness throws it,
There sprouting as a grain of spelt ends trip.
It grows as bush and as wild tree to fit;
And Harpies, wildly eating then its leaves,
Cause real pain, and also to pain new slit.
As others each one its spoils back achieves,
But then no one with those again might dress
Because of their own life they had been thieves.
Here we shall drag back, and in distress
Of this wood will be hanged our bodies then,
Each one to bramble of his shadow mess”.
We were still to the trunk attentive men,
Thinking from him we had to hear words more,
When we were surprised by a noise again,
Similar to the one which makes the boar
Approaching when is hunted in the wood,
And barking dogs, and twigs are rustling fore.
And now two guys who on the left coast stood
Naked and scratched, were so much escaping fast,
That in the wood all branches break they could.
The one further: “Now come, come, death to blast!”
And the other, who too late looked to be,
Shouted: “Lano, not were so unsurpassed
Your legs at Toppo’s rides indeed to see!”
And then perhaps because his force he lost,
His body joined to a shrub no more free.
To follow them the wood was crowded crossed
By black *****es, running and so greedy went
As were greyhounds both unchained and tossed.
In the one who stopped then their teeth indent,
And tearing him with wildness piece by piece;
Carry away dismembered with torment.
And my guide kept my hand with act so nice,
And brought me close to the shrub which cried
For the bloody ruptures in vain to cease.
“O Jacopo”, told, from Santandrea tied,
How helped you to use me to you as screen?
How is my fault with your bad life implied?”
When my master was over him to lean,
Told “who were you, that were just wounded so
That blow painful words in a gory scene?”
And to us: “O souls who came here to know
And see the shameful agony of here
Where my branches were broken and thrown low,
Gather them around the sad bush quite near.
I was from city where the Baptist came
Replacing the first lord; and he to veer
Always with his arts will then hurt and blame;
And if it were not true that Arno site
Has no sign of him at all and no fame,
Those citizens who it refounded quite
Over the ashes which Attila had left,
Would have worked for nothing then despite.
I made gibbet of my house life's bereft”
Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2014
Horsemen moving camp I already saw ,
And storming to show themselves then to start,
And too sometimes for escape withdraw;
Fast runners I saw in your land depart,
Oh Aretines, and gatherers to go,
Tournaments fight and also the joust art;
Sometimes with bells, sometimes with trumpets blow,
With drums and with of castles signal sounds,
And with things of our land or stranger though;
Not yet with such unlike music around
Horsemen I saw or walkers then to move,
Nor ship to signals from a star or ground.
We were going with ten devils in groove.
Ouch how fierce companions! But in church
You have saints, and in tavern gluttons you’ve.
My attention to mud was set to search,
Of the bedlam to see any content
And of the people there in pain and lurch.
Like dolphins, when want to express intent
To seamen bending of their back the bow
How save their boat giving help consent,
Sometimes, in order to ease the pain, so
Sinners were trying to emerge their back
And cloaked then as an heartbeat rapid though.
And as at border of a ditch for snack
Remain the frogs with their mouth quite well out,
Hiding feet and corps to any attack,
So there remained the sinners all throughout;
But when Barbariccia came too close,
Then became submerged again with no doubt.
I saw, and still now my heart horror knows,
One was to expect out, as happens when
A frog out remains and other down bows;
And Graffiacan, who was closer then,
Grappled his hardly pitch entangled hair
And lifted him, like an otter again.
I already knew all the names of their,
So I recognized when they could out show,
And I well herd then after they called were.
“Oh Rubicante, you should catch him so
With your claws, that now you him skin and flay!”,
Were screaming then all those cursed aglow.
And I: “My master, act, in case you may,
To know the full name of the wretched man
Fallen in hands of his foes with dismay”.
My duke went close to him on side a span;
Asked him which was his land, and answered he:
“I the Navarra kingdom was began.
My mother as a lord servant placed me,
After she with a villain me birth gave,
Who destroyed himself and too his things fee.
Then I became gyp of king Tybalt brave;
Here I started barratry to do,
For which in this boiling heat I am slave”.
And Ciriatto, whose mouth had out through
In every part a fang as in a boar,
Made him to experience how it teared thru.
Of aggressive cats fell the mouse in core;
But Barbariccia with arms clasped him
And told: “Stand aside, while I hook his corps”.
And to my master turned then his face grim;
“Ask”, told, “again, if you any more need
To know, first others break any his limb”.
Copyright © Mario DE PAZ | Year Posted 2014
they try to push me in the door
a good deed done for a boar
new pants and new shirt
just on night what could it hurt
waiting outside for the end
inside seems dead
the only one not dancing
instead homeward i'm glancing
two hundred feet away
with no wards to say
no need for a ride
just over the hurdle of pride
just one night gone by
one more reason to sigh
just a boy how didn't stop for pictures
Copyright © john tanaskow | Year Posted 2010
HOME. By Ted Bundy
There is a place not far from here where purple maggots are the size of deer, pink frogs are there wearing bowties and hats, now put your hands together for the rolling skating rats. Green fluorescent tawny owls are snorkelling in the pool,while a wallaby in swimming trunks tries to play it cool. Its also the island where neon zebras are found,they plug into a capsule buried underground, the lions fish for skunks and illuminous crayfish dress up as monks. Theres a barrel of laughing monkeys and some gigantic leathery snails, cockroaches modelling footie boots,even anorexic whales.
Spiders in tracksuits riding pushbikes with ease, with a cross-dressing chipmunk flying high on trapeze. Bristly skinned donkeys snowboard on thin ice, and a 5 headed emu shoots craps and rolls dice. Glance over yonder at the transparent camels, their glass humps are crawling with mice, stare at the turtles dressed to the nines, and here comes a beard complete with head lice. Theres some inbred iguanas,and some lukewarm limey lugworms, snorting clear cider through straws, gorillas dress as men and theres a psychotic hen, taping rusty razors to her claws. Over at the gym, theres miss matched mastiffs, squashing each other underfoot, and an armadillo in a pin striped suit is trying to pick up a shot-putt. Hidden amongst the undergrowth you might be lucky enough to see, our south american weasel sloth sucking leather splinters from a tree, and theres no need to stare in awe if you see a tartan wild boar,trying to saw his assistant in half, his illusion tricks are a mystifying mix, guillotine, two nuns and a bloody laugh. Up here on the right is our new Bull arena, the atmospheres heavy, ive never heard it meaner, in runs the first one already *****scared,beaten and blind, running in circles and ****ed out of his mind, the poisoned steely spikes creating pus filled blistered sores, the crowd ****ing love it killing Spanish matadors. A family of minks are enjoying the show, sipping their juice and gin, i especially admire their matching attire, its top of the range human skin. This is a change from the norm, a better way of life, a lot more colour, and a lot less bleeding strife. Its a paradise for sure, and packed with fun and glee, where a hip hop alley cat, a sabre toothed fruit bat, and a clarinet playing koala, will serve you cake and tea. Yes, this is the place where pink Buffalo roam, Heaven on Earth for them, they call it Home.
Copyright © Ted Bundy | Year Posted 2012
I’m following the country road I learned to drive on
the old green ford truck, black rusty stick shift,
hand carved wooden blocks on my feet.
I glimpse a cane pole pulling a trophy from a small pond,
The low branches of a weeping willows
sweeping the ground like a broom,
laughter, innocent, young, still free, I look toward the sound,
sliding down a red, rusty, tin roof on a worn old barn
into a pile of fresh turned hay!
Through the mist I can see her
Swaying as she walks along the tree line
Humming a song she learnt as a babe
black berry stained face and a bucket half empty.
A scream guided me to a new day
she’s running up a Mulberry tree - stick in hand
a black and white Hampshire boar is displeased.
A grinding noise coming from where the old house lay
a devious smile as her finger lifted the ice cream freezer seal.
The rooster with red, green and gold starting his morning crow
taking the eggs as she kicked him avoiding his spurs.
She’s older now - on a white and tan spotted horse called Sparky
with giant hooves for kicking when the spring breaks.
Mocking her hero, bib overalls, an engineers hat, black rubber boots
shoveling quickly as the grain poured into the bed of the big red truck.
A crushed velvet chair with a sunken place on the arm where
she sat year after year and her ever growing weight.
It’s where she learned to sew - and sow she did imaginary things.
Mmmm, pies and cakes, wiping the flour off her nose!
Such hugs and happiness and youthful smiles
full of innocence and full of faith.
Driving across the brown and red rocks of the clear water creek
running, jumping in the cool deep welcoming pool.
Falling in the feather bed letting her body sink down and down
into the sun dried cloud of white fluffy comfort.
The wheels just keep on turning and turning,
within the moment of this memories journey.
Copyright © Karen van Wyk | Year Posted 2012
A lovely comment I received
I treated it as fun
Surmised I was a girl from the east
With attributes per sun
Thought I might have been
delicate and womanly
As though I am not, for sure
I wonder if she thinks that I'm
A great big boring Boar
I know when she reads these lines
She will laugh and be pleased
That her comments made such an impression
That I could write these words with ease
So now I leave with my thoughts untold
To write more poetry, for you to behold.
Shall I write with pizzazz with a flare
Or just be boring me like my usual fare
For Jack's comment contest.
Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2014
I love this woodland of togetherness, where the branches reach out, entwine
pull and lull me in. Where the sunlight bisects the canopy, falling in shards of
love, kissing each leaf in its effortless fall. The absorbent floor soaks of moss,
lichen and fern in a peace far from the chainsaw of reality. Indications of life
surround in a cloak of serenity, the bark of deer, the scampering of
cottontails, the gruff grunting of wild boar not always seen but their presence
felt in eerie shadows. I walk the glitters and glistens of cobweb lace, take the
quiet in eager gulps awash in the grace of growth. The watching eye of wise Owl
looks as if to say you lucky bastard, blinks and could not give a hoot. I parade
in happiness and content dismissal of the inane world outside natures blanket,
for I have seen the effects of of the two legged beast with his devouring heart,
full of greed and broken promises. No this is the pace I wish to bear, carry for
the rest of my natural days, where the seeds are scattered idyllic by a soft and
gentle hand. I will tread silently this woodland created by time and tranquillity
and try to avoid the guilt of disturbance.
Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010
There was a man with a shovel
Whose house was a relative hovel
Digs a hole in the floor
Think his dad was a boar
Cos he cant stop sniffing for truffle
Penned 17 August 2013
Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2013
on tree limbs jutting out over rivers
sleepy gators bask, absorbing summer’s heat
in fall, the sluggish reptiles do the same
temperatures exceed 100 in the Sunshine State
till November brings a brief reprieve
water lilies, oleanders, daisies
boast vibrant blooms until the first freeze
some years not at all
as snowbirds fill beaches in fall
locals return from summer homes up north
when warm colors paint leaves
Florida’s dogwoods and Bradford Pear trees
are decked in crimson
Water Oaks sport amber coats
wild boar and deer enjoy the reprieve
romping through subtropical forests
in the welcome chill of autumn
as hikers take to nature trails
“Indian Summer” some call it
when refreshing breezes ruffle foliage
with only several weeks of autumn we’re blessed
Carpe diem, seize these moments(/center>
*Written August 31, 2014
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014
Adventures of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.
Robin’s Thick Member
We wuz out huntin that day
Ah remembers as plain as can be
When a ansome buck came us way
Fust to shoot was me mate Unlucky
Now that buck he just looked in us faces
With an air of his royal decree
Displayin his arrogunt graces
At the arra there stuck in the tree
Ah says, “Robin, he won’t be best pleased
At missin his dinner agen
Your damn good at arrain trees
An pissin off his merry men”
If we goes back to camp with no meal
That maid, she will giv us sum stick
She’ll shove us sum manky old veal
An the merry men will all be sick”
Then Unlucky he says that he saw
Over there be-ind the rockery
A big ol boy of a boar
But his arra, yes, it foun a tree
Stood Marion with expectation
The night would be one great party
But after me grand explanation
We was whipped a foot up from the knee
Then Robin “Unlucky”, he says
“You’s a poor shot as all us can see
If that buck agen inter view strays
Just bloomin well aims fer the tree.
Coz averages seem to dictate
You could bag that buck if you tried
If only you’d concentrate
An wern’t so bloody cross eyed”
So Unlucky he thinks to his sen
I’ll show them a thing or two
That big head an his stinky men
Will be dinin on best red deer stew
Once more he foun his sen afore
That deer who was showin no fear
He watched as his arra did soar
Past that grinnin bucks twitchin left ear
But wait, that buck he was down
His hooves in the air on his back
The arra that just missed his crown
Had given him sheer heart attack
He was cheered when he got back to camp
An the night became one great party
With a bow he was proclaimed a champ
An no longer known as Unlucky.
Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2016
With a golden nape, that area on the neck’s rear,
And a silent voice, excluding some chirps and stonks,
Speaking only to young, or between two or some in flight,
The golden eagle exudes those qualities that make humans right.
Flying maybe seventy-seven miles from their nest,
With wings up-turned in a V-shape for dynamics,
Which make a plane with the tail, aerodynamically set,
At a speed of one twenty mph without acoustics.
Open areas of nurturing native vegetation,
Make a home and life for development and tangle,
And mountainous rock regions find them hunting,
Bidding for rock pigeons and raven to mangle.
They devour creatures of the hair family fair and square,
And ground squirrels, grouse and pheasant they tare,
They’re not scared of deer, lamb, pigs or wild boar,
And sheep to them are a massively wide open door.
They have a dark brown body with feathers replaced annually,
Falconry is rife, and they get prestige from indigenous America,
Mentioned in the Torah, and the Old and New Testament fair,
Tolkien used it in an illustration to symbolise Bilbo Baggins air.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
How calm, how cool aah!
In the queue of betel jackfruit, mango garden
Happiness run with family
Paddy area and the mustard field.
Baisagu arrived in our village
Beautiful dance of joy, welcome
Village to replay around parties
Kham jotha thorkha playing.
Aah! so glad to live in this
Parties to the action
Great brother to help
Birds keeps rearing cattle, pigs.
Does harvest crops in the ground
Golden and green coloured design on clothes made in weaving,
Waterfall in the lake while fishing jekhai
Deer and wild boar hunt.
Waterfall behind family run
Oh! how beautiful
With beautiful gardens
Made in the field of veterinary.
World of wonder in nature
Full of joy and pain, in my village
Fight to live every moment!
How calm, how cool.
Copyright © Ronjoy Brahma | Year Posted 2016
'Twas later in the afternoon
When the work of the day was done:
Many sat waiting for the moon,
Idly twiddling their thumbs.
'Beware the Boar of Dumm, my son!
The eyes that dull, the yawns that tire,
Beware the slowing steps, do run
Or to great things, you'll not aspire.'
He took his hardy tome in hand:
His father's words he did then heed --
So climbed he up into a tree,
There he began to read.
And there the hours sped quickly past
'Till the last light of day did fade
And when he closed his book at last
A discovery was made!
The Boar of Dumm! Beneath the tree!
Unable to reach him, it fell
Onto its side, and there it died,
And thus lifted the spell.
'And hast thou beat the Boar of Dumm?
Oh tell me, for it must be true!
For the ones it takes are many,
Those who defeat it, few.'
'Twas later in the afternoon
When the work of the day was done:
The shouts of joy did ring out soon,
For o'er the Boar he had won.
Copyright © Amice Writer | Year Posted 2015
Written by: Catherine Reinke
Boob jobs too
and higher shoes.
has gone to fair!
is our plight?
Murder and terror .
On she reads,
red, orange, yellow.
Day by day
foxy news and MSN.
he’s not more.
replaced femme fatal
through news doors.
News once read
by somber heads
now is told
by sexy dames in red.
Seems my husband
to his bed
take those newscasters
he has said
to his bed?
Yes, he said
tight hot bodies
dressed in red.
Give me news
and give it often.
Put Ted Kopple
in his coffin.
a couple of beers
all my news
I want to hear
from pretty faces
boob jobs too
and higher shoes.
Copyright © catherine Reinke | Year Posted 2009