Best Puller Poems
He comes so faithfully when called,
our veterinary doctor friend,
to our dear family of cows;
upon his help, we do depend.
The birthing of our calves amaze
him more than ever, and it seems
so many of us cows need help
when labor turns into extremes.
The labor process on the farm
demands assistance with some births;
with calves too large or feet come first,
we cannot pass those hefty girths.
With doctor's hands or puller tool,
to help ease out the stuck fast calf,
it's hit or miss it's born alive;
the chances surely cut in half.
How sad it is, with long delays,
some little ones will meet their death;
at last, be pulled out on the hay,
but cannot raise a single breath.
But when it works, oh what a site!
Our mama cows, right there to tend
their little ones who know their moms;
on instant bonding we depend.
Throughout it all, we cows are brave
and seem to somehow bear the pain.
Sometimes we moo, but otherwise,
are stoic, calm, endure the strain.
How blessed we are to have a vet
who helps to ease our calving plight.
No matter what, he's always there
at crack of dawn or through the night.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Second Chance 2
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 06/08/2016
~NA~
Contest: Back To The Barnyard
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Judged: 03/20/2016
Categories:
puller, animal, birth, farm,
Form:
Personification
You know, I thought changing one’s job would be easy,
To start a new vocation would be breezy.
I got me local newspaper, looking for a job as a sparky, (electrician)
But I said “what the F-ck, these ads were written by a sarky.”
The first job was an “Almond Knocker,”
Now this sounds as sleazy as sniffing used jockstraps in a locker.
Who wants to look for an almond the shape of a woman’s top half of her anatomy,
But, looking at women’s breast to find one that looks like an almond, appeals to me.
The second job was a “Blind Hooker,”
Now what can I say, that’s a woman’s job and boy she’ll have to be a looker.
She would be the cheapest thrill you’d ever have
You can imagine the police chasing her as she is lead by her all eye seeing sat nav.
Nope not for me…
Uuhh! Here’s one for me, “Bosom Presser”
Squeeeezing them breasts from the largest to the lesser.
I gave them a call straight away
Only to find out the job was not really that way
Dam!
The next one was, what the f-ck? a “Dike Stoneman”
Well I don’t think any man can
This must be a woman bouncer for a happy club ( I hope this is more politically
correct than saying “Gay”)
The one you greet say “Hey Bud”
Well later I googled the titles and yes you right, I was wrong,
I suppose me old job will be lifelong
Overworked, under paid
Oversexed under laid
Here are a few more jobs I came across, an “Egg Smeller, Chicken Sexer, Pillow Girl
:-) , Butt maker, , Fire Drier (never heard of wet fire) and for all you animal lovers out
there, Frog Shaker, Monkey Tail Puller and those who don’t change their underwear,
a Skid Marker
Categories:
puller, funny, life, workme,
Form:
Rhyme
On a sunny holiday
The rickshaw-puller
Goes on working all day long!
Categories:
puller, life, on work and
Form:
Haiku
Haiku
…My City Hyderabad
Same stories in books
Same thoughts I read time again
Missing myself
Those old lanes
Those dim lit windows above
My city glows
Rickshaw-puller leads
My thought to its destination
In city lanes
High minarets rise
Call of muazzin rings the city
Some bells too
Domes lit on Eid
Windows lit on Diwali
Welcomes Santa Claus
Drank Irani chai
Haleems and Briyani for lunch
Dinner at Medina
Hyder to Sikandar
The twin city echoes the diversity
Deccan at heart
Far from here
Lives my mother, my family awaits
Net call
Call that recalls
My memories on every visit
Sometimes in tears
Qutubs shahs to Nizams
Rich past and subtle digital future binds
My city Hyderabad
24.01.2011
Categories:
puller, faith, holiday, nostalgia, places,
Form:
Light Verse
the quiet of the spring day was broken
by the noise and shouts in the fields
belching smoke the great iron beast
dropping its sharp blades into the soil
took large bites into the soft belly of the earth
warm and moist the soil yielded to the blades
as the monster moved quickly forward leaving
straight lines of soil like long ribbons
behind
following was yet another of the beasts
smoothing the rows and carefully planting seeds
into the long ribbons of soil
the season of planting had begun
and another year awaited for the time
when the soil would give up
the long awaited harvest of its crops
the call of that grand lady welcoming all
to our shores with her message: "bring me
your hungry and tired, and we will care for them", was being answered
America's feeding of the world's hungry
had begun, and the great food basket of the country
was about to be filled
the first tender shoots began to appear -
small and fragile at first - and then with the aid
of a soft rain grew stronger and taller
looking over the fields the long green ribbons of
the manna of the soil - soybeans, corn, sugarcane and
the once king of them all, cotton, now reduced to
a lowly position due to cost and price - all were about to fill the
breadbasket of the world
the great crops of the South all in one of many fields
spread out as far as the eye could see
great green ribbons - swaying in the soft summer breeze
majestically saying to the world that the time would soon
be near to provide a filling of the baskets of the world
another season, another planting, another feeding -
the busy cycle had begun as had been done
since the earliest days of the nation
corn planter, bean puller, cane cutter and cotton picker
of the world, the great smoke belching, iron monsters of
the fields had begun their work.
rest would not be an option until the work was done
and the plates of the world filled with the products from
these southern fields
Categories:
puller, food, on work and
Form:
Narrative
Saw the advertisement of a sleazy Volkswagen
Surfed the net as the seed was sown
For anything based on german technology
I knew nothing about car mechanisms
Except the comfort of conveniences
Yet updated my limited knowledge
With its mileage, performance, safety
Saw the diesel and petrol options
Of the Vento sedan facelift images
And I struck the hammer for
An ivory Vento petrol run sedan
Thought it to be the most perfect gift
For my no demanding husband whose
Passion for good cars was no secret
But had never indulged in such luxury
It looked as chaste and modest
Yet powerful in making its presence felt as he
The plush ivory seat covers made me drool
The hatchback was a a luxury for holidaying
Car loans were enticing with festive offers
I had saved enough for the initial down payment
Before it reached home at the traffic lights
An illiterate rickshaw puller scoffing all rules
Squeezed his way between two cars
To leave a scar on the front door
The heart on a trapeze on highways with
Many more dents and bangs on tragic Indian roads
Fuming and fretting at every imbecile
Given a driving license without any lesson
The plush seats became uncomfortable
And the ass became sore
The generosity of an overwhelmed heart
Seemed not a very lucrative proposition
As every pay packet announced debits
With fewer coins on retail therapy
Alas! The years of stringent measures
Will die within a week with the end of the last debit
The Old Vento is finally ours, but wonder
Is it really ivory that I had bought six years ago?
Is it the same sedan whose facelift images that had lured me?
Or does it need a facelift?
Balveen Cheema
January 1, 2015
Contest: Cars- Only for Women
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Categories:
puller, car, desire, giving, husband,
Form:
Free verse
the canto of begging
1.
when the morning sets in
with the sun rising in the east
i put on the dress of a beggar
extended up to the horizon
and the canto of my begging starts
i beg
beside the big-bazar
beside the fly-over
beside the college-campus
beside the cow-market
you then put your elbow
on the body of the day
giving a perfect and unbiased pose
to attached to the album of life
people of the working-class
spread hither and thither
to write some more decimal fraction
on the notebook of life
2.
in the dusts and soil of rural-bengal
in the testament written by the grass
i am a son of the immortal
my begging-bowl is the most
favourite go-ahead of a alone man
then speaking around are
the chop singara aluposta
and the love-story of a hyacinth
blooming in the pond
blind by mud
also in the overflowed dustbin of the city
waiting rightly with an erected head
the excitement of your absence
3.
coming to this canto of begging
do you know
i enjoy both
your intensity and your sharpness
your secret current flows me to the pore of the skin
of the body of the puller of a hand-barrow
your cold attracts me
towards the syllabus of waning moonlight
i do realise now that the stale afternoons
saved in my pocket
stitched so many new muscles
with my vocal chord
and i’m howling in joy…
4.
what’s an enjoyment… hahaha…day after day
spending too much chaos
and living to so little extent
tell me is it the least
within the left-over on the leaf-plates
after eating by the baboos
i can discover more and more
love
the mango tree the grass-hopper my begging-bowl
and from the tune of the laxmi-panchali
coming from the middle-class houses
listen, how flourishing is my mother-tongue
Categories:
puller, fantasyme, body, me,
Form:
Prose Poetry
On a winter morning,
The village road lay quiet.
Rickshaw puller Tolmu was then fast sleep
On the grass by the roadside
Behind his rickshaw
Drunk from the country liquor vendor.
Some goats grazed nearby.
Cattle grazed on the stubble
In the paddy fields by the roadside,
While others stood lazily,
Enduring the cold.
At about nine,
When the sun shone, dispelling the cold,
People began to take to the roads;
Groups of students were walking to school.
Tolmu was still asleep,
Enjoying the warm sunlight.
Yet not one wondered, what had happened to him,
For they often saw such a sight there.
But his neighbor Fatima laughed quietly
As she passed by in the auto rickshaw,
Seeing him .
After some time, he waked up
And soon remembered :
He was to deliver four bushels of paddy
From the tenant farmer to the landlord
Before the latter went to the office.
But the time was late .
Categories:
puller, nature, poverty,
Form:
Free verse
A tiger tooth puller named Keith
Growled, Donkey I must check your teeth
Donkey started to bray
Saying, "Don’t block my way
I’m needing urgent pain relief"!
Categories:
puller, humorous, pain,
Form:
Limerick
I am an old man
a deep well
an epoch marriage
a raven haired beauty
five above average kids
Orion deckhand and cook
teacher of the year
Bible study leader
jail preacher
song worship leader
NAU graduate --graduate school
ASU graduate --undergraduate school
life guard
breakfast cook
English tutor
Archie Brokeshoulder's well puller
grain elevator operator
pizza chef
dishwasher
mental hospital patient
prisoner
welder
all region linebacker
wrestler
pole vaulter
3 high schools
4 jr highs
2 elementary schools
8 states
2 dads
5 moms
6 sisters
4 brothers
13 presidents
I am an old man
I'll swim a mile
this morning
and dance
all night
golf tomorrow
backpack Europe
visit kids in Montana
come back to Arizona
visit kids in Kentucky
do more Europe
come back to Arizona
swim and golf
then who knows
India, Nepal, Tibet
I am an old man
looking for something
Categories:
puller, journey, old,
Form:
Free verse
A little brown river,
Naked children splashing in its muddy waters,
Their mirth and laughter of raucous delight,
Untroubled by foresight.
A tiny hut made of mud,
Parching in the dazzles of the ruthless sun,
The bent figure of a farmer as he nurtures
The field of paddy that his simple heart treasures.
A bustling bazaar,
With its overwhelming array of sights and smells,
A man with a cart full of ripe plump litchis, a rickshaw puller,
Whiling away the time, adding to the cacophony as they bicker.
As the sun sets over the distant ragged hills and lush overgrowth,
I ponder on what I have retained
From the journey across the plains of my mother land,
Bangladesh, where happiness and poverty, go hand in hand.
Categories:
puller, people
Form:
Free verse
The sun enlightening at the front house
two old armchair-in places by the postal —
the vicinities were dinners in cycles’
parent’s table, the nightfall resembled
sky, —and fling butterfly around upon
spotlights lining by of sidewalk streets . . .
Surprise was bound my moments
the primary time you’d walk
from my home . . .
Stupefied, I got enacting take action about
smiled between me teethes of cheer
but, our nasty memories’ dated in dossiers
stopped all my puller-goals
and let you proceed without been
Break up, your trial my call . . .
I could fallow your way-along
How could, you rendered that, after all?
Sudden was three question mares, my mind
but, asset wound was my heart
thou I dismiss talk to you anew . . .
In while, along as moment I felt myself
odd, stupefied and mirthful in about
You been presented, then, you walked
pretense front my stand sat, an armchair,
by the postal about 16 ft. away . . .
stopped something in me, thy taking action
then, I felt pitifully fallowed you
fled in the mile, by the vicinity
And street corners, —am now without
seen you afresh’ by gone twenty
year long ago, and this whereas then!
Categories:
puller, faith, hope, love, nostalgia,
Form:
Narrative
Odin looked confused, and Thor did too,
But none of us bothered to wait
Ten thousands years of warrior souls,
Charged the dark foe right out of the gate.
My boys they shot out Fenris’s eyes,
And the old 7th cav, they rode in
Slashing hard with drawn, curving sabers,
They cut off the monster’s four shins.
The wolf he roared, and his great mouth flared
Blood-read teeth set in wide-open jaws…
But a slew of TOW missiles leapt from the lines
And streaked into the beast’s gaping maw.
The wolf he collapsed, trailing gray smoke,
But Fenris’s life had yet to be spent
So the samurai charged, long katanas drawn
And his flesh they chopped up and rent.
Up came Jorumgandre, the world serpent
Expecting a loud chorus of screams.
Instead he went up in a fiery rage,
Bombed by a hundred B-17s.
A breaching charge set against his flank,
Tore a great, gaping hole in his side
And the Boys of Dunkirk rushed in headlong,
Shooting up his guts ‘till he died.
Then Surtr drew near, his big sword aflame
Ready to bash, to burn, to lay waist
But along came the treads of Patton’s brigades,
And shelled his ankles to make them break.
Surtr fell back and was lost to a swarm
Of plaid Highlanders dense, in a charge.
And when they sheathed swords, all that remained
Was a corpse, quite unusually large!
Finally came dread Loki, marching along
At his back the great host of Muspell.
But from the rear came Puller and US marines,
And to that dark horde, they brought hell!
As they fought, the Berserkers, they charged
Norsemen delivering the last blow,
The horde crumbled quick, turning to flight.
Leave Loki standing alone in the snow.
He turned to run but I shot out his knee
And then dragged him to the gods in chains.
Thor just shrugged, and Mjolnir he swung
And dashed out the deceiver’s brains.
It was the only blow the gods did land,
Most were too stunned to lift an arm.
The Einherjar had slaughtered all before them,
Not a single god had come to harm!
CONCLUDES IN PART III.
Categories:
puller, adventure, crazy, fate, fun,
Form:
Epic
Tackle puller I ; past diverse suffer
Light, I saw today on a stage dancer
Twirling her hands up, in air ; awake
Gazed I in tear ; for precious still be
Like no-never-other have seen alike
No motion split time no wing broke
Not one fallen step by spirit or mind
Ay, I plea what I saw was all the real
And now I flee, where she dance me
21/04/2017
Categories:
puller, mirror,
Form:
Personification
(for Manoranjan Byapari, a rickshaw puller who writes Bangla novels, stories and autobiography)
--Jaydeep Sarangi
You may dismiss all I record here
Stop! Please don’t ignore them as junk...
Here it goes....Hope you hear me....
You will hear me one day, sure!
You can never hide your face, Priyotosh.
We’ll get you in streets and lanes
Of this incredible city of joy.
Long struggles
demystified Byapari of false tags
of the caste-ridden society
beauty in the working class,
cooperation among the have-nots,
humanism among rebels,
simplicity among outcastes.
Byapari drinks them all.....
he salvages various concepts
from the hasty derogatory labels of the privileged,
and makes the understanding concepts
more complete and realistic.
We remain
as hands folded in inaction;
prisoners outside jail.
Lectures move electorate in a civil society
Justice cries in a caged cell.
Byapari writes a new history
as Shankha Ghosh recommends
his books for Bangla readers,
only Hope against Hope.
Artists are legislators of the world!
let there be enough crackers to celebrate
it further
under an alien sky.
There is hardly anything ‘complete in completeness’.
(Shankha Ghosh is a Bengali Indian poet and critic.He released Byapari’s book, “Amanushik” and spoke for Manoranjan Byapari on the 27th August,2013 in an evening gathering in Kolkata)
Categories:
puller, art,
Form:
Prose Poetry