Best Free Range Poems
To hunt and fish is considered ruthless,
Deemed by some a blood sport of pure pleasure.
Arguments against are often toothless.
Necessity is not hard to measure.
Gathering has become nearly folklore.
Native plants found only in store bought oils.
Grocery mushrooms limited to four.
Diet of foods only that of tilled soils.
In one hundred years way too much has changed.
Species of world food supply down nine fold,
Ties to the wild and earth have been estranged,
New found chemicals battling nature sold.
Against hunting and fishing? I entreat:
Where do you get free range organic meat?
A farmer who was looking for change
Produced limericks that were free-range
He achieved great success
His limericks were best
And gluten-free -isn't that strange?
Freed a dozen hens today
For a week or so
$2 (additional) the price of freedom
On the supermarket shelves
Even though I may pontentially
Have stolen all their children
Free-Range Limericks Redux
My free-range limericks are light
They will not keep you up at night
You won't find tawdry
Anything naughty
In my universe, they're just right!
5/13/2023
Poetry form: Free-Range Limerick
This is my second limerick that refers to my work in progress, Free-Range Limericks, on wattpad.com. To date, I have posted 25 limericks. They are free-range because they can roam freely outdoors, making them loads of laughs and full of fun; and they're also antibiotic and gluten-free. In my universe, they're just right!
I often wonder slightly,
as I close the fridge door nightly,
is there more to know about produce,
so innocent next to juice?
Does the mayo fight the milk jug?
Does the ketchup dance out on the rug?
I swear I hear it faintly,
from the kitchen floors below!
Are the leftover pizza slices,
charging outrageous ticket prices,
to a vaudeville pickle show?
But everytime I creep,
to see what company bagels keep,
my eyes can only see,
silent eggs,
a quiet scone,
and a dormant block of provolone!
Hmmmm...
I'll get the tea pot to tell it all to me...
Free-range poets
feeding on loneliness
writing in their openness
Oh, sing me broken lullabies
take me to the open skies
write in blood, "Why am I dying?"
like I don't already know it
free lance poets
writing in free verses
only three words
breaking through the lines
Oh, do they have to rhyme,
break me all the time?
Oh, why can't they rhyme?
that's how we do it;
free-range poets
bleeding, always broken
bleeding right in the open
Oh, why don't you ever hold us?
Read us, leave us broken
make our poems our prisons
leave us at a distance
isn't this the instance,
the reason for our persistence?
Oh, just let it go unsaid
just let us go again
broken poets with broken pens
Oh, just take us down again
don't even show you know it
re-break these free-range poets.
There is too much fear in the world these days,
Fear of the unknown, scared in soo many ways!
Phobias of spiders, mice, rats and bats,
Are you frightend of nothing? Why are you scared of that?
Scared of oppression? And the way they use aggression?
Are they messing with your head, using psychic suggestion?
Wrestling with your doubts will only lead to fear,
Always looking into shadows.. scared that something's always near.
You're winding yourself up! There's no reason to be scared,
But it's never as it seems.. so you'd better be prepared.
Because if you're feeling fear, it could be.. you're not ready,
With your trembling legs, and butterflies in your belly.
It's not so strange, that lots of people fear pain,
Being boiled alive, with needles stuck into your brain,
You've got to be careful, I'm afraid to say,
Be quick to make your mind up, to fight or run away.
Would you fill your pants, with a gun to your head?
Now, that's REAL fear.. you could be dead, enougth said!
Some could find your nerves and make you scream for weeks,
They can teach you about pain and how it reaches new peaks.
But the ones like that.. are fearful too,
Of justice, revenge, and the human rights crew.
They should be scared! I wanna see their faces white,
'Cause they even kidnap kids and slip away into the night!
Now I'll get swept away, as it floods from me,
See, some of these emotions, are as deep as the sea,
Some wanna get a gun, and hunt these sick suckers,
And get them on their knees and say PRAY MOTHERF%%%%%!
See this is the crux.. this is the bottom line,
If they catch you doing that, then it's you that's doing time,
It's never black & white, it's not easy to see..
There are so many fears, it's all part of being free.
Are you scared of the dark, because that's how it began?
Are you scared that it links you to the earliest man?
Who had to hunt to eat, had to kill to stay alive,
And did what they had to, so this race could all survive.
The things to be scared of are the things inside,
You can struggle and fight, but you can never run or hide,
So walk down the street with your head held high,
And face down fear.. because we're ALL gonna die!
But the opposite of fear though.. is to be brave,
Who knows how many lives you could save.
The futures unknown, and we all face change,
It is all just a part of being free-range.
B A R N
D O O R
O P E N
W I D E
...she kept her heart on a chain
never let it run mad like it was born to do
she kept her head in a box
never let it see the light of day
she has keepsakes for a heart
and romance novels on shelves
little dragons decorate her hallway
with little knights to slay them
natural and homespun as can be
she lives in her books
and lives for the day prince charming will come her way
she knits and tinkers her days away
always busy never stops
she is a model prisoner in her homemade jail
ever ready to pardon the thief for a kiss
ever ready to take the burden from the beast
she thinks someday will come tomorrow
and itll be better than promised
itll be sunshine cakes and sweet wine
and she will be done doing time for being a lover not a sinner
she kept her heart on a chain
and her head in a box
and never gave chase to the wild boys
now grown and old
(to be read to the tune of Papa was a rolling stone)
Papa was a rolling egg
Wherever he laid a hen chicks were made
And when he flied-
The coop you know was left undone.
In those days we bought gloves with grip pads
to go with our Nerf footballs
Because our hands were not yet large enough
to pantomime dads that stood too close to the TV
and ran from commercial breaks
We spent hours perfecting lean-tos
playing dodgeball in sweat-filled basements
discussing the perfect capture the flag strategy
and skipping ahead to the battle scenes in action movies
We barely had enough breath to eat
I have done nothing of the sort in years
Now my eyes wither under the glow of computer screen
and my lungs never even catch from the thrill
of bare feet on grass cradling
underdog victory in the last second of the game
Often my thoughts do range far and wide.
But it’s not just my thoughts that skim the tides.
When my Hubby asks and I don’t reply…
He says I’m free ranging again with my mind.
He laughs and tells me to please wake up…
But I’ve already been there, thank you, so much.
Deep in thought and so far away,
He’s still my muse in every way.
But once I get going on that thought…
Look out boys, my mind is set and lost
But don’t you worry. No Sireeee.
When the typing slows you’ll know I’m back, you see.
Those free-range chickens have nothing on me…
I way surpass them in productivity.
And as my words free range far and wide
You’ll find… others may be joyfully joining me for a time.
Free Range
We all love the thought
no fences against the wolves
the sheep are frantic
GINSU-KNIFE EASTPORT , MAINE USA
What is that blaring in our ears,
is it the brain cutting loose
and spinning around our heads?
Brain figures and un-figures
looking through holes in its circuits,
what computes is painted on blank walls,
what just blurts
is spoken with a deeply voiced wisdom.
Look, the sounds it makes are visible
from the moon,
can be heard by dreaming camels
on the far side of nowhere.
It is running around bleating
getting lost in its own delusions.
Don’t feed it,
do not own it - it’s not you;
at best it’s a headless chicken
at worst it’s a chicken wearing your head.
Tell the brain it’s got to take a break
from its clatter chatter.
Ignore the gabbing,
look another way,
be filled with a sage silence
or find something real to say.
Watch the brain dance itself
into a dazed dizzy exhaustion,
watch it twirl
within its babel babble hell;
kill it gently
with an aware,
detached,
Mona Lisa smile.
Something has changed and I do not know why
Age and anger joined over taxes as the older son
With the difficulties of dealing with death’s demands
Everyday is another telephone call
And I hear your loud yelling
I try to read and listen to music
And not be near to you or the phone
Still I hear then my loud crow cawing
And wonder has he heard you nearby
Worried about peanuts and that I am withdrawing
Its hot today and we do not go out
To see the beauty of our oceans and mountains
Instead I feel a coldness in my heart
The warmth and the caring are departing
For instead I feel you hit me daily with arrows
Based on an event that is the result of your family’s sorrows
Yet I suspect your free range anger even at your wife
Though you have forgotten her fight with cancer
Is created from dealing with death’s funds which is not an answer
For life will end too soon without too many more tomorrows.