Best Muck Poems
Higgs was a hockey player built like a truck
he was mean, obscene, and had plenty of pluck.
Other players called him Klutz
declaring they hated his guts
thus he advised them he didn't give a puck.
When we see the nighttime air
Whipping at our face
You just can't see, your life away
As your death is put aside
The rain falls down fast
Forming pools and puddles at our feet
We shiver, as spines tingle
And shirts stick to flesh
Soaked to the bone we have become
We are reduced to wet rats
Struggling through the thick mud and muck
Trying to find our way, through the brown water
Endless hope, does not help
Our souls trying to surface
Warmth at last we find
Nice warm night we have
Here we shall know welcoming
We are now home
Old Bob’s on his tractor
He’s out spreading muck
I’m hoping and praying
That with any luck
The winds going to change
Which is all very well
Because somebody else
Will get stuck with the smell
One day in lonely alleyway
a stranger sauntered with a sway
Among the stash of smelly trash
laid a framed canvas smeared with ash.
Looking at it he had a hunch
that the thing might be worth a bunch
so, he took it to an art shop
next to the old, battered bus stop.
With gentle care, the artist brushed
as stranger looked intent and hushed.
The dislodged ash revealed a trace
which proved to be a father’s face.
When the restorer’s work was done,
the pair beheld with faces stunned
the father looking at his son
with a forgiveness heaven-spun.
The painting was a masterpiece
the kind that’s lent on short-term lease
or sold at auction for a price
set high the wealthy to entice.
The muck diminished not its worth,
priceless it was though smeared by earth.
A parable of human life
besmirched by sin, sullied by strife.
Judge not a soul by outward look,
as some are wont to do a book.
Human life is of matchless worth,
because of God who gave them birth.
What say you when a pig bathe in a muddy muck?
When he rolls merrily like 'tis panacea to his strain?
Don't you gawk at the amazing shuck
Could be to you 'tis a flaunt to his inert brain.
But how honey he embraces the muck-
When the sizzling lust for food slaps!
'Tis where he tanks up the lack
'Tis a divan for his daily naps
He rolls in it with sheer fun and joy,
Swaps spit with inner pathogens
To him's as sweet as the delicacy of soy
And dirt seems excite no antigens
But fools we the lookers
Who hate the act but love the actor
We're the daytime chaplains an' night's hookers
Musing the worthier and fudging the obvious factor
Don't we rear 'em and keep them?
And butcher 'em for pork?
And for sale don't we adulate 'em like gem?
Then why dub 'em berk?
With us is the knowledge and power-
To keep and care for these pigs
We can give 'em genial scour
And see 'em as moral prigs
NB: Exclusively for pig lovers.
Try to understand the natural meaning of this poem
(French terms to know: arabesque (ar-a-besk) stand on one leg, other leg extended back
with knee straight, arms out; pirouette (peer-oo-et) a full turn of the body on the top of
the toe or the ball of the foot; releve' (rel-vay) rise up from the whole foot onto the
ball of the foot; demi plie' (dem-ee plee-ay) half bend of the knees; port de bras
(por-de-bra) continual movement of the arms through a series of positions; fouette
(foo-ay-tay) series of turns on one leg, the other leg extending rapidly to side and
whipping around body; glissade (glee-sade) a connecting sliding step
When corrals turn to mush
and all dirt roads are slush,
springtime has arrived at our place.
The challenge begins
since I'm sans webs or fins
to walk outside with upright grace.
I don my galoshes
and cov'ralls that washes
to feed stock that wait in the lots.
By the time I return
I will honestly earn
my decor of brown and green spots.
As I step in the slop,
my galoshes do flop,
as ankle-deep mud gets a grip.
In slow forward motion
I ease through this potion,
resisting the muck's pull to slip.
I feed several hay bales
and balance two grain pails,
while working my way through the soup.
But before I am through
I'll lose one boot or two
from suction of that muddy goop.
THWOOP!
My foot's poised in the air
as I (gasp) balance up there.
I execute an arabesque,
a slow pirouette
so I shan't get all wet.
What I need is a chair or a desk!
My predicament here
since my boot is so near
is to turn it around in the slop.
My balance must hold
while my foot's in this mold
and fearing my body will drop.
A controlled releve'
and demi plie'
are more than my posture can stand.
A wild port de bras
while I desperately claw
finds me catching the ground with my hand.
I snap a fouette'
and turn the other way.
I manage a slippery glissade.
For it's not every day
you see Muck Dance Ballet--
just when ankle deep mud makes you wade.
Copyright Terry Henderson
terryhenderson.net
An anagram of my name...
Small are the treasures secretly found
Hidden in the muckiest of grounds
Forgotten for many hundreds of years
Stolen treasure, he hungrily leers
The crumbling man we shall condemn
The ancient tale of Muck Beadier Gem
Emma Buckeridge
7th place win
Spring is here and temperatures rise
Sludged path—tanks go to their demise
And with the realization of risk
An army marched so sure and brisk
Nature wins, not a soldier’s surprise
This was the way it was
In my childhood days
With ancient and tried
Crop farming ways.
Up to the ankles in slurry,
Muck fork in hand,
Ready to spread manure
To fertilise the land.
No tractor and spreader
Just an old ‘oss and cart
Out in the early morning
For a good start.
Fold yard’s been cleared and
Cart filled from manure heap,
Fertiliser is expensive
‘Oss and cow muck is cheap.
It doesn’t take that long
To get used to the smell
But Ammonia secretions
Make the eyes run like hell.
Up and down the furrows,
At the end of the day you find
You’ve spent a few hours just
Watching an old ‘oss’s behind.
A nice steady pace as the ‘oss
Plodded steadily on and on
Until another field’s finished,
Another long day’s gone.
Sometimes as just a kid
I was so tired and dead beat
Took all me time to stay awake
Long enough for me to eat.
It’s all mechanical these days
With chemical fertiliser spread
Soil crumbly and friable
Insects and worms mostly dead.
So, the world has reached crisis
Caused by the modern ways
Organic farming’s coming back
With more natural fertilisation ways.
Tractors and muck spreaders
Nowadays play their part
No more standing being pulled
Behind an old ‘oss and cart.
My world’s changed for better
But I really regret the loss
That these days you seldom
Catch sight of an old shire ‘oss.
The way it was for my Dad and all those other
Farm Labourers before WW2 nchanged things.
tiny muck color
just little bit for bedding
in autumn season
Through the thick of the fog
I begged to the bog
stumped by a stymied log.
It was hollow of pride,
like a zookeeper’s dog,
reduced to bark-less hide.
From the splat of my thud
It wore polka-spot mud
and rolled just because
It knew what It was
to snap unjustified.
So what could I do
but prove what It knew
with another attack
on the cripple I threw?
If cracking my back
playing fetch in the muck
was the point of It all - I’m stuck.
12/11/2018
When indecision drops on by,
No matter how I want to try
To move ahead, I find that I
Am absolutely stuck.
Though getting out is my desire,
Circumstances will conspire,
Trapping me within the mire,
To wallow in the muck.
Plans and changes don’t get made;
Forward motion is delayed,
All because I’m too afraid
And lack the needed pluck.
Better, then, to just remain
With things in place and thus refrain
From choices that will make it plain
Why critics choose to cluck.
A rock as hard as granite,
Yet a pebble in the flow of life.
All shapes and sizes come and tumble by.
Satisfaction and contentment when alone
To ponder and digest the information of the day.
The soul becomes restless.
Wanting to be free; to wander and explore,
Yet imperfections impede the progress fully.
Thus, searches for a match of worth with passersby.
A masquerade it must have been
To think of finding thy mate.
Mated to one with endless, jagged, and pointy flaws
Who hurt your worth… abate.
Stuck fast in the present;
Too long you’ve settled in.
Groomed by deceit and lies
Has weathered the shape.
Yet an explosion from a hoof of fate,
Dislodges in a cloud of sand and muck.
To be free once more
Down the stream of life.
Tug a bit on earthly muck, shakes us all;
Hell's murkiness makes the eternal fall.
Pick up pure mud, feel its wonder and awe.
Our cosmos burns but organics are rare;
though carbon abounds, exists everywhere.
Light springs into life, if water is there!
Grab damp dark soil, same stuff in a flower.
Musing trite thoughts drains our mental power,
try to wake before your faint final hour.
Some sculpt Buddha's fingers touching the earth,
always connecting to soil has true worth.
From the moist muck comes all life and rebirth.
Our world will rock us asleep and awake;
ups and downs, storms and quakes, for goodness sake.
Accepting all flaws, what will we forsake?
Monorhyme in tercets 15 lines 114 words
Inspired by John Milton's Paradise Lost,
Astrophysics and Buddhist philosophy
Jesus...
You died for our sins...
Save us...
Our hope do thins...
From deep down within,
I can't live without you, abiding by my side
I'm a dolphin without his fin
I can't believe you are an ocean so wide
Your thoughtless talking
Got me running and walking
Our reflection of cyber-sensation is not genuine
You're playing with my feelings and head now...that's mean...
Where have you been?
I have lost you...once again...
How can I forgive you, boo,
When we can't see face to face?
Searching all over for you too
Am I just this overwhelming disgrace?
Oh, What now?
Ah, now what?
You have taken me on levels of frustration...I weep sleep in awake agitation
Watching the process of abuse over the years
Shallow swimmer, shadows out if the closet of velvet hesitation
You and I together drives me in bittersweet tears
In instant return,
I get your rejection reflection
I internally burn
Not involved in your life of successful intervention....
Oh no, not anymore...
Hurt alone to the core...
I shed my blood of hate for our love on my own
And, in your eyes, I'm a pitiful fool and the aftershocks of your actions had made it known and let it be shown...I don't care, I'd rather bleed in the inside alone...
Alone, I will probably be...
Not alone, you're so free...
Your emotions cure my negativity
Your words mean so much in mere reality
I watch you disappear into the muck of your desire
I smell your presence in and out of me like Satan's fire
Possessed by my possession
You are my possession obsession
Poetically positive that you love me continually
Effective and significant our relationship was eventually
Don't reject my reflection
Don't reflect my rejection