Best Mule Poems
The old black man came riding up
On a wagon pulled by a mule
In the wagon he had a plough
And some other old rusty tools
As best I recall it was late in the fall
Of nineteen sixty two
He said hello and told my dad
He was looking for something to do
And for a fee would unhitch Ol' B
They'd plow up the garden out back
The old man smiled as they dickered awhile
Then began to unpack
Ol' B wore blinders as he walked behind her
It only took them a bit
With all of the kids from the neighborhood
The pair had made quite a hit
Put the cash in his pocket gave her a carrot
Hooked up and went on their way
As the old man whistled to the clippity-clop
The old mule loudly brayed
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
'Tis well known that mules are a very stubborn breed,
So 'tis well to keep that point in mind ere you proceed!
They've been known to bite and they have a mighty hefty kick.
(So, how to harness a mule? Very carefully and you must be quick!)
First, you should tie the mule to a sturdy post in an open area.
This will provide you room to move about and lessen his hysteria!
Grab the collar and slide the wider open end over the mule's ears.
(While doin' this, whisper sweet nothin's to him to calm his fears!)
Fasten the hames to the collar and drape the traces over his back.
Tuck the crupper under his tail makin' sure it is somewhat slack.
Tighten the girth ensurin' it's tight, then, fasten the bellyband.
(Take a break to bind the wound where he nipped you on the hand!)
The reins are carefully threaded through the saddle and collar guides.
(You're forgiven when he steps on your foot and you holler naughty asides!)
Now, slip the halter and bridle over his ears and place the bit in his mouth.
Walla! You're ready to hitch him to the plow to turn those forty acres south!
Well, so what you may ask? Why all this fuss about harnessin' a mule?
Because you may be required to harness one someday and not look the fool!
Furthermore, with the price of gasoline risin' at the pump nowadays,
You may need to get a mule and buggy and change your gas-guzzlin' ways!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Look at him this old, foolish, useless ass
Let’s push him aside as we gaily pass
Cruel, unforgiving folk would taunt and say
How they tried to hurry him on his way
But he knew he’d been useful in his time
So took no heed of humans moan and whine
He wandered slowly from place to place
The folk not knowing to them such a grace
He was no ordinary, dull, little mule
A good story he could tell as a rule
Of happy, sunlit days left in the past
Forever in his memory to last
Tales of bravery, companionship to bray
The dear, loyal soul had so much to say
If only folk would stop to think and see
A life together could be full of glee
A union of humans and an old mule
He really wasn’t just an silly fool
But an old faithful friend until the end
Wise little fellow with love to transcend
A mule got a species change operation and made a real ass of himself.
A faint outline appeared in the early morn
a full moon still shed its light, dark shadows
spread across the land casting an eerie
shadow over the far distant hills.
An old buckboard clattered along a dusty
road bumping roughly over pot holes
washed out by an early winter rain.
The old mule plodded along - ribs
showing from a life of hard work prolonged,
a rather tired animal trudging slowly along
tugging at its heavy load.
The old man sat humped over on the seat,
nodding as though he was asleep.
A low hanging branch served to awaken him as
it slapped sharply against the side of his head
causing him to sit up straight, grabbing his hat
that was about to be shed.
A road traveled more than once,
from the old farm down to the general store,
bumping along on rutted roads, filled with
holes, not a friendly ride it was, but
one that both the rider and mule
had made many times.
On either side of the road rows of tall trees standing straight
with leaves long since gone, the trunks
appearing as gaunt ribs rising up from the ground
much as the old mule appeared,
as it pulled its heavy load quietly by.
The day was cold, a north wind blew, chilling
both with icy fingers that cut to the bone;
but the old man and the mule just plodded along,
going silently down that dusty road bumping
over the ruts and pot holes worn by time and use itself;
two old friends working and waiting, serving out time
as they repeated their daily chores.
Time and work takes its toll,
as man and beast move along
worn and traveled roads
doing never ending chores of old
until the end of a road is finally reached.
Mule kicked and bucked so high, its
hind legs seemed to reach the sky...
Suffering from many a thing, but vowed
to suffer war no more,
Soldiers differing with the stubborn
beast, learned to sit in peace...
Mutated meaning mutilated in existence
Utility in slave work the only definition left
Latent purpose without deferred fulfillment
Exempted from kind, creation's prophecy
2
Matter alone excludes the language of love
Ulterior joy begins where life begins
Labor does not separate man from beast
Exult above the mule, above mere sentience to feel
3
Mare and Jack appropriated a cul-de-sac
Urge blind as bat useless passion taste
Lord, you made us better than the mule
Exhibits of praise for love's purpose and grace
He always says..."She has the "soul of a jewel"!!"
I always say...."She rides like a stubborn old mule"!!!
So...he wants me to ride in his old pick up truck..???
Well, I'm glad to tell you....he has run out of luck!!
I'll tell you why....
Would I lie???
It was once painted blue...but now the color is rust
But you can't be too sure...'cause it's covered in dust!
The engine has to idle...'bout half an hour is good..
You can feel the vibration, around the whole freakin' neighborhood!
If I open the door,...it makes a loud squeak
I must hold my breath....Eewwwww!! What are those odors?? It reeks!!
My life is in jeopardy if I go for a ride!
The windshield is dirty, we can't see from inside
It makes a weird noise...and rides bumpy and rough
The dashboard is peeling, and covered with "stuff"
The seat cushion's torn, it pokes at my rear
His dog sits beside us, and licks at my ear
There's no place below, to rest my feet
There's a hole in the floor....you can see the street!!!!
The windows don't close, so there's always a breeze
With old Kleenex flying...those were tossed when he sneezed...
Wrappers from Twinkies, a Burger King box...
One lonely old sneaker...and dirty old socks
If I had me some coffee...I'd really be set
'Cause those are dirty Styrofoam cups....and even more than that!
Half a stale donut is squished on the floor
Darn!! The dog beat me to it...and is looking for more!
The muffler is loose, you can see the sparks fly
Dirty looks from the folks, who get smoke in their eyes
When we drive by the neighbors, I duck my head and I hide
I'm no Prima Donna....but I've still got some pride!!
He loves that old truck....he calls her a gem!
If he had to choose between us.......I could be out on a limb!!!
______________________________________________________________________
For Paula's contest "Soul of a ........ & Life of a ........."
Brutus was always bad
But what can you expect from a liasion
When Molly the mare, met the Jackass
Brutus's dad?
Well here is the story about Brutus
Its a Mule, son of Molly and Rufus
Molly was a comely mare you see
Rufus looked like a Jackass in every degree
They didn't share any love or hate
But what brought them together was a twist of fate
My uncle wanted a worker you see
Something relentless, strong and mighty
To climb the valley, hills and the glen
In this capacity ,the mule was man's best friend
So a date was set for Rufus and Molly to meet
Out of the prying eyes of children to accomplish the feat
After Brutus trysts and dirty deed
Molly grew fat from Brutus's seed
Nine months later at the break of dawn
We had Brutus, Molly's craggy spawn
Now just after about a year had gone
Brutus grew sturdy and also strong
He looked more like a horse you see
An equine specimen we'll all agree
It was time for Brutus's schooling
In simple stages was the plan
Uncle Poppy, to be the leading Hand
The plan was hatched and the scene was staged
To gradually induce Brutus to his trade
We decided when Brutus was watered and fed
Uncle Poppy would mount his back and straddle his leg
Brutus didn't flinch nor did he complain
Haughtily Uncle Poppy patted Brutus's mane
Time after time he would sit on his back
Brutus stood still, but never moved a jot.
But composed and agreeable was our take
Then further progress we ought to make.
Pt 1
Time and Time again
Uncle Poppy sat on Brutus's back
Brutus stood still never to move a jot
So in order to offer an inducement
In the lead was Molly sent
Uncle Poppy mounted Brutus,
__sat on it's back----
Then flanked Brutus
----gave it a slap-----
Worst thing he ever did
Instead going up the hill
Down the incline he sped
Bolting, dropping Uncle Poppy on his head
Rolling and sliding on his belly
Greening his clothes and splitting his welly
Denting his ego, scrambling his brain
Wreaking havoc with excruiating pain
He groaned and writhed, cussed his luck
Swearing me to secrecy of the act
Of Brutus's bad behaviour and open defiance
Shattering his trust and forged alliance
But as fading memories eases ancient pain
He recovered lost memories and tried again
Once again mounted Brutus, straddled his back
Brutus moved neither and inch nor forward a jot
Such an enchanting spectacle was gleaned
By Pusey a friend from many adventures shared
Who shouted," get down, I will take the ride
A mule is a mule, a ride is a ride
And gingerly jumped on Brutus's back
Flanked Brutus ---gave it a slap---
Brutus swayed and turned, bucked and kicked
On the concrete hard ground was Pusey shipped
Then suddenly motionless as if dead
We poured cold water over Pusey's head.
Brutus had that look on his face
Daring any other to take Pusey's place.
Molly shook her head as if to say
How can you entertain a mule who doesn't play?
How can you get on a mule's back
Flank it, give it a slap?
Mules are meant to be stubborn and free
He is the son of Molly the mare
And Rufus the Jackass
Hardly pedigree
Wouldn't you agree.
Run Over by a Mule 2d Limerick
In frenzy, we found a fool
Never had gone to school
Or any books ever read
So watched TV instead
Was run over by a mule.
Ho Ho Horn
What’s in a name?
An abbreviation having an aim
The person in question is Harry Mulehouser
A man having character within a mule and strength as his tool
Mr. Mulehouser was the owner of a farm with large acres of land
No fancy machinery, but only the strength of his bare hands
They were his machinery in demand
Mr. Mulehouser was always up at dawn and often with a passing yawn
He would lift farm tools as if they were toys
He was a full grown man and passed the stage from being a boy
Mr. Mulehouser was 5’6’ and naturally muscular
Veins pulsating through his Well Developed Physique
He didn’t lift weights, but it was years working on his farm
Machinery as Mr. Mulehouser thought just didn’t serve his purpose as a chore
It was brawn strength throughout Mr. Mulehouser explore
Nothing hidden, but the outer function being mitten
Mr. Mulehouser’s mission, “Achieve until done”
It was prosperity of the farm and Heaven’s qualities of rain for the crops
The strength of one being Harry Mulehouser, accomplisher in farm work getting done
Also not having any help to assist
It was Mr. Mulehouser total strength from beginning to dismiss.
A Mexican mule is endowed
To cheerfully service a crowd
Each roll in the hay
Brings shouts of, "Olé!"
And his bray, for crying out loud!
Now its purty well knowed that cowpokes prefer to ride a horse,
An' movin' pitchers show 'em astride prancin' horses of course.
But Hank, a cow-puncher fer many years ain't like th' usual pack;
He prefers to mount a cantankerous mule that he calls Jack!
Ol' Jack sets th' rules in most matters, keepin' Hank on his toes.
Its joked 'mongst his pards that he's bein' led around by his nose!
Jack has a mean kick leavin' hoof marks imprinted on Hank's chest!
Hank's a stubborn one but in stubbornness, he comes in second best!
Jack'll sit on his haunches when Hank tries to tighten th' cinch.
Hank'll yell an' cuss tryin' to saddle him but Jack won't give a inch!
In his own sweet time Jack'll rise on all fours allowin' Hank astraddle.
What a sight they is gallopn' along, Hank tryin' to remain in th' saddle!
When Hank tries to lasso dogies, th' rope gits tangled in Jack's feet.
(Th' trail boss gits irate with Hank usin' language I dare not repeat!)
Both Hank and Jack is useless in th' corral on annual brandin' day;
Says th' boss, "Both you an' yer mule git lost an' stay outta th' way!"
I reckon cowboys who use mules fer ridin' th' trail is mighty few,
But them that does says tho' they is 'mulish', they is steadfast an' true.
When he gits ornery, Hank'll whisper sweet nothin's in Jack's ears,
Like bein' put out to stud for the enjoyment of his retirement years!
To A Mule
The feats of Tim and what he was able to accomplish were remarkable.
The site of heavy cotton sacks, stacked high upon his back, is memorable.
He did his job splendidly, and no one registered a complaint against him.
He was teachable, reliable, and strong, as long as you fed and watered Tim.
There were no cargo fees or tolls to pay; and all one had to say to him was, “Ho, or Go!”
If you cared for him properly and duly respected him, he would never say, “No!”
Who would not want to care for someone who lifted burdens and carried heavy loads?
Tim seemed always happy when ever I saw him being ridden by Bubba along the roads.
Bubba and Louis were the workers who used Tim to ploy or carry heavy cotton sacks.
As a boy, daddy taught me to cultivate with a single ploy attached to Tim’s strong back.
The likes of Tim and his fore parents had been used on farms for many generations.
Their use declined when tractors took over with changing farm worker populations.
07132016 PS Contest, “To A….” by David Lindsay