Best Milking Poems
Whenever I need a muse,
I just sit in nature's lap,
And write whatever comes to me,
And hope it's not full of crap.
So far so fine I think,
As I take another drink,
From the bosom of nature's breast,
Watch me suck harder than the rest.
Sometimes I need my milk to fall,
From the skies highest of all,
As it lands all over my face,
My tongue thrashing to keep up the pace.
Never filling my tummy below,
For it never has that far to go,
If you know what I mean by now,
Then find your own damn cow!
/|\
A new day begins
As the day before.
The Jersey girls assemble themselves
Into their usual cow chain.
One girl’s head follows another’s tail.
Then head then tail,
All along the sodden trail.
This habit has worn a pasture lane
Of mud and muck,
And cow to barn.
They plod the path with bulging udders
To give sweet milk made from clover.
Lo! It is a ritual
Of back and forth,
To and fro!
The sodden lane is dark as coal.
A sleepy man
Readies himself with pail,
As the girls line up,
First head then tail.
Lo, it is a ritual
Of muffled moos in grain filled troughs
With yellow corn on drooling mouths.
For each cow gets her morning treat
As warm steam rises from the teat.
Woe! A life of barnyard chores!
By hand, he milks
With stool and pail.
Each pet waits her turn in line
By head then tail.
The sleepy bovine moan and snore.
The man, he leans
Against one’s side
And rests his head in furry hide.
Such labor,
Grief, care and thought;
Sometimes he thinks to sell the lot.
Lo, barnyard smells invade his dreams
With buttermilk
And warm, sweet cream.
Then big brown eyes meet his in friend.
Come evening,
He will milk again.
Milking cow of good
What good
For humanity
Is good
For economy
What good
for his mother
Isn't good
For the child?!
Take care of your people
People
Will take care of you
Prosperity
of sheepherder
Is not having
Hundred sheep
As a richest
Of commune
But if a poorest
Of commune
Having hundred sheep
Milking cow of good
In prosperity
For good
They're moving up closer from the fields of clover.
Dog circles around behind.
Making sure they head for the milking shed,
like they do every milking time.
Standing out of the mud, chewing their cud,
holding their heads down low -
turning up the beat on the ABC;
boot scootin' boogie comes alive on the radio.
The cows started prancing; they're all line dancing,
Back and forward across the pen.
There in the bails they're all swinging their tails,
goose stepping now and then.
The flies on the wall are beginning to crawl,
moving from left to right.
Dog rolled on the floor; he's clapping his paws.
The milking shed's beating in country time.
The music's played over; back to dreaming of clover,
with calming classical music but then,
someone made a mistake - what an error to make.
They're playing boot scootin' boogie again.
The cows started prancing; they're all line dancing,
Back and forward across the pen.
There in the bails they're all swinging their tails,
goose stepping now and then.
The flies on the wall are beginning to crawl,
moving from left to right.
Dog rolled on the floor; he's clapping his paws.
The milking shed's beating in country time.
The milking shed's beating in country time.
The milking shed's beating in country time.
Dear friend,
I am trying to master the ancient art of Almond Milking. It's quite difficult and my sweetie hasn't had a drink of almond milk in months. I started with cats to improve my dexterity, but they kept getting away and the little stinkers kept scratching me. The great thing about almonds is that they tend to be a bit more co-operative. I am hopeful that by Christmas I will have achieved my goal.
There is one question I would appreciate an answer to, how do I find the nipple? I thought it was at the pointy end and as I was simultaneously squeezing the ends of two almonds they shot out from my fingers. I was mortified when they inadvertently struck the buttocks of a lady police officer. She turned around with such blinding speed I was surprised...What surprised me even more was that she drew and shot her Taser. Ironically both leads pierced my nipples.
One last thing, do you know how I can get milk stains out of my shirt???
Sincerely,
Donald P. Thump
This piece was inspired by my friend David McKay after he sent the following email to me. His comment was the result of an earlier conversation about the scene in the movie "Meet the Fockers." In the movie Ben Stiller says, "You can milk anything with nipples." Robert Deniro responds, "I have nipples, can you milk me?"
David's email: Thanks for joining us. Nice to see you and Mary again, and remember Richard "You can milk anything with nipples" Lol!
Ttyl!
David McKay
Sent from iPhone
“Milking the situation” is from a long-ago age
“Milking the cows” from our agricultural heritage
Some phrases hang on
Though some are long gone
Some remain in our lexicon though we've turned the page
There is quite a big ruckus on the street
Lad's milking a cow without any teats
How does he do it?
He stands, doesn't sit
Hey look, Mom, no hands. I'm using my feet!
1st Prize - Rutland County Fair
August, 1987
Owning a barn was one of your wish lists
Reaping a fruit tree is not a work of an altruist.
They said blueberry jams are your favorite
Wonder if you’ll eat them at once: Savor it!
Did you collect eggs from a tired hen?
Did you rip off the sheep’s clothing in a pen?
I wonder what the old cow said when you milked him out.
Life must be exhausting: He wished to pass out.
How could a mule please your self-conceit?
I’ve heard your grown cattle gave you money and a receipt.
What did the turkey do to provide you with a thanksgiving feast?
The neighboring animals grin; they must be on their feet.
Does being a Welsh pig make you feel like a “Babe in the City”?
How could you allow your fierce cats to act like a kitty?
Raising fowls, geese and pheasants is a nice venture.
Should you stop “milking cow” for once: It’s such torture!
(Should parents use their children as an investment?)
While others give grief,
a chocolate milk cow
often stutters, and how!
In her udder relief,
she utters “ca-cow”
while producing cacao,
tells the nutters,
Ciao, ciao.
Not one to chew fat,
a crow in the know
tells her, no, it’s cocoa
but she says he’s loco,
and a raven, at that.
When milking the cow,
here's a bit of advice to heed:
Don't handle her udders too roughly
Or you just might get a kick,
you ain't never gonna forget
Milk the cow right,
then drink of the
white liquid substance of life
They pull back a curtain in time
with one-word pictures sublime
to evoke a tear or much fear.
Announcers speak of Katrina,
9-11, Columbine or Diana
through a curtain in time.
Talking heads regurgitate Watergate,
the Holocaust or Vietnam to titillate
a tear or much fear.
Lives lived vicariously
on the trauma or drama they see
through a curtain in time.
Memories milked on the 11 o'clock news
as some folks settle in for a snooze
without a tear or much fear.
Until the next catastrophe
become the latest event to be
shelved on tape behind a curtain in time
to await a tear or much fear.
Going rare grass,
Starving Cows,
Capture the whales,
To milk all!
Milking time
breaking dawn, the sun slowly rising in the east
as early morning mist evaporates, all is quiet and still
in the distance, a cow bellows.
a cottage door opens and a maid emerges.
in her hands the milking stool and pail
later she returns to the dairy
cows gather at gate
black dogs yapping at their heels
the milkmaid awaits
welcome the warm byre
maid rests her head on cow’s flank
creamy milk pours forth
While the milk cow hastens
Toward a worn barn,
Gray as the edges of melancholy,
Erasing the spring, breaking through Summer
Like Sunday, wearing her best suit
Rustling on the wings of Saturday’s robins,
Starving for Monday, while her words
Still the grief that comes from knowing
The week behind her will not come
Again, peppering the wind
With grace and love,
Intense as the passion, smiling
As milk flows, quietly blessing,
Trembling with songs,
Who reach through the shadows,
Singing melodies with soft eyes,
Brown like the trees,
Swaying softly, silencing every tear
Who dreams of a lasting peace,
Rich as milk who fills up the bucket,
Then the cup, tinting her coffee,
Soft blonde, like a woman whose heart
Melts with prayers spoken,
While the gentle heart sighs,
At a breathless moment when light,
Falls heavy against muddied silhouettes,
Against timbers, foundations
Who decide the cow can confide to the night,
Where peace hides, amid star strewn skies,
On flowing veils of the moon’s rising.
A holstein was feeling forlorn
from waking alone every morn;
With udders fantastic
Of silicone plastic,
She’s grabbing the bulls by the horn.