Best Butcher Poems
The butcher came for the sheep
the cow did not moo, she wasn't a sheep
The butcher came for the goats
the cow did not moo, she wasn't a goat
The butcher came for the pigs
The cow did not moo, she wasn't a pig
Then the butcher came for the cow
her bull and her calves,
The rest of the farm was eerily silent
Remembering the poem of Martin Niemöller
"First they came …" a post-war 1946 poem written in prose by Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller, who was a German (1892–1984). In it he speaks of cowardice which German intellectuals as well as some of the clergy felt in the hellish nightmare of the Jewish people. In this poem, by his own admission, a coward, looking away during Hitler's rise to power. In my own rendition of a farm, compared to his, is rather ridiculous. I just want to acknowledge his poem at this time in history. Please pray that God give our leaders insight, and clarity on what must be accomplished. Please pray for the people of Ukraine, and, please look the poem up.
A butcher named Richard McCall
Attended a naturist ball.
But at registration,
Due to refrigeration,
His name tag read "Dickie McSmall".
Ted Cogger is our local butcher and he’s been here seven years;
full forward for the footy team and drinks a nightly seven beers.
He played one season for the cricket club, but he was just a slugger,
and Ted’s become a mate of mine, but he’s a pretty sleazy bugger.
I have suspicions ‘bout fidelity but of course there is no proof,
and if Pat his wife did get the bell she’d probably hit the roof!
All in all Ted’s just a bloke who loves his beer and sport,
but if other rumours are all true then one day he’ll get caught.
And caught he got, in front of me; there in his butchers shop.
I was wandering home near five o’clock, so I thought I would stop
and have a chat with Ted before he shuts up for the night,
when in walks Mrs. Grundy much to Ted’s chagrin delight.
I sat back and listened to their conversation taking place.
Mrs. Grundy mentioned she hoped Ted would be her saving grace,
but being Friday Ted’s not sure, for he’s let his stocks run low,
therefore his freezers full of empty space with nothing much to show.
She ordered sausages and corn beef, but Ted just shook his head,
so Mrs. Grundy scratched beneath her chin, then she finally said,
“Would you have a chicken I could buy” and one Ted duly found,
then plonked it down upon the scales and weighed it as three pound.
“Oh goodness me that’s not enough” Mrs. Grundy made another plea,
“My son is coming for the weekend and that won’t feed his family,
would you have a bigger chicken?” Ted went back for another look.
I saw him bring back from the cool room - the very same old chook.
He plonked it down upon the scales but Mrs. Grundy couldn’t tell,
even though the chook is on the scales - Ted’s finger is as well.
Ted mentioned that the weight’s four pound, thinking this would do …
“That’s marvellous” said Mrs. Grundy - “Now can you wrap up the two?”
Mohamed and Khaled
The best butcher shop in town
In the deception of silence
they butcher those with sound
Voices against their Kingdom
they fear and do not like
Raping their women with modern views
while butchering a protesting man
Both Prince, King and pork herder
Vehement denials throughout the land
Yes the color of red, proof of blood in their sand
In the shoes of Aysha, these cowards cant even stand
Intoxicated Salman, butchered an innocent man
as Trump applauds, the free press in a grave
situation... Tyrants kissing and holding hands
A thousand lashes, to the butchers of Riyadh
Prince Mohamed be damned
hush! don't move, don't breathe
he will hear it– he will come.
your flesh is his prize.
Knives fly
cows and chickens die
new world translations
morality always a test
abandoned sons
the fathers crimes exposed
cursed by a closed mind
brainwashed
by voices in the sky
mathematics
begin to multiply
only then
will fathers repent
and children rejoice
animals roam free
all the living
have precious souls
I always reckoned my butcher was batty,
With cryptic comments when he got chatty,
I was shaking my head,
when, with his wife he said,
I would like all of you to... meet Patty.
(Limerick)
The butcher wastes no scrap of meat
He counts every part that he meets.
Then turns it around
And right on the ground.
Then hits it hard and wraps it on wheat!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka ladp2000
Copyright@2014
September, 13, 2014
There once was a butcher named Cassidy,
Who had a tremendous capacity,
To drink orange-juice all day,
And most will say,
He was good at this talent you see
Each day by one or two,
His skin took on a tangerine hue
And his eyes turned to two yellowish orbs
Yet he drank more juice,
And there was no use
In trying to squeeze him some more
Butcher Cassidy lived that way,
Till his dying day
And he was buried in a Chinese grave yard...
For he had turned permanently yellow
This juice-addicted fellow
That's just what OJ can do
And come next spring
To surprise evryone
From pauper to king
From the graveyard
Nature did bring,
A grove of orange trees
Some say when they pass
the orange-juice aisle
And if they linger awhile,
And urge for ribs and juice
Will come their way
And nothing else will do
So watch your intake of juice
Before the orange demon is let loose
And your life will end in dismay.
You'll smack your lips, at his silver side
Our beefy lad will cure your ham
His tender loins, are worth your coins
And if you ask, he'll stuff your lamb
I tell no fibs, you'll love his ribs
It ain't no joke, his crackly pork
Worth every pound, his piece of round
No crumbly biscuit, beats his brisket
Like chocolate drops, his porky chops
You cannot beat our Tristans meat
His chunky thighs, don't criticise
His seasoned beef, won't crack your teef (teeth)
I tell no fibs, you'll love his ribs
It ain't no joke, his crackly pork
Worth every pound, his piece of round
No crumbly biscuit, beats his brisket
A butcher always, in the making
But the creme de le creme, of his meaty treats
His able hands, will cure your bacon
He's the nicest guy, you could ever meet
Her delicate hand,
Swiftly sliced and measured cuts,
Upon wooden block.
(C) 2015 PJ Bayliss
(A True Story)
She was only seven, this little petite Asian girl
took a trip to Canning Vale,
on a shopping spree, as a surprise.
But this day there, lingered evil
working at the local grocery store,
saw the little girl, grab her unbelievable in a crowd
to the public convenience fled.
Her brother did search in this place
but to no avail,
called out in desperation her name,
a sound from the cubicle disguised
sent him away.
The Butcher snapped her arms and legs
like a new born twig upon a tree,
then had his way,
but analyst says
she was dead before the deed,
which when interviewed disappointed him,
this bastard.
She died an agonizing death
yet he still lives, at society’s expense,
because today we are taught to tolerate
while lawyers profit to the shame of the human race.
One can imagine the sheer fear
in those final seconds of this little girl,
at the hands of the likes of the
Canning Vale Butcher.
My tears on this page as I write
I hope God are not wasted, as those for this sick society are!!
Last week in Wales
April a little girl was abducted
as yet to be found five days on,
bringing back memories of the above
in Canning Vale, Perth, W.A, Australia.
a few hundred yards from where I lived
yet I did nothing to stop this,
my excuse of not knowing
does not abide well!!!!!!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Daydreams from the butcher block:
Cannibalistic tendencies require cannibalistic standards. I don't want a fast food consumer. No Sir, no soda pop fed meat for me. If you're unhappy, that's tainted meat. I want me a happy vegan. Alas, they are a lot faster and smarter than your average T.V. watching livestock. Setting my snare at the whole foods. Sledgehammer against your skull in the Payless parking lot. Surgical steel ripping through yoga pants. Bolt cutters nipping off your swatch. You might have opinions in your spin class, but in my van your screams are muffled.
Scans from side to side,
Bag of tricks in his damp hand,
Breathing heavy now,
Hears voices and creeps away,
Unobserved in the dense fog.
Spots a lone woman,
Approaches, raises his hat,
She smiles, takes his arm,
He knows she doesn’t suspect
That he is Jack the Ripper…
Jack Horne for Linda-Marie's Bag of Tricks contest
“Butcher Bob” a good guy but you never can tell
Delivers my steaks at my new place by the well
Meet the gals Smith and Wesson
Here to teach y’all a good lesson
But Bob's resolve’s so strong he can send you to hell
We’re both entrepreneurs and are new in town
Meeting with Mayor Tom, that’s why the gals are ‘roun
Most kind folksy cowboys and gals
Those two earlier my new pals
I hear the Mayor’s tough on those who wear a fools crown