Best Mooing Poems
Withered memories invigorate, rekindling rhythm of heart,
Grabbing hold of me to retrieve elation of forgotten past
Throbbing in enchantment, treasured memoirs now impart,
Where decaying house stands, bearing grief seasons cast.
Up the hill I trek, gazing pastures glistening in dawning day
As glint of dawn slowly scintillates horizon shrouded gray
Amid mooing calls of cows, where mango trees gently sway,
Waltzing echoes of yore, clucking~ clattering hens convey.
How regally it welcomes me, my cherished childhood place
Beckoning as it peeks through the creaking old metal gate
That opens wide its fatigued frame, exuding welcome grace,
Lamenting of rusted hinges, squeaking of weathered fate.
Buoying on impulses serene, you enter boldly realm green
Fixated in pristine meadows~ burbling tenor of streams,
Holding my indulgent embrace, there you proudly preen,
For being blessed to own endearing piece of idyllic dreams;
Envisioning an intimate chalet, built on love felt and known,
Where cattle graze, birds built nests, animals freely roam,
Among paradise of orchards, vines, bedazzling as it’s grown,
While rusty old gate, loath to moan, beholds bliss of home.
July 1, 2022
Placed 1st: One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Come sit by the fire... let's reminisce
About this and that, about life and love
Watching a robin take its first flight
Or a squirrel scurrying up a tree
The sun coming out from behind the clouds
The gentle breeze blowing the leaves in fall
The gentle snow flakes softly falling in winter
Covering the ground like a warm blanket
Or is it the laughter of a baby
The purring of a kitten
The sound of cows mooing in the field
The twinkling stars on a warm summer's eve
A shooting star
The hum of the city
Which tells us we're one of many
Enjoying life on this amazing planet of ours
The roar of a jet engine
Taking people away on a happy vacation
The sound of a marching band
The smile on the cashiers face
As she wishes you a great day
So many images throughout life
Remind us how amazing it is to be alive
To experience these simple pleasures
To conjure up these amazing vignettes
Of the wonders we see and feel every day
I still remember my very first day at school
That was seventy-three years ago
But it's just like it was yesterday
Attending my very first baseball game
And none other than Jackie Robinson
Playing second base for the Montreal Royals
In his very first professional game
I could go on and on but as I age
My memory is not as reliable as it once was
Memories are wonderful to try to hold on to
To look back on a life filled with happiness and joy
Of course, there were some sad times
But they were far outnumbered
By just the simple pleasures we all experience
My life was amazing!
© Jack Ellison 2014
(To the tune of Silver Bells)
Wooden sidewalks, and the shop fronts,
Dressed in wild western style
In the jail there’s a feeling of Christmas
Cattle mooing, cowboys shooting
Riding mile after mile
And down at the Long Branch you hear
Silver spurs, silver spurs
It’s Christmas time in Dodge City
Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Mobs in street fights try to stay polite
While they bleed red and scream
As the towns folk rush home
To take cover
Hear the jaws crunch
See the kids bunch
It’s Matt Dillon’s big scene
As he catches the rustlers you’ll hear
Silver spurs, silver spurs
It’s Christmas time in Dodge City
Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Silver spurs, silver spurs
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Soon it will be Christmas day.
When we travel in the car we sing to the radio. The other night, Silver Bells came on and I sang Dodge City to make my wife laugh.
(ALLITERATION)
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
( this poem has every letter of the alphabet except x)
When When Then Yoga
When
Your downward dog is barking and
Your cat pose is meowing and
Your tree pose is swaying and
Your cow pose is mooing and
Your cobra pose is striking and
Your sphinx pose is speaking and
When
Your child pose gets naughty and
Your warrior one gets shot and
Your warrior two goes down and
Your corpse pose stiffens.
Then
Your yoga journey ends.
NoelsArt
Comments: This poem is dedicated to me, the world’s stiffest yoga dude. Namaste. FEEDBACK WELCOME
I hear Africa weeping
gnashing her teeth in cold
but custodians sit in glory
Cows mooing
bulls bellowing
trees whistling
wind blowing dust in eyes
land cracking and dusty
insects invading crops
women labor in vain
children- new market goats afar
young- girls cakes of pleasure
water migrating to the heavens
but custodians sit in glory
Tell me, weeping Africa
what went wrong?
two generations after Uhuru
Africa telephones heaven, no network
Is Africa blacklisted by God?
Tell me weeping Africa
why do custodians sit in glory,
citizens eat dust
children orphaned
foxes feast on dead meat
why, why?
what went wrong?
"You'll find more peace in your life if you refuse to listen to idle chatter."
~ by poet
When a squirrel does it, he sounds like the Madd Hatter
But when doves coo it, it's more like romantic chatter
Chickens cluck pecking for grain that makes them fatter
and Meerkats jabber as a warning signal to "SCATTER!"
Often defined as the noises made by monkeys and birds
but I've heard such gibberish spoken by humans in words
and clinical conversations of dialogue by high-tech nerds.
I wonder if baaing and neighing is chatter among herds.
Chatter can also be considered as gossip or tittle-tattle
or as irrelevant talking, which is idle or foolish prattle.
Perhaps used in bovine circles as mooing among cattle
and the goo goo sound of a baby when shaking a rattle.
I've known a talker or two who I'd label chatter bugs
who can become more annoying then crawling slugs
That's not the kind of people I'd want to give big hugs
for their chatter might persist until I'd need ear plugs.
There's muttering and piffling, cackling and yammers
who'd talk day and night til you put on your jammers.
With nonstop chit chat, they blabber in noisy clamours
until you can make it stop with whacks from hammers!
February 4, 2023
Writing Challenge - C Words Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
A cock and a hen held a party
It caused chaos in the farm yard
Billy bull and a cow began mating
Of course it inspired this silly bard
A crafty spider wanted to join them
From her web spun with nylon not silk
But she wouldn’t drink at the party
And declared “I’m allergic to milk”
A piggy wig said, “I’ll lead the dancing”
But quite soon piggy began to wail
When a nasty old goat butted in
And spitefully pulled piggy’s tail
The noise from the barn was horrendous
Farmer Fred heard the cow loudly mooing
He dashed in with his pitchfork and rifle
Billy bull and the cow ceased their screwing!
Farmer Fred arrives, puce in the face
He asks, “Who arranged this soiree”?
The sneaky spider pointed all 8 fingers
Soon the fowl hosts lie dead in the hay!
The farmer starts to reload his rifle
All the party animals quickly disperse
The farmer’s wife cooks the fowl in the oven
And this is the end of this witty verse
Can you hear the pitter patter
Of the rain on my roof?
Can you hear the water splatter,
And the dog that goes 'woof'?
Can you hear that auto go by?
And the bike that zooms through?
Can you hear the thirsty land sigh,
As it laps the rain, dew?
Hearken! The tinkle of a laugh!
The rustle of a leaf,
The quiet mooing of the calf,
The weeping willow's grief;
Can you hear the crunch of the land,
When the lorry crushes?
Hearken to honking horns' bandstand,
As the traffic rushes;
Hearken! A baby crying far!
Music playing nearby!
How wonderful all these sounds are!
How do they gratify!
Noise, Noise, Noise
That’s all I ever hear
It’s getting so loud and intrusive, that I begin to fear
How much more noise can my ears take
As I live in fear for my mental state
What happened to the bird song that I used to hear each day
The sound of waves upon the beach as excited children play
The chuff, chuff, chuff of steam trains, from a bygone time I loved
The cows a mooing
The sheep a bleating
And the cooing of a dove
I love to hear my blackbird as it sings both day & night
And even screeching seagulls surpass the din of a building site
With noise that comes from traffic as it trundles through the town
I stay at home my windows shut clothed in my dressing gown
At times when I can hardly hear the sound of my own voice
I have to shout
I have to shriek
I really have no other choice
The noises and vibrations are the sounds of daily living
They make me stressed
I feel so bad
They are so unforgiving
I fear with all this noise pollution
There is no cure, there’s no solution
So to deafen the din drink a bottle of gin
And to stop my decline drink a bottle of wine
And by then everything will sound fine…
Written April 9 2018
Contest Strand no 700
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st PLACE
Long ago in Booville lived a Doo
Doo had a friend named Rue-Foo
Rue-Foo was obsessed with candy
But he was never handy
Then Rue-Foo found a mooing Phu-boo
The farmer said to the cow
Be quiet you old sow
To which she replied
I am not a pig, I am a mooing cow!
He looked at her mockingly
Saying "That is yet to be determined"
She huffed and puffed as he called the butcher.
Whether she was a cow, or a pig or even a one legged chicken
She is now the silent one.
For on the table she sits
A rightful dish along with the haggis
The Fox shall enjoy his menu de la soir
Roasted and basted
Merry Christmas to one and all!
Fields filled with stalks of corn
A plow that is dirty and worn
Jars of milk and eggs from chickens
For breakfast cooking in your kitchen
Cows are mooing-- Roosters crowing
Planting seeds for veggie growing
Muddy pigs are such a fright
Goats eat everything in sight
Horses neighing in the barn
For a carrot to munch on
Dogs are rounding up some sheep
Hay is stacked in big tall heaps
Porch swings used most every night
To see stars shining oh so bright
Country songs are playing loud
To attract a dancing crowd
Neighbors waving and say hi
Every time that you pass by
Country life is hard and fun
Lots of work is getting done
Good times start and never end
Until the sun wakes up again
Going through its ambiance, (on) with open thoughts,
Past scenes so serene, and picturesque (in situ passed).
A house, its windows just ajar to the tactile winsome breeze
That taste of zest & adventure infused; with distilled memory’s,
And (sensed) delights unmet “as yet”.the wend of life so rich,
surrounds my mind & senses like the abundant shining light.
That upon the varied tableaux glow, before falls the lilac scented night.
Through all the turvy ways, and livelong day,
I’ll count the picket fences, as I travel or Stop to gaze.
I look out onto the pastureland that runs between the towns,
Observing rolling verdant turf, and cattle with thoughtful frowns.
The Holstein herds and Jersey cows, with Friesians ’mooing low’,
Character houses stand on hillocks; a horse & buggy moving slow.
There are tended lawns with a velvet like pile,
that have entered my awareness, these pleasant miles,
And on the horizon moving; (waits) that shimmering rippling run.
Of a blue & ribboning shoreline where pleasure necessitates fun.
There wind can like a lion roar, or call like turtle doves
With New Jersey soul superimposing the whole in the USA that I love!...
©Joe Maverick 1-6-2011Copyright)
THE OLD COVERED BRIDGE
Late fall
Country scene
One birch, close by, already bare
With a taste of frost in the air
And this sturdy, old, covered bridge – this haven -
Strong tiled, tightly sided. A few slats still thrive -
Strips of weathered-green survive.
Late fall,
Looking far, from Terry’s Mount,
At distance she commands the eye -
Her autumn regalia, the peaks, gold-burnished dell
And the mill-side water’s ebb and swell
One’s fancy cannot help but dwell on a few histories
Imagining, within, the seasonal mysteries
Cowbells
The few been herded o’er,
How the boards did rattle,
The frightened, mooing-roar of cattle,
Stomping, desperation. And old herder Jim –
Yelling, shooing, face beat red.
Twas near the end of him.
Blizzard
I’m limping, all wore out,
We’re near a half-mile from home
Old covered bridge looked so good.
Inside, all was safe, and dry the sure-caulked wood.
Outside, the tempest’s blast, high drifts a fright
She saved us did old covered bridge that awful night.
Spring flood
Worst winter folks could remember
Storm after storm beginning early November
Come March, though, those roiling, boiling clouds abated,
Temperature soared, the record heavy fall quickly melted.
Old covered bridge, standing high, was tested, belted,
Floor washed away, but, in the main, saved those dreadful days.
By moonlight
I sit, thinking, 3:00 a.m., can’t sleep.
Pitch black, but the Moon kisses her silver tiles
What phantoms lurk beneath, what secrets does she keep -
All those midnight rendezvous, young men’s loving wiles,
All the rustic yearnings born of mere, solitary charm,
All those fond, romantic plans hatched within her kindling arms.