Best Sheep Poems
There was a land, and on this land lived sheep.
Like all good sheep, they had their rules to keep.
They lived on farms in their own different flocks,
sleeping, socializing, and taking walks
to find green grass on which they liked to graze.
They mostly lived in peace, but in a haze!
They did not see above them the entities-
(overlords controlling their destinies).
Most sheep were unaware of this, so they
just lived their lives since when as ewes they’d play,
content to later let themselves get fed
or by dogs (which were like police) be led!
The evil overlords who ruled them all
decided on each farm to put a wall,
assuring all of them be forced to eat
a strange new food which tasted rather sweet.
Seeing some sheep dying (even ewes dropped dead) -
a few sheep would not let themselves be fed
These rebel sheep cried out, “Let’s take a stand.
Green grass outside our walls is being banned!”
In protest, they lay down, prepared to perish,
denied the grassy land they’d grown to cherish.
They even found some mud and rolled in it.
The other sheep baa-baaed them, bleating “Quit!
Quit being idiots. Do as you’re told.
We’re sheep, you know. It’s good to be controlled.”
Just then, inside one farm, a wall came down.
The sheep on that farm gathered all around.
The rebels cried, “Perhaps it is a scam!”
when there appeared one of their own – a ram.
With rushing hooves, sheep followed that ram through
a pretty field, but where did it lead to?
There was a cliff which the ram went over.
Behind him followed every sheep pushover.
Three rebels saw what happened, and they tried
to flee their farm to warn all sheep worldwide.
Would other walls come down, each with a ploy?
What other mean schemes would their lords employ?
A tragicomedy needs to be light,
and so to make this story kind of right,
I’ll say a revolution came to pass,
and sheep again are gazing on green grass.
Oct. 2, 2022
for Joe Maverick's Tragi Comedy Poetry Contest
Beside the still waters he leadeth me
Shepherd of my wandering soul
I do not want for anything, you see,
My shepherd has made me whole.
I have walked the treacherous path
But I did not need to be afraid
The rod and staff my shepherd hath
I can lie down in both sun and shade.
When I am tired and, oh, so weary
He renews my spirit, replenishing,
Restoring my spirit when I am dreary
Goodness and mercy are my finishing.
I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
And drink of the living water of life
The shepherd gives to all his adored
Who seek peace and flee from strife.
Written June 3, 2021
#40 on Best New Poems List
Poetry Soup
June 10, 2021
When counting sheep on sleepless nights
fails to make me sleep
I count the stars in vaulted heights
that through my window peep
Then lullabies from up on high
bring my soul to rest
In dreams I fly across the sky
in slumber's peaceful quest
----
For years I wore
your shame as my own
and lived unknown
in terror of being seen
like a leper
self-quarantined
intrinsically unclean
Your neglect
became to me
my insignificance
undeserving of your glance
Your abuse
became to me
my fault and utter blame
my soiled but rightful name
Your abandonment
to me
was my unworthiness
unfit and valueless
'Til this layered shame became
a camouflaging cloak
wrapped about with care
disguising me as if
I wasn't even there
How I avoided them
my friends so true
for they could plainly see
the agony in me
and I couldn't control
it radiating through
Yet butterflies won't stay bound
in crippling cocoons
integrity impugned
by wings that cannot fly-
and I at last have found
the answer to my wounds
in exposing you
and all your lies
You were cruel-
I do matter
You were guilty-
I am not to blame
You were unfit-
I am worthy
You nearly destroyed me-
But I overcame
Now my only dread is
of leaving this world
as un-notably as I came
as invisibly as I lived
to be known only
by others
as unredeemed as
you thought me to be-
No! the truth
will set me free...
I humbly give
this cloak to you
it was yours to wear
not mine to share
I'm through
I'm through
I'm through.
It's 4:30am and I can't sleep,
the sheep leap and lay in a heap,
told me they're tired and got shut eye,
even my own mind has shunned I,
lets just freestyle this rhyme and see where it goes,
it beats laying in the dark watching that ghost,
across the room that never comes close,
my mind protects itself from some images,
probably awake cus my dreams have edges,
nothing on the tele but Teleshopping,
trying to sell pots pans and mops but I'm channel hopping,
maybe I should count that instead of sheep to drop off,
it's dark and rainy outside and there's strange noises up in the loft,
I don't really care though as long as they stay there,
if it's burglars it's funny cus they'll hide til all clear here,
and what weirdo would brake into and burgle the attic first,
a junkie on crack thinking he's superman singing Fred Durst,
Limp Bizkit I want a biscuit in a whiskey,
I'm tired now I've bored myself, I expect I'll sleep in a minute,
this poems over matey, find something else.
Baa Baa Black Sheep
We don't want your wool.
Please sir, Please sir,
I have three bags full.
You are too old.
You are out of date.
But I work hard,
And I'm never late.
You don't have the
Look we're looking for.
That's no reason to
Boot me out the door.
We want new skills
For this vocation.
But I have twice
The education.
You have too much
Experience now.
But they have none!
They don't even know how!
Baa Baa Black sheep,
We don't want your wool.
Job security?
I've been played the fool.
'Tis strange where we should get the notion
That poetry expressed in motion
Should within the human form reside.
When nature gives us many chances
Unpractised and ephemeral dances
Like in a muddy field when sheep collide
Truth is, that nature's not so humble
And doesn't mind the dancer's stumble
There's nothing that it ever seeks to hide
Uncaring it leaves all revealed
And is not shamed if one small field
Has crazy sheep and one long muddy slide
They're mad, they're bad, they're having fun
Those naughty sheep and every one
Is doing what convention has denied
The hillside's muddy, wet and slick
With crazy sheepies sliding quick
Down to the bottom, down where sheep collide.
Many count good nature's fare
The birdsong and the country air
Among the wonders of the countryside
But strange delight can yet be found
In woolly bodies sliding round
A simple muddy field where sheep collide.
While nature guides celestial spheres
In cosmic dances, it appears,
With majesty the earthborn are denied
Down far beneath in mud and grass
A sheep slides on its woolly a***:
A sense of fun, though not a sense of pride.
When the pen has lost its way
When ideas and ink run dry
Leave the desk and turn away
Take what wings you have and fly
Leave facts and figures on the page
Free your dreams from fettered sleep
And let them take you from the stage
To floating fields and dancing sheep.
For all we are is never told
Nor ever measured by the eye
Mostly unseen we just grow old
And no one sees us passing by
We are the tethered fantasy
Most of the time we do not care
For most of what the others see
Is only what we choose to wear
But in the mind's eye's overview
We see the parts, the acts we play
We know the scripts we follow through
Just waiting for the perfect day
And maybe, one untroubled night,
We'll quietly wish upon a star
And in that moment's grip, we might,
Have just a glimpse of who we are.
We know knitters knit wool from skeins,
and when wet, us the wearer complains,
for our pullovers shrink,
and so this made me think,
why don't sheep ever shrink when it rains?
Pushed aside, location of home obscured, limited by isolation:
drifting aimlessly - subscribing to a voluntary incarceration.
Outcast by an alternative perspective, a differing sense of direction,
through a desire to develop resolutions to numerable imperfections.
Others recede into bad habits - shirking from every challenge,
placing emphasis on ignoring responsibilities; yet expecting a life that’s lavish.
So it’s hardly surprising when their dreams fall by the wayside,
having taken the easy road too often, they’re fighting against a landslide
to recuperate what was lost, or rather thrown away by being lax and care-free,
they’ve imposed upon themselves a limit, as to what they can achieve.
Armed with the powerful weapon of fore-sight, I clawed myself out of the rut,
but it’s little consolation for having to watch my friends get stuck.
Trying to avoid a patronising tone, I conceal myself into anonymity -
uninspired by foolish games, approaching every overture with timidity.
Wanting to tell them to change, to realise their mistakes,
but sometimes things are hardest to see when they stare you in the face.
It’s their life to live, and do so how they wish -
I just pray they realise: there’s more to it then “getting pissed”.
The sheep stood on the burning deck, when all but he had fled
Someone had placed the captain's hat upon his woolly head
So bravely stood the sheep upon his first and last command
Promoted to high station and to duty's dire demand.
Beyond the ship to starboard, he surveyed the churning sea
And the crew, all in their lifeboats, working furiously,
To gain a good safe distance, they rowed both fast and well
So they would not go down with the ship beneath the final swell.
Comes the moment, comes the sheep and, as the captain on the deck,
The sheep stood in command, but with a rope tied round his neck
As the waves came lapping up and all the flames went dying down
It sank beneath the waves with the sheep and his proud crown.
Best of friends
Are me and ewe,
Ain't no ends...
For us two...
Spent all the day
One day a year,
Running away
From our shear
Not with our kin
And not in the barn,
Not soon to be in
Grandma's yarn
Lucky is the cow
The heifer, the bull,
The piglet and sow
Never lose their wool
We're getting lost
Nowhere to be seen,
Licking the frost
In a meadow green
Feeling so free to
Frolic with the bees,
Where long grasses grew
Nearly up to our knees
Love to sniff each
Dandelion and daisy,
Temptation in reach
Drives us both crazy
Had eaten our fill
Before the bumbles,
Rolled on a hill
Taking tumbles
Me and my buddy
Finding trouble,
And getting muddy
In a pile of rubble
Fleece, white as snow
Not telling Mother,
All that we know
About one another
Of the springtimes
The unicorn, the fairy,
The nursery rhymes
About us and Mary
Best of friends
Are me and ewe,
Ain't no ends...
For us two...
The sundown shroud of evening fell
To settle on the city's wreck
Of buildings broke by wicked spell
Called by fate's destructive beck.
And from afar they saw the shapes
Stark, bleak against the red sunset
The ruined outlined cityscapes
Unknown misfortune met.
The country folk had little need
And rarely ventured to the smoke
But still they could not but take heed
And wonder how those buildings broke.
So, from afar they wondered at
What strange calamity befell
The city that had been so great
But what they couldn't tell
A strange flock from the west emerged
The sunset blooded red their fleece
Had some uncanny demiurge
A flock of demon sheep released?
But, no, they were just simple sheep
That somehow seemed to be astray
Unanswered though the questions creep
To where the flock had been that day
The strangest tales are oft untold
And sealed before the tale's begun
Since they had sneaked out from the fold
What dark deeds had those sheepies done?
It's one in the morning
And I can't get to sleep
So I've tried various things
Like counting some sheep,
But they just won't stay still
They keep 'milling around
Backwards and forwards
All over the ground.
To make matters worse
What on earth can I do
When this big randy ram
Keeps mounting a ewe.
There's no sense of shame
Not a sign of shock
As they're doing all this
I'm front of the flock
Who just keep on milling
And munching the grass
And tooing and froing
In a big woolly mass.
It's being watched by the cow
With the big crumply horn
Who seems to be enjoying
This display of soft ****.
And I sigh with despair
As this ruminant steed
Keeps ravishing more ewes
And spreading his seed
It's two in the morning
And I'm still wide-awake
Counting sheep is no good
For heavens blooming sake
And to my despair
As insomnia get worse
I ve switched on an iPad to write
This bit of dodgy verse.
And while I wasn't watching
Littkrb Bo Peep and Little Boy Blue
Have crept under the haycock
And they're at it too.
If only it was possible
To just quickly reach out
To fetch that randy pair
A good solid clout
And that bloody idiot who said
It would help me to sleep
If i closed my eyes and counted
Some Imaginary sheep
Charcoal Sheep
Watery eyed thoughts came,
Zap! Pow! a short circuited brain.
Inward turned burned ocular pain,
too many thoughts to restrain
I’m a cheap sheep making my mistakes again.
Smell my seared wool going down the drain.
Ba ba ba, sorta blackish, wishing I was right as rain.
Worlds accessed by my fingertips
help to quicken this sheepish heartbeat.
I bang on my keyboard, DELETE, DELETE!
Ripping out digital scores, sheet by sheet.
Never once listening to warnings.
All the while the other sheep bleat.
Instead I feel my brain drain
as my barnyard thoughts strain.
I can’t translate what they’re saying,
but I feel them point and complain.
My paradigm won’t shift though,
I have a glass ego to maintain.
So I download my brain
into my mainframe.
I’m watching you fake shepherd boy,
black sheep never sleep.
Into the darkness
we’re destined to creep.
We have those sad sadistic secrets
you’ve burdened us to keep.
So I smudge charcoal thoughts
dangerously deep.
I prefer paths, dangerous and steep.
Within the silence of the lambs,
you devilishly relish hearing me weep.
You defile fleece as white as snow.
I resist going where those sheep go.
Their path leads to your fictional rainbow.
They’re not safe even though
they travel slow.
The True Shepherd
wouldn’t lead them to and fro.
I listen to my uneasy queasy feeling
and exit your proverbial row.
I wish I could stop them too
but, ba ba ba,
off to the slaughter they go.