Best Cattle Poems | Poetry

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New Cattle Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Cattle poems are below this new poems list.

Cowboy Cattle Gatherer by Lee Sr., James Edward
Cattle colony by chizoba vincent, john
Cattle Rearers by Joshua, Adeyemi
The Saddle-Strapped Cattle by Simons, Brendan J.
Life is Just a Cattle Drive by Chung, Brian
Bathing of Cattle by Brahma, Ronjoy
constellation of cattle by Chanan, Taoi
Human Cattle by Heemstra, Robert
Cattle by Luker, Emily
Sheep And Cattle by Schumacker, Earl

View all new Cattle Poems

The Best Cattle Poems

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On My Mother Passing


ON MY MOTHER’S PASSING i wanted to keep my mother physically with me but it would be like trying to hold the sun like in life she still shines brighter than any star is as gentle as the finest breeze she isn't gone my mother is infinite hers was a metamorphosis like the butterfly represents eternal beauty flies to heights unimaginable to the human mind butterflies are free and so is she she was a wife a mother a sister a friend she was the best of all those roles she was because she chose to be but she was then she is now she will always be free such was her nature we all knew her as that special person could embrace your heart we also knew she was all but she was one you can't own that kind of beauty and her shine filled you with a euphoric joy she was she is like the moon the one belongs to children belongs to love at its very core love she spreads across the universe my mother was is will always be as large as unconditional love i share this story with you in order to comfort you her influence is immense she is now looking after us all be happy, be confident be at peace my mother is with us all and my mother is love armand
.................................................................................................
An Added Bonus (My Parents Always Enjoyed My Imagination For Both Of Them I include This Piece) DISGUISED IDIOMS & EVERYTHING “JAZZ” for you i’d lay down the red and plush give you the shirt I’m wearing walk a mile and then one more hand you the key to my beet red beat commit all my eggs to your stash throw in nine yards the whole of it tell you with no shame “i’m at your beck...just call” no need to do mine turn around I’ll scratch yours i’m yours all my parts even a parcel all of it ‘till the cattle arrive’ Armand ‘aren’t you the clever boy’ Yvonne
..................................................................... Another piece if your in the mood. If not off you go then. BENEATH THE WHINING scaled the walls every time nothing nothing on the other side found the doors their locks never the keys paid my dues never got a receipt every time i fell got back up followed the light always took the noble path stepped barefoot on jagged rocks autographed the stones in blood -mine from great heights lost my hold landed on my feet regret occupies the larger part of my thoughts sometimes i cried even yelled my infamous screams my life it turns out was blessed having accomplished none of my goals i lived an existence i alone could appreciate underneath the layers of self inflicted scars i found a me i loved and respected i need nothing more armand ........................................................................... I UNDERSTAND THE DIFFERENCE. RECOGNIZE ONE FROM THE OTHER. while the evil mind trods awkwardly wears swamp covered boots destroys indiscriminately inner beauty dances in partnership a benevolent synchronized waltz minds adorned in a growing blue green moss nurture strong thick deep roots transfer nutrients lovingly to the breathing heart their silent strength in turn energizes a body of good spread like lavender scented clover over a barren land flow like oxygen cleanses polluted waterways worldwide calms the unsteady unpredictable weather patterns of recent times a new is born and not a life animal vegetable human not any life harmed such is the outcome the collective power of inner beauty armand ........................................................................................ FOR YOU MY LOVE a human heart beats over a hundred thousand times a day the first one hundred thousand every day beat for you armand ........................................................................................................ A SIMPLE SUGGESTION I know my heart is made of butter but you can only spread it so thin armand ........................................................................................................ DISNEY WOULD BE PROUD a blue tree covered in spaghetti branches drenched in a sauce of leaves with no desire to be served up in an Italian restaurant where a lady or a tramp or both might end up in a passionate kiss with an orchestra providing the background ambiance no, this navy colored tree is too busy chumming around with the sky and the odd passing cloud thinking back when it was just an acorn now the tallest the most majestic growth in the forest still never forgetting its roots once just a single seed humbled by its origin dearly loved by the Earth no, more -by the universe comfortable in its greatness happy as just one piece of something much greater a gentle giant at peace with its existence wait, was that Bambi and Thumper just ran by it the giant smiles armand ................................................................................................... ONE CENT ALLEY drove us to a magical mystery go see “there's nothing you can do...it's easy all you need is love” so we latched on to a mustard coloured submarine "something in the way..." walked down a british road "and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make" armand ................................................................................................. A PROPOSAL a sheet of paper printed slats of wood measured extra thick rope strong large fat nails steel a set of tools exact a driven will instinctive and there you have it a bridge perhaps we can meet in the middle armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2018


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Slave

Like a herd of cattle, placed on a ship.
Upon my back, I felt their whip!
Ripping into my flesh, excruciating pain.
Forced across the big water on a trip.

Living in darkness with little to eat.
The feel of chains around my feet.
Amidst tortured cries, the ship did shake.
Waves pounded the hull with relentless beat.

Only once a day, would we see the sky.
Huge sails, caused the ship to fly.
Further and further away from my home.
Feeling confused not understanding why!

A white devil, steered the wooden ship.
All his mates evil with scabbed putrid lips.
Yet we, depended on them for our lives.
Without them, into the ocean we'd slip.

The journey long, felt like an eternity!
I longed to be anywhere but on the sea.
My mind occupied with thoughts of my home.
yet, I could not escape this horrible enemy!

Sick and dying were forced to walk the plank.
Then into the cold water they quickly sank.
The sailors laughed, as the last man was tossed!
Their spirits boistered with the rum they drank.

Many days later we finally made land.
A place of stone and wood, I could see no sand.
Crack of the whip, we rose to our feet.
"Off of my ship!"was the devil's final command!


For Verlena's "Writing in a black Perspective" Contest



Story continued for my own pleasure, not part of the entry.

Slave Part Two

Brought in chains, to a raised wooden stage.
Bids tallied carefully, sales written on a page.
That was when I witnessed, a most perfect girl.
Bought by a fat man, she was placed in a cage!

I was up next, I stood still as he bid on me.
"One dollar, gimme two, two dollars, sold for three!"
Then I was taken and locked up in the cage with her.
Together we both dreamt, of one day being free.

Brought to the plantation, in late September.
I worked in cotton fields, until November.
Then I would be purposed, to cutting fire wood.
For cold and snow came, by early December.

In the evening, we were left to be with our kind.
While in the big house, our master dined.
Later at dusk, my angel girl would come.
Her beauty so amazing, she made me blind!

The taste of her body, my rememberance of home.
We gave each other pleasure, when we were alone.
Even though the master, wanted her for only him.
I felt like a free man, when I would hear her moan!

Her pregnant, I wondered if the child was mine?
If I was the father, I would be bound in twine.
Still inside I prayed, that the child belonged to me.
In the end, that would be certainly be fine.

Nine months later, almost to the day.
The love of my life was taken away.
In death our child born, middle of September.
The master's anger, I could not sway.

I was awoken, ripped out of my bed!
He took out a musket loaded with lead.
Finally free, in spirit we both travel.
There are certainly worse things, than being dead!













Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015


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Heritage

The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.

The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.

A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.

Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.

The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.

At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.

I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.

The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.


Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009


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Wake Up Oh Africa

With the heavy load you suffer a substance not needed yet drags you cushioning your efforts and deterring your pace, forgetting that the Train is already moving with passengers determined for this journey. Why get so distracted by passers-by focused to catch up? Why are you tossed side to side, putting you each time, a step backwards? Can't you realize that the Train is already moving with passengers determined for this journey? It seems you are the only one left and this is solely your doing with no one to blame and the rest, definitely have no added advantage over you. So stop acting weak cos the Train is already moving with passengers determined for this journey. Wake up oh Africa! you get your independence just to become a volunteer slave. You live in a Mansion yet have no place to sleep. Stop acting like a bucket of Crabs killing each other just to get out and copy the ants united and networking for a common cause. You fight for just a coin underneath the Table. When on it is a box full of this same treasure. Despite knowing how to reach out to its top, you neglect such knowledge and accept conflicts, violence and wars. Settling for good enough is worst than being bad you blow your trumpet when you make a step out of a thousand more. You show unbelievable contentment to mediocrity and under-achievements, but remember this! Half a giant is no giant at all. You have the breast plate of protection and all the arsenals to battle yet you dine with the helms of poverty and embrace the ambassadors of all kinds of infirmities. You walk around naked and seem not to bother oh Africa! Do you exist to actualize all these negativity? An expert of imitation and a professional in copying no wonder no matter your trys you end up as number 2 at best. Because you've neglected the sweetness of your originality. You milk your cattle to nourish the west you harvest your crops to feed foreign stomachs you stand on abundant humus yet your leaves are yellow and dry. Exactly what will happen to the ants if their Queen puts their fate on the lizards is what will befall you not until you wake up oh Africa!


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013


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Be Free, My Brothers

Penned like cattle, as if chattel,
     cages rattle, sounds of brattle,
          no more tattle, keen for battle.
Be free, my brothers!

The cause is great, our rights innate,
     not fuelled by hate, we’ll change our fate,
          we won’t be freight, not long to wait.
Be free, my brothers!

Marched out on deck, end of the trek,
     each one they check, from toes to neck,
          the merest speck, is cause for heck.
Be free, my brothers!

As we make land, I rub my brand,
     the time’s at hand, to make a stand,
          with me my band, just as we planned.
Be free, my brothers!

No longer sane, we share the strain,
     endure the pain, it’s not in vain,
          it’s all to gain, I break the chain.
Be free, my brothers!

Accursed whip, my clothes do rip,
     he splits my lip, I smash his hip,
          he’s lost his grip, knocked off the ship.
Be free, my brothers!

We're in the dirt, the words are curt,
     I wield the quirt, then shred his shirt,
          his blood does spurt, he's badly hurt.
Be free, my brothers!

The dock we shun, just feel that sun,
     we’re on the run, but not yet won,
          all said and done, it’s just begun.
Be free, my brothers!

Free of the snare, the wear and tear,
     the vacant stare, the matted hair,
          because we dare, to breathe the air.
Be free, my brothers!

So they give chase, don’t see the face,
     our fall from grace, because of race,
          their motives base, traded for lace.
Be free, my brothers!

More men appear, they mock and jeer,
     the end draws near, that much is clear,
          we hold life dear, so fight your fear.
Be free, my brothers!

At last we’re caught, not been for nought,
     got what we sought, for what we fought,
          to them we’ve taught, will not be bought.
Be free, my brothers!

Out in the field, wounds far from healed,
     blood not congealed, our fates are sealed,
          their guns they wield, we will not yield.
Die free, my brothers!

--------------------------------------------------

Originally composed in 2013, this is one of my longer poems. I was unsure about letting it see the light of day due to the sensitive nature of the subject, but this was my take on a particularly dark part of man's history.

Submitted to the "Go Ahead... I Dare Ya!!" contest sponsored by John Lawless.
(1st Place)

Poem of the Day: 10 April 2017


Copyright © John Michaels | Year Posted 2017


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Ghosts of the Sun Dance-Part 1

Ghosts of the Sun Dance

1. The Path

A quest dating back through our history
Surpassing the flesh, a spiritual path
Human endurance, road to mystery
Dark trail winding through the gardens of wrath

It echoes through me, this deep ambition
Half century of miles, lifetime compressed 
Much more than a race, a sacred mission
With light of hardship I hope to be blessed

To outsiders, an act of madness pure
What motivations could compel this feat?
Past limits of human strength to endure
Pushing the body well beyond defeat

Mind and sinews outlasting the firestorm
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform

2. Sun Dance

Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Once, Plains Indians embraced the Sun Dance
Sacred solstice ritual to perform
Life’s rebirth to the sound of drums and chants

Young braves fasting in their preparation
A stout pole connects the lodge to the sun
Days of reveling unite the nation
Dancers’ exhaustion, they seek to outrun

Animal spirits drawn in by the rhythm 
Forked tree with bison’s skull, hooks in their chest
Buffalo, bringer of potent vision 
Delirious dancers complete their quest

The Spirit Quest resounds through history
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery

3.To Endure and Transcend 

Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Japan's “Marathon Monks” of Mount Hiei
The key to their spirit quest victory
To walk a Marathon one hundred straight days

Famed spiritual leader Sri Chinmoy
Believed hearts and spirits could be mended
Through self-transcendence, and he did enjoy
Countless long quests before his time ended

Chinmoy’s best, a fifty day epic quest
A journey thirty-one hundred miles long
Few are those who have ever passed this test
His famous Self-Transcendence Marathon

Darkest night, the gateway to a new morn,
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn

4. The Spirit Is Willing

Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn
Deepest pain kindling the soul’s ignition 
Follow the path supplicants’ feet have worn
Transformation’s crux, soul transition

Our defenses and walls cannot let in
Sacred blessings of the gods and spirits
Impenetrable, much to your chagrin
They cannot touch your heart if you fear it

Mortification, a tribulation
Humble display of the supplicant’s worth
A spiritual emancipation,
Pain always accompanies any birth

These transitions in few modern nations
Our world, rare rites of initiation

5. The Fall

Our world, rare rites of initiation
Deconstructed, traditions have been burned
Soulless life breeds infantilization
Perpetuating the puer eterne

To make our lives easier is progress, 
Yet soft life an inadequate mantle
We can also suffer when life lacks stress
True transformation is never gentle

Safety, the goal of civilization
Eliminate risk, its increasing role
Safety’s bitter fruit is stagnation
Comfort cannot forge a resilient soul

Building true human vitality starts
With substance to satisfy questing hearts

6. Aimlessness

With substance to satisfy questing hearts
We dream to build greatness from the humble
Miseducation, meaninglessness start
Intrepid young souls questing for trouble

Drawn to drugs and gangs, tobacco and booze
No deep satisfaction do they contain
Oft mistaken for paying adult dues
But lead instead to spiritual chains

Youthful misadventures, trouble and blues
Sterile environment will generate
Tribal belonging they mark with tattoos
Clumsy efforts to self-initiate

Conquered world without initiations
Life’s road of genuine tribulations

7. Warrior’s Quest

Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Awaits our youth, whether they are prepared
Or not, we note with building frustrations
Future leaders, we see grow up impaired

The warrior within’s heartfelt yearning
A righteous cause in which to do battle
Meanwhile, the subway turnstiles are turning
Young champions doing time as cattle

Quests can be found for the searching young soul
Alas, the focus of education
Not on the development of the whole
But fashioning subjects of this nation

The challenge of living with one’s whole heart
Yielding to those who have mastered the art

5/19/16
Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by howmanysyllables.com


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016


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Chains of Colonialism

Chains of Colonialism        

With guns they came
With whips and chains
Chains to capture the Dark Continent
Chains snaking across Africa
Africa blessed by nature
Africa a precious jewel
Jewel coveted by imperialists
Jewel stained with blood
Blood of the disenfranchised
Blood of innocents 
Innocents slaughtered
Innocents subjugated
Subjugated like cattle
Subjugated nonentities					
Nonentities to colonial masters			
Nonentities bowing to alien flags 
Flags of oppression
Flags of exploitation and domination
Domination of inferiors
Domination of natural resources
Resources robbed
Resources nurtured with sweat and tears
Tears of those with no voices
Tears of those whipped and silenced
Silenced by superiority
Silenced by weapons and fear
Fear of foreign invaders
Fear of certain death
Death of ancient civilization
Death of treasured culture
Culture stripped and raped
Culture battered and fragmented
Fragmented destiny
Fragmented people 
People crushed to the ground  
People with no more sweet songs
Songs of freedom and happier times 
Songs of nationalism
Nationalism and solidarity 
Nationalism thwarted
Thwarted to divide and conquer
Thwarted to castrate minds and bodies
Bodies chained and beaten 
Bodies killed for defiance
Defiance against injustice 
Defiance against colonialism
Colonialism in the name of God
Colonialism in the name of kings
Kings
God


05-01-2016

Contest:      Dig Deep - Race Relations - Conflicts - Colonialism
Sponsor:     Marugo Mo
Placement:   2nd 





Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2016


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A Lonely Christmas

I walked up to the bunkhouse, beneath a cloudless sky,
searching to find the Christmas star, still shining there on high.
The bunkhouse was warm but lonesome with no other cowboys there.
They had all gone home for Christmas. I pretended not to care.

Christmas carols on the radio brought back thoughts of the star
that had shown down on those pastures in that Eastern land so far.
Taking off my vest and Sunday shirt, I threw them on the trunk.
I stripped down to my underwear and crawled into my bunk.

My day had started early. I had worked hard with the crew, 
so they could start their Christmas fun, when all the chores were through.
With no wife nor kids to need me, I had told the rest I'd stay
and watch out for the cattle.  They could have their Christmas Day.

The warm room made me sleepy and I started into doze.
Right there before my astounded eyes, the Christmas Star arose. 
I was a lonely shepherd in that land so far away,
who had been left to guard the sheep until the break of day.

I heard the angels singing and saw the moving star.
I marveled at the beauty and glory from afar.
The bright star beckoned to me and angels led the way
to where the future king of all lay in a mound of hay.

I wanted so to follow them but I had pledged my word.
I had to turn  a deaf ear to the messages I heard.
I knew my solemn duty lay in guarding helpless sheep.
I prayed the Lord's forgiveness but the vigil I must keep.

The star reflected in the eyes of creatures all around,
waiting for the lonely stray or any sheep they found.
I could not shirk my duty to seek Him out that night, 
but I knew I never would forget that glorious, wondrous sight.

I had that dream some years ago, but should that star reappear,
I've hung my rope and saddle up.  I can follow with no fear.

Posted: 12/1/14  For "One of your best" contest


Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2014


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This Old Barn

It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.

What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.

Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.

Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!

Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.

Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.

It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.

It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.

(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired

Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2016


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RICE FIELD


Rice fields look the same except for this one; this one who knew me before i was born… and lying on her fertile belly, she tosses the mist of evening’s bamboo for raindrops to moisten the flesh of gentle cattle. Through serenades from elders gathering in a bonfire of twitters and jousts,a carousel of birds wheels in a rhapsody, then takes flight along scented air whisking tiny lanterns near the plain,while rivers blue twirl on rustic clay. How beautiful can she be! I must have twirled with her on a cradle of blushing petals swirling oh so feathery! Waking up for some reason, dusted grains on my eyes ignite this one spectacle tryst with my rice field where I have become different... my head throbbing in sweet surrender, perhaps, claiming the very floor of my navel through her ripened harvest. ................... Judged and Finalized 6/18/2016 I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada -1 Contest of Broken Wings Resubmitted 7/1/2016


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016


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Plastic Paradise

Time’s ticking for whooping cranes
wild buffalo and prairie dogs.
For their losses outweigh their gains,
displaced by cattle sheep and hogs.

The elephant and the blue whale
may share the fate of the dodo.
For their lives are now endangered
like the dragons of Komodo.

Alligator and crocodile
tread the fringes of extinction.
And the California condor’s 
future hangs on its distinction.

Baby seals are slaughtered for fur
and otters for the fish they eat.
Lions and tigers entertain us
and are routinely starved and beat.

In sanitized utopias
we plant the occasional tree.
Yet in our plastic paradise
there's few animals left to see.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015


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Intelligent Design

You think you’re alone out on the range
Sittin’ silent under starry sky,
Just a marvelin’ at the universe
And wonderin’ ‘bout that ol’ question: why?

You shake your head at worlds of worry,
Knowin’ it ain’t often that you’ll find,
All the answers to your queries
Beneath the clear black sky and pine.

You wonder if we rose up from mud
And walked straight and tall upon this earth—
Or was it all created in a moment—
A conception that gave us true birth.

Are we all no more than those monkeys
Evolvin’ slowly down life’s long line?
Or is there more to earth and heaven
Touched by something truly sublime?

We keep on punchin’ clocks and cattle
And tryin’ to get through each new morn—
But is there more to life than dyin’
And will we somehow be reborn?

All the cattle know my hard proddin’
As I lead them along time’s sad way—
We live for but a flashin’ moment,
As we watch life go by in one short day. 

So make the best of trails you ride, cowboy—
Each tomorrow is both yours and mine—
And gaze long at stars in that vast sky
Placed there by intelligent design.



Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2005


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What the Lord gave

The sun rests in its golden orb, shining bright dazzling the eyes
Meadows green with dew drops fresh, the cattle lazing away cries
The farmhands nap beneath the trees, the breeze caress and dies
	
As the curfew knells folks head home and pray
Thanking the Lord for the rewarding day
Face brimming with sheer bliss and mirth
Content they praise and sing from birth
What true happiness can be witnessed herein
For the Lord blesseth those who seek of him.

Those greedy and selfish , pine more riches 
Idle days wasted, in slumber and glitches
While holding contempt for those plebeians
And are never content,  contrasting agrarians
No time for Lord, who observe cadence
No more thanks for the blessings immense 

Heaven doth beckon those who believe
And the rest he reckon, to try and grieve

For....
This is the day that God gave to play and he purvey
This is the day that God gave to toil and stop foil
This is the world that God gave, for men to live and pray
This is the world that God gave to care, share and stay.

What a wonderful world!!!


© Nadiya (28 Jan '15)

*Won 3rd place on 30 Jan 2015 in the contest 'This is the day that Lord gave' by Verlena S. Walker



Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015


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If I had Wings

If I had wings I'd outdo unfortunate Icarus
and soar up to the highest stratosphere.
Buoyant, I'd defy gravity and glide
over the loftiest snow tipped mountains,
or slide headfirst towards some deep vale
where iridescent meadows stretch into verdant pastures
where myriads of healthy cattle graze, placidly, alone.
 
If I had wings I'd play with high white clouds,
or scatter misty fluffy cumulus from over the fields
or cause precipitation to make our produce grow
in our windswept lush and fertile heartland.
Should I forget the poorer drought struck lands?
You know that I would not, not me.
 
If I had wings I would delight in competing
with all the various winds, and fly quiescent
savoring the multitudinous scents that emanate
from all the lovely flowers and all the well kept lakes.
But alas I have no wings and as I look up
and see the birds flying free, I feel it would have been
a better deal, if God had given me a pair of wings.

21 June 2016


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016


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The Winds of Time

One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.

If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.

The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.

I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.

The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.

As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.

The  battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.

At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land. 

I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.

Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.

I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.

I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.

The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?

                       Cile Beer


Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2005


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Witchy Poo From Dunedoo

I'm Witchy Poo from Dunedoo,
I'm a flaming outback witch,
You won't see me rounding cattle up
Or digging in a ditch.

I like to cast spells,
Just like those city witches do,
I've cast so many spells outback,
Successful ones too.

Did you know that emus 
Always used to fly,
That is until that nasty bird,
Well....dropped one in my eye.
So I cast a spell
So he could only move along the ground,
No more zooming through the sky for him,
He's terra firma bound.

And as for those walking kangaroos,
Too many gathered near my shack,
So I cast a spell of hiccups,
Just to get them back.

But my most successful spell of all,
And there certainly is no doubt,
Was when I took the rain away
And created all this drought.

There's only one more thing to tell you,
And that's how I got my name,
The locals gave it to me,
Just after the emu took its aim.


authors note:  Dundedoo is a real country town some 400 km north west of Sydney{ NSW Australia} in the outback


Copyright © john williams | Year Posted 2015


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Escaping Humanity

Feeling the desolation, of smothering air
Hemmed in by crowds; the obliqueness of fear
Throng of the city and no sight of the sun
Incessant noise and the desire to just run.
And I drive.

Arterial routes clogged by metal and wheels  
Schizophrenic drivers living others ideals
Neon and lights sizzling the sides of the streets
Marketing signage, greed’s consumer receipts.
And I drive.

White picket fences, roses, and manicured lawns
Ridiculous box housing, erected for ludicrous pawns
Playgrounds, big supermarkets, cafes and parks
Sprawling suburbia with its pools built by sharks.
And I drive

Warehouses dispensing the needs of the hordes
Industrious factories like cash castles of lords.
Sawmills busily feeding more desecration of land
Refuse collection sites completely sterile and bland.
And I drive.

Ten-acre barons on frivolous bundles of dirt
Escaping urbanity in the unproductive outskirts.
Postage stamp fields supporting ponies and kids
While toffee nose parents sit in ultra posh digs.
And I drive

Paddocks of cattle dispersed through productive farmland
Shiny new tractors with men toughened and tanned
Marshmallow hay bales pimple the face of the ground
Irrigators urinate on earth until drowned.
And I drive.

Magnificent mountains covered in beckoning trees
Clear running streams and whispering breeze
Wild flowers gently wave with robins flitting around
Radiant true colours and smoothing calm sounds.
And yes I am home.


8th January 2016
Any Poem You Ever Wrote NOT For A Contest - Poetry Contest


Copyright © Mark Woods | Year Posted 2016


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Mother and Child Divided - Damien Hirst

Bisected cattle. Divided
by nurture, not nature.

Fumes seep from amniotic tombs,
corrosive, curling round curiosity.

Curio cows entombed, split
and suspended like the herd hanging

speechless, tongues silenced
after lunch munching on gossip

bovine, tethered to turquoise time.
Glacial wombs separate, untouchable.

But no cow is sacred
in this slice-and-dice life

and the dismembered world
reflected in an onyx eye is unholy.

Life herded to still life, dividing Mother
and Child, womb and tomb.

No place for mother and child
in this mausoleum of macabre

where Friesians freeze in formaldehyde -
a frieze of unease, soundlessly bawling

that bonds get broken,
that life's knife dissects us all.




23 May 2017

To view Damien Hirst's work go to www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/hirst-mother-and-child-divided


Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2017


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These Paths and Lanes




These paths and lanes I've walked along So many times before. They've barely changed throughout the years; Still steeped in days of yore. Old memories cry out to me - And tales of family lore. The cottage where my parents lived Lies empty, looking sad. I smile as I recall once more The happy times we had. But that was oh so long ago, When I was just a lad. St Martin's church, with steeple tall, Stands proudly on the hill. My uncle Joe once rang those bells, And they are ringing still. Old Joe's long gone - he's buried there, Along with auntie Jill. The farmland, stretching out for miles, Has hardly changed at all. The cattle grazing in the fields Are just as I recall. Same trees - the ones I used to climb - Still stand there, by the wall. I turn, then walk back to my car, Parked down beside the green. I think about the friends I had, Now gone, or never seen. A two-hour drive and I'll be home. She'll ask, "Where have you been?"


Copyright © Robert Haigh | Year Posted 2017


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Buttercup

BUTTERCUP

hope life is like a buttercup
cos this old fool does care
if i was there I’d kiss you but
you might object "how dare"

perhaps  I shouldn’t call the tune
and bring you to my sight
attraction brings the moth too soon
if I don’t employ it right

patience like a cattle dog
who lays there in the shade
connected not, just like the frog
before a prince was made

Francine made me do it:

Don  Johnson  15-4-11


Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011


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Mountain

The airy mountain, lush and green, they call home Perched on shaky rock, the waters beneath swash and foam Goats graze, cattle feed, fields of corn and wheat they comb Stored in the belly of the hefty hill The harvest, food for all, food to fill Spring is here, they forget the winter chill Swimming in the mountain stream, singing of selfish praise Not a worried eye to be seen, to the sky a glass they raise Foolish people dance and scream, their minds muddled, their hearts ablaze Through the earthen caverns they wander Wealth and fortune they do squander They do not think, they do not ponder What a waste these people brought No knowledge gained, no answers sought Squabbles grow more and more, 'ore the land they fought Blood spilled, turning the mountain red The rocks toppled, the peak lost its head Waste away they do, no stopping 'till they're dead.


Copyright © Andrew Walker | Year Posted 2017


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All Hat and No Cattle

They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.

You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.

Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.

As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen fifty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.

Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.

He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"

As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near

They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."


Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2013


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Drivin' Along A Country Road

When I need an uplift for my weary soul and to clear my muddled mind.
I slowly cruise along a country road to see what treasures I might find.
I leave behind the frenzied traffic on the four-lane interstate,
To enjoy bucolic vistas along a gravel road, my languid soul to sate.

I see old barns with Mail Pouch Tobacco ads now faint due to age,
And remnants of Burma Shave signs with their charmin' adage.
Stately homes with white picket fences grace the country road,
With roses of every hue surroundin' emerald lawns all neatly mowed.

I cross a rickety wooden bridge 'neath which country boys are fishin',
And for long ago summer days of feckless youth, it gits me to wishin;!
A lady waves to me as she hangs her laundry on the clothesline to dry.
A sign on the old country store reads, 'Wave If You Can't Stop By!'

Farmers on John Deere tractors wave as they tend their fields of grain.
They sure kick up lots of dust and I reckon they're prayin' for some rain.
I rolled down the windows to savor the wonderful scent of new-mown hay,
And slow to let an Amish family in their buggy move along the way.

Fat cattle graze on lush meadows, each with a meanderin' stream.
Horses gaze at me over fences as they look askance and dream.
I loathe interstates where folks think they're in the Indy 500-mile race.
I prefer old country roads where life is enjoyed at a much slower pace!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2015


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The Cowboy Life I Love

I squint my eyes from the glaring sun
As I drive cattle across the open range.
I am the youngest hand, so I ride drag
Covered by the dust stirred into the wind.

This is the life I have chosen
To hear the steady creaking of my saddle
The songs of the cowboys as they lead the herd
The lowing cattle as they smell water.

This is the life I live
To see the endless stretches of prairie
The hens and rabbits scuttling away
The ponderous beasts flowing in a living stream.

This is the life I love
Watching the horses graze peacefully at night
The cattle milling about during my night ride
My horse's gentle breathing as I circle them.

May this be my lot while here I remain
May I drink from the freely flowing streams
And breathe the pairie air until I die.

Whether life be short or long
May I ever onward toil, and be content
With the satisfaction of honest work
With the steady pounding of hooves
Biscuits and chili by a wavering fire
And sleeping under the sky on the open range.


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013


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The Cowboy's Life

As the pastel moon rises across the midnight blue a lone wolf’s dark silhouette appears into view his boast is known from Cowboy to prairie dog fore this is the night chill that turns to morning fog the early dawn is thawed by a piping hot cup o’ Joe No time to waste, just a few days brings first snow Such is the Cowboy’s life on the cattle drive


Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014