Santa cow and her sidekick Dairy Delight
Stomped over to the fence with eyes so bright
They were each wearing a fluffy Santa hat
I did not know what to make of that
We are ready to deliver the presents Santa Cow said
Was she daft? Crazy? Nuts? Had she been dropped on her head?
But Santa does that, doesn’t he? I said to her in a whispery way
Not to this dairy farm, he doesn’t honey, she said, sassy that day
It is always us, Dairy Delight said, so where are the gifts?
The elf has them but he has been thrown into snow drifts
When will we get them? I felt pressured right now.
As soon as I dig him out, I told Miss Santa Cow.
In the morning light, a milk bottle stands,
A relic of bygone days, in my trembling hands.
Embossed with nostalgia, a link to the past,
From the dairy farm, where memories last.
As a little girl, I'd wait with glee,
For the sound of the milkman, with bottles three.
Clad in white, with a smile so kind,
Bringing fresh milk, a treasure to find.
The clink of glass, the cool touch of the jar,
Filled with creamy goodness, from cows afar.
A cap of foil, a symbol of care,
Delivered with love, from the dairy farm fair.
Each morning ritual, a simple delight,
The taste of fresh milk, a pure delight.
In that old bottle, a story untold,
Of days gone by, of memories bold.
Now the milkman is gone, the farm a memory,
Yet in that bottle, lives a legacy.
Of childhood moments, of innocence so sweet,
In the simple act of milk delivery, a connection complete.
With her tiny tummy rumbling, she stood quaking in the wood that surrounded her dear father's dairy farm. The white, porcelain bowl and the silver spoon lay on the ground, along with her scrumptious cottage cheese. So hungry was she, and that black, furry arachnid was still giggling, dangling above her tufted chair. She felt a tantrum coming on. She was so mad with hunger. Little Molly stamped her feet and stormed back to her cushioned seat, and ate that mean, old tarantula up!
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
There came a big spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Woodstock wild is what the musicians knew
Plain dairy farm in New York, reservation due.
I was too young, alas, or I would have been there.
Loving the music, the ambiance, wild as old dog hair.
Midriffs showing, the crowd was mostly young and thin.
Jumpsuits looked fabulous, no matter who was poured in.
People ate healthy, they were taunt and tight.
Music wafted all over the hills on this Saturday night.
Platform shoes, cowboy boots, sandals, anything went.
Some hitched rides in caravans, that were heaven-sent.
Lots of clean fun while folk music enticed the crowd.
Rolling, rocking, roaring fun, and probably sixteen times too loud.
His knowledge was his untapped wellspring,
After 93 years of learning anew;
He valued knowing something about everything,
From construction & farming, to baseball & screws.
Early in life, a dairy farm taught him,
To think on his feet, with vast common sense;
Learning math at the sawmill, he estimated lumber,
And rebuilt old motors, appliances & fences.
For years he delivered, automobile parts,
To Tar Heel cities & Outer Banks towns;
Till one day, Wayne County rewarded his smarts,
With leadership to run, their buildings and grounds.
A Lion's Club/Odd Fellow—active for decades,
Making differences in the lives of many;
A loyal church member, a Jack of all trades,
Directing great efforts, that helped countless plenty!
Later in life, he started Smith’s Crafts,
With Logs that told Weather--Cow Clocks that told time;
Wrote a book on a bell, he loved to autograph,
Reading local history aloud, literary passion sublime!
His legacy is people, warm and loving,
Celebrating them in visits near and far;
Shelton Eugene Smith, Sr. a one-of-a-kind,
Honored by many, remembered by all!
(In honor & Memory of one of the world’s most fascinating men)
She was a bookworm of the most finicky kind
reading every day with a book always in reach
at the thrifty store the books were all consigned
she rebuffed discriminately with slow impeach
and rebuked all books that weren't a food find
She ravaged books about cakes & pate de foie gras
buttered tarts, angel hair, and little canape things
books about how to bake fish and how to fry bass
like a true galloping gourmet she would bring
the recipes home, then make them sing...
When winter came she'd sit like a chow hound
and copy recipes into her little red book
feeling lucky for the precious books she found
Pillaging the remnants with eyes sharp as a rook
she made the kitchen her haven, and fair ground
Her recipe for lava chocolate soufflé had charm
and her English toffee lollies were never fickle
she bought her eggs fresh from the dairy farm
and when she made cucumber and gin popsicles,
you could lick to hearts content they do no harm .
March 12, 2019
Contest Name: The Book Worm
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
When I was growing up in Wisconsin, dairy farms were everywhere. It was always fun visiting my aunt and uncle's dairy farm, even though they put me to work. For many years the only bathroom they had was away from the house! I read an article today about people complaining about smells coming from dairy farms and pig farms. It reminded me when our family would drive the 3 1/2 hours to visit Grandma and Grandpa. Some farms hardly had any bad odor, but others reeked! This was especially horrible to us city kids. "Mom, what's that smell?" my sisters and I would ask every time. We asked Mom because she'd answer us. Dad would only laugh. Good times!
Midwest dairy farms
intermittent putrid stench-
fun childhood road trips
***
October 28, 2019
F T I series 11 places
Brian Strand, sponsor
Down in the puddle of a Pig pen hole,
Caught me a Fish with a garden Mole.
The Fish got battered by a chip shop man,
Ate it for supper watching Jackie Chan.
Chan was fighting in a Kung Fu style,
Stylish and lean with broad beam smile.
Smiler is a cool Cat from Paris, France,
Frenchie plays piano at the ladies’ dance.
Tango with a Widow lady cheek to cheek,
Gracious man of 85 could dance all week.
Gracie is a Gibbon from Chester Zoo,
Serving up Bananas like young Apes do.
Bananas fall from trees in Costa Rica,
Costa has a Coffee house, selling Arabica.
Lawrence from Arabia has a dairy farm,
Keeps his Friesian herd in the cattle barn.
Shutters on the barn kept the cows awake,
Daisy Cow’s escape was a big mistake.
Mistaken for a Rat, kicked a garden Mole,
Down in the puddle of a Pig pen hole.
Different strokes for different folks
I've done a lot of different things in life
from working on a farm lifting bale of hay
to working in a factory making chocolate
I remember I spent a weekend
weeding every third carrot
planted in roes and roes of carrots
I was no good at that job
My mind wandered
thinking how bored
life is more fun
when you're challenged
I've read other people story's
where they hate farming
and yet I love working with cow's
on a dairy farm
You should never feel trapped in life
you are alway's capable of change
remember that we are all individuals
what one man like's another doesn't
life is to short
to spend it doing what you hate
grab it by the horn's
and find a job you love
I spent year's working
in a factory
feeling trapped
now I work in aged care
Perhaps the pay's not as good
as some job's but I'm happy
become the person you want to be
that is all that matter's.
Antelope.
A springbok runs fast on the savanna avoiding
lions and other predators, but ultimately it is
destined to become food for slayers and thus
useful. Going back two and a half million years,
my African ancestors too hunted them.
In Portugal the African heritage is quite strong,
their Fado tells us of a past forever lost.
Our life span is short, mere dust in the eye of
eternity, and people have bought bicycles in
the hope of living longer, we all hope to live to
be hundred years old even if we are overcome
by senility and lose track of time.
On a dairy farm, you will see a pastoral scene
brown& white cows, with full udders, eating
juicy grass, but they do give birth and if it is
a male calf it get killed after two weeks, cause
It is not useful, and destroyed.
There is no money to be made of milk-calves
few eat them and it cost more money sending
them to an abattoir, they are not even worthy
to end up as hamburger meat; and I find this
waste a colossal disgrace a sin against nature.
Lucky is the springbok
Another one for Andrea D.
Imagine a vast vat of liquid
Covering 5 football fields
33 feet deep in manure
Think of the energy yields
When big piles are seen
Of manure all green
Most people just see piles of crap
But if truth be told
It's a pile of pure gold
When you siphon off gasses you trap
On a dairy farm in Golden State
Experts on gas sit and wait
They push poop in a hole
Cover it like a bowl
And just let the gas ruminate
With nearly 2 million cows in this far western state
You have to admit the potential is great
Just getting these cows to be hole-potty trained
Will yield a great deal of cow-poop methane
And the methane gas gathered this way
Can be sold to the grid so they say
So the smell's not quite honey
It's the smell of good money
And we've finally made gas passing pay
So that's what this company did
With some cows and a hole with a lid
With a scoop and a scrub
And this gigantic tub
Cows are now passing gas to the Grid
Mdailey
So here is a "Story as it was told" Of a Cow who strayed across the road!
on the outskirts of a small country town. Away from the Brown's Dairy Farm,
and her little Red Barn, and the Pasture where She did Grazed.
and finding a Babbling Brook whereof she did took!
and drink to her fill, some Brew from an Old Moonshine Still?
that flowed into the stream from out of them hills!
until She was drunk and passed out and slump,
and fell there to the grown.
So Upon her Awakening and dismayed by her thinking!
She proposed to make a vow. To tell a Bizarre and most Labyrinth Taller tale!
and never to take a Cow, too a moonshine still,
and Certainly not to drink a whole gallon from a Jug again?
So Being that she was the Daughter of the towns biggest liar.
Know as Farmer Brown!
Poet: John J Myers
Copyright ©2011 John J Myers
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