Best Heifers Poems
I was a city born and city bred young fellow,
whose shoes had mostly only touched concrete and tar.
Oh yes I had seen grass, but out on a footy ground
and my entertainment was drinking at a nightclub bar.
As a city bred young bloke I had never seen the stars
for blanket smog and neon lights had blocked them out.
I never knew what clean air was, nor really cared at all,
and rain was just a nuisance that I could do without.
I had no idea where food comes from - why should I?
I just hand across ten dollars, and bingo! In my hand,
is warm and crispy chicken with leaves I throw away,
and chocolate milk comes in a carton with a brand.
But I’m informed one morning, this is not the case.
Milk, like cheese and butter, and yoghurt too somehow,
comes to the city from the country, for us city folk.
And I didn’t quite believe - from the inside of a cow.
A cow! I’ve never seen a cow. What’s a cow look like?
That’s right! I admit I’d not seen a cow in all me life.
I barely knew the difference, between a cow and a pig,
until in a nightclub - that’s where I met me future wife.
Jean is a lovely girl; so pretty, and near rural to the core.
She knows every breed of cow that is written in the book.
Jean has milked them, immunised, dehorned them in a crush,
so she’s quite strong in the arm and can land a great left hook.
I’m talking of me own experience; me jaw is still quite sore.
The lesson that I learnt is to choose words more carefully.
I’m not sure if the listeners sed at what I had said,
or were pleased to see an enraged woman acting like a bully.
Since we had married in the city, and lived in a city flat,
me darling Jean for many months suggested time and time again,
we should go back to her hometown where Jean promised me,
that I will finally see a cow and Jean won’t have to explain.
Now I’ve seen Friesians, Jerseys, Guernsey’s, Ayrshire’s;
I’ve eyed Poddy Calves, yearling Heifers, Bulls and Steers.
I’ve become an expert on cows, and just what is required.
I know everything that’s needed about cows so it appears.
But when lecturing colleagues with Jean close by me side,
it became the catalytic weapon to cause a murderous scene,
for I proudly uttered loudly without consequential fears,
that I had never seen a cow until - I met my wife Jean.
From Noonlight to Moonlight
I'll chance to mention a jaunt once took, along a sloping ridge; coming up steady o'er jakes ravine, cross the creaking pinewood bridge, tethering up the hosses, to a half charred lightening stricken tree; we gazed right down the 'scarpment at cattle roaming free after muffling up our riding boots in swathes of Hessian brown; stooping right over we made our way, by the darker shadowed ground, we got to to a stand of trees, that offered the needed hide; scuttling there as quick as quick, until we were inside made sure no herders were present, heard no sounds borne on the breeze; we picked out a couple of young heifers, this side of some bouldered scree then raising our crossbows silently, as moonglow licked each bolt; we loosed ..Whoosk.! the thuds)) sounded so strong you almost felt the jolt.: did i see a gleam in Mikkies eye?? could it be a heartfelt tear?? I said we had no real choice you know, my voice edged with tension & fear, a quick smile shot right back at me, as gazing deep in my eyes; she gave a hard kick into my shin, catching me by surprise!! saying now while I' affix the lariats Joe, you vamoose up the mountainside; get the horses and drags back soon, in case the rancher makes a ride, so I lit out for the ridge crest, my heart was beating wild." While swearing that damn hussey's more capricious than a wayward child; once on the ridge i scramble down, back to the waiting steeds quickly pulling the halters loose, my mind intent on speed!! soon I'm back with Mikkie, we pull the heifers onto the drags; then we're coaxing our horses up that draw!! headed for the safety of our own distant and shadowy crags. copyright Joe Maverick.co.uk
Princes dart to take cups and cups run away very very fast. Fear not a well trodden cat and bear not a bead or a pillow when journeying across the lands. Knock at wooded glades. Taste the dew from a Moulton cup and throw two hundred buds into the sky. This will surely be worthy of classical clapping. Geese attend opera houses and listen very attentively to the performance of heifers and bulls who twirl with arias to thrill the crowds. Organising a creature is not clever. And dusting should only ever be carried out in a mile long queue. It gives great pleasure to greet distinguished guests at a banquet of vegetables. Unseen underneath undergrowth uniquely unified. Tailored not. Trained not. Tempering not. And noted are the teaspoons travelling like nomads over the bridges. Headstone head heading home. Radiantly watching a nine foot mineralised rugby ball smiling on a train. Hahahaha and now a dance for the floors and ceilings. Hahahaha rapidisation raiding radios racing. Hahahaha decentralization decorated dogs. Hexagonal oxen. Xx philosophically z
The date’s been set and many will attend
Just the penguin will be wearing his tux
A “come as you are” I did extend
So expect to see antlers on the bucks
In the heart of Sherwood Forest we’ll meet
Guests will include many from Noah’s ark
Each one I can’t wait to heartily greet
The skunk will be seated with the aardvark
Filet mignon is the menu of choice
But heifers were threatening to boycott
So a vegan dish has made them rejoice
And something fishy may arrive by yacht
A songbird choir will be entertaining
(Can’t wait to see the tarantula dance)
Trees will give shelter if it is raining
Elk will surely line up, ready to prance
The Lion King and the Duke of Squirrel
Will receive the red carpet treatment
And Miss Piggy will be our cover girl
Turning heads of many a furry gent
It all sounds so grand, but here’s the best part
Once this party begins, there’ll be no end
Animals live in harmony; they’re smart
And not one other human will attend
*Written July 28, 2014
The legacy of a Cowboy,
Can be written in a song;
About the misty mountain passes,
Where the Cowboy’s life belongs;
About the days spent in the saddle,
Punching cattle and mending fence;
At home with mother nature,
Living life in his defense;
All the nights spent under stars,
With the campfire burning low;
Riding range on shifty heifers,
In the rain and blowing snow;
Icicles hang from his mustache,
As he pulls his coat in tight;
Steam rolls off his horse’s flanks,
Disappearing into the night;
He works until the job is done,
And is up long before dawn;
See the legacy of a Cowboy,
Lives on long after he‘s gone.
I was heading to the bunkhouse, after a wild night on the town
dancing & romancing & one too many round
Back in my wild & woolly days, one more rowdy Saturday night
full of cheap beer & whiskey & the necessary fight
I set Ol' Gus on auto pilot, he knew the way back to the spread
And I set to fighting with those rotgut demons dancing in my head
We were getting pretty close to home, so I eased up on the bit
when all of a sudden that dang horse he up & quit
His ears were all pricked forward, listening quite intense
I caught a drift of what might pass for music, somewhere beyond the fence
It took a lot of persuading, cussing & cajoling
but I got ol' Gus headed for all the caterwauling
the sound got more peculiar as we crested the hill
the memory of what I saw that moonlit night stays with me still
for I had stumbled on a peculiar party, hosted by a peg leg dog
and there was a one eyed pole cat doing comedic monologue
A Blueberry Roan soon took the stage, singing Motley Crue
I swear I saw a big ol' ornery hog with a "born to squeal" tattoo
There were bulls & Heifers dancing, I couldn't believe my eyes
why those bovine wore spikes and body piercings, in places utterly unwise
There where horses with mohawk hairdos head banging to the song
I swear to you, Ol' Gus, he began to sway & sing along
Now I know what you're thinking & I most heartily agree
it was the moon & wind playing tricks, along with rotgut whiskey
You city folks can keep your pink elephants parading in tutus
for this cowboy was shown the light by a Roan in blue suede shoes
I gave up hell raising & carousing, said so long to the honky-tonk life
Happy now to stick to ranching & dancing under the moon with my wife
But every now & again, when the wind blows & the moon is shining bright
I swear I can hear the livestock laughing & head banging through the night
Farmer Frank
raises redickilous
alliterative animals at
Farmer Frank's
Furry, Feathery Funny Farm:
Comedical Cows
Daffious Donkeys
Punnious Pigs
Tongue-in-cheeky Turkeys
Chortifiable Chickens
Showoffitty Sheep
Buffoonic Bulls
Offbeaten Ostriches
Goofian Goats
Hilaric Horses
Slapstickitty Steer
Riotful Roosters
Laughening Llamas
Howlinious Hounddogs
Cartoonic Cattle
Rip-Roarable Rabbits
Hoomerous Hoot Owls
Looniful Lambs
Hysteric Heifers, and of course...
Yakkity Yaks.
Don't talk back!
written 24 Aug 2020
Everything's about satisfying our personal pleasures
Creating our own little oasis with a bed of feathers
But sometime's thorns
Disrupt the norms
Instead of cats and dogs, our pets are heifers
© Jack Ellison 2015
Fragrant, warm breezes usher in the Spring,
As flowers awake with faces glowing.
Newly arrived birds bring the songs they sing.
My eyes and ears, see and hear Spring growing.
The farmer's mares and heifers, drop their young,
As he surveys big fields he now must sew.
He tastes sweet Nature's gifts upon his tongue
And feels the riches in his pocket, grow.
The sunshine, growing warmer every day,
Has opened buds on each and every tree.
Spring's driven winter's doldrums quite away.
My open arms start holding Spring to me.
In welcoming Spring, each bird sings his song.
I find my voice and gladly sing along.
Written: 2/24/21
Cubbie worker…
So you worked on an out station on Cubbie…
Saw the cattle tracks and also the sheep …
You were only a poor boundary rider …
On your straw bed the hut you did sleep…
The Manager ate in the dining room ….
Jackaroo's, silk shirts and ties were so neat…
Station workers they ate in the kitchen…
The rest of us on the wood heap…
The Pommy overlords sent out the workers…
Housemaids, Jackaroo's, the book keeper…
So the Aussies were duffing his cattle…
Thought Lost in the drought the grim reaper?….
Down near the river the old tribe had cut….
Left handed holes in the Coolabahs hides…
These left handed men are gone, but…
now in Goodooga descendants reside….
You saw the tracks went through the fence….
The boundary fence had opened wide ….
The cattle tracks unbranded young Micky bulls….
And Heifers were side by side….
I’m Paddy the Aboriginal I can track..
The Bunyip or Porkypine….
Boss don’t never give me a fair bloody crack….
It ain't no business of mine….hey
Don Johnson
Drunken fairies flutter by hedges,
Friesian heifers graze grass to the edges
Of fields where tufts of meadow grass grow,
Smothering weeds and roots below.
The implosion of a thought is neither a shred or a shard. In fact it is surely a pulsation of a wisdom whirlpool? Really? How rather radical. And amusing to the laughs of the rhombuses who gather with rhinos to celebrate the correct correspondence from a diagram which has been deleted by a diaphragm. No condolences required in a tepee but echoes of deaths can mean the picking of fruit would become timely,important,and long overdue. Oh dear. How unfortunate that a printed skirt can collapse on a beam like a fly on a wall. It is imperative to note that doctrines are not fables nor are they of importance for they merely feel that they are. And now it is the gatherings of the mutton mutations who are ingesting but losing wool due to the wisdom of wind capsules. Wow . The flotation of heifers timed is an undignified duty to an orbit of an orb and an orb can cast aspersions so never argue with an ambidextrous shrew in a multi coloured cape. And a four gee sim can always placate and be more interesting than placing order in a misty mansion. But misty mansions were supposed to be respected. Yet folk trample and tread and feats by fairies are often unnoticed by small footed monkeys. Balance not a tome whilst on a step ladder. And always bathe in a light fragrance for air is importance to balance,stabilise and renew. Such a groundsheet sewn. And even a sultry hairdryer gets weary when catering for a cantering follicle. So go dust that tree. And iron the gardens. Rest assured that a four footer will grow. Good. Godly given gratefully greeted greatness. And a tree sap to sip. Not to spill. Line up the priests are out. Linking lineage. Then? And a cosmopolitan cosmic cosmetic clap. Bang. Oh. Oblivious to none is agreed by some so throw the leper in the bin. Radical ridicule rather ravenous raping ruling rods reeking. And a little fly to the sands of time. Great isn't it? No. For that is an Orpheus snail that is barking and a cacti jumps up and down. Downloads are a programmable prison then. Fornicate not with an thistle. And carry a weapon to a gig. Guiding giving grabbing going gone. Gits. And a 190,000,987,567 tall pansy. Great. Greater the greater the greater greets. Garnished. Under siege. Vehemently z
Bright bubbles. Such twirling crystalized hue. In Smokey paper eating wrappers. And dwelling not on a letter. Swelling in importance. Self importance. Ok then play circle bubbles in a packed out front room. Pong is pinging today and a pinny is not a vital asset in a crashed out kitchen chewing gum. Smoke then. Idolised ignorance infuriating inner ideologies. And a whiff waff of a small large woof. Grunting. With a chain. But not locked. Just roaming around. Oh look a decibel moaning in a dungeon. Over there. That street of rubbish moving in a technical bubble with the modernities of a fruit salad. Lipstick printed wobbling heifers with many calves in wheeled thrones. Sat silver on a gold train. After visiting the green building of financial aid and wisdom. No baked tray would ever be found or located in an ashtray oven. No effort no enthusiasm no encouragement just areas of erotic erogenous eggs eating. Eclipse no sun in a baked tart. And expect no wonder from existential belief structured souls who spawn to pray to giant voluminous leeches whose patterns print the most variant of super imprinted thoughts upon a shouting movement in busy over congested households. Circular is not a circuit nor a biscuit bouncing baby. Ok then. And no ha. No x either. For outermost opulence is derisive of inner chaos. This is the p y q reporting from concrete clouds-. On 89.0. Dilapidation Z.
herd of heifers sprawl
he overshadows them all….
longing mating call
The evening air blows twice as fair
when it is kissing her sweet strands of hair
to glimpse her rosy cheeks, perchance her eyes
any passerby would swoon.
Down the street the lamplights flicker on
a feeble gesture, half in vain
for any light forfeited by the sunset
is given to the moon.
And where it’s wanted shadow still creeps in
Observe! Behind a mule cart sits
bundled up in robes and motionless
the sweet girl prior mentioned.
Horses’ footfalls echo from the sides of shops
and disappear as masters drive
into some warmer corner
of the cold Parisian night
As well pedestrians shuffle by
at somewhat slower pace
and but the smallest turn their gaze upon
the pauper woman’s face
But none can see, but none can see
into this sweet girl’s reverie
the chillness in her breath
is the only sign she gives
Her eyes are closed, and now she flies
through darkest depths of mind to happier times
one summer evening on a porch
beside her lover true
When gaze is not transfixed upon the other
drinking from the depths of melancholy passion
it gorges itself upon the greenest grass
like heifers lowing on the hill
or bunnies bounding through the field
or crickets chirping in the reeded orchestra
all similes reveal themselves at twilight
to those in love, in elevated sight
and minds are read, so no surprise
can narrow further catlike eyes
when her lover true decides
to reveal to her the truth
“Upon this eve I have received
a letter from the Guard, with intent
to draft me into the army
as the gears of war are turned
you know how much I long to stay
within your arms until my dying day
but I’ve heard tales of those who tried to flee
many try, and none succeed
so in a week I’ll board the train
the line from Marseilles to Lorraine
and write you letters every night
until the morn that we shall hold each other tight”
And no words formed upon her lips
the falling leaves told all
but when they kissed tears did form inside their eyes,
rolled off, and mingled in their mouths.