Herders Poems | Examples

The Peace of Isaac

"Isaac’s servants dug in the valley and discovered a well of fresh water there. But the herders of Gerar quarreled with those of Isaac and said, “The water is ours!”   Genesis 26:19-20
Do you hear argument’s doorbell?
Jealousy causes a groundswell
like a sink hole.
Antagonists are raising hell
over an underground bombshell
greed's sordid goal.
Contentious opinions foretell
what sounds like a solemn death knell.

Isaac would bid anger farewell;
he'd forgo harm, refuse to yell,
showing control.
He'd breathe deeply, hot air expel
before maddening tempers swell.
Like him, extol
peacetime; just dig another well; 
be forgiving.  Ring freedom's bell.

L M N O P Q R S T

Light larkish lackadaisical lassie lithe and lean
Measured Mesopotamia’s millionth mammoth, not all mean
Nonetheless, noticing the level of lithium in a coffee bean,
Opposing ornery ocelots who are seldom city seen

Providing palatable parables to Patty, platypus who loves to preen
Quarreling with irksome quail-herders who captivated lassie’s queen
Resisting relatives reaching for gardenia’s gruesome globs of green
Stalwart soldiers seriously slicing sluggishness from a computer screen.

Inner Peace

Peaceful mind is a worthy quality. 
At rest, my body is the sum of air. 
I will walk the road ahead tirelessly. 
I can cross the shark's waters tall, no fear.
Belly rolls of laughter in the stillness. 
Silence stunning, a strange symphonic muse. 
Inwardly, absent wars construct wholeness.
Calm natures set creativity loose. 
Nurture tranquil bases; struggle for peace.
Men are frothing waves tied to rebel seas. 
Climb the mountain, nestle in the vale's crease. 
Internal conflicts spur death and disease. 
   Herders and sages have found it by Starsearch - 
   solace can be won on this errant perch.

Anywhere But Here

Serpents slither here. Scorpions hide beneath our bed spreads.
Spiders, bugs, sticks, ants, and centipedes occupy our beds.

We have coasts. But what use of these? They burn with sultry heat.
Pirates sail to our harbours with their armour-filled fleet.

Predators of all kinds have filled our once lovely islands.
Where, once, flora and fauna flourished, wattles and burrs shake hands.

Our architectural castles seem to crack and collapse.
Dilapidated sanctums of temples reveal time's lapse.

Archaeologists try to explore our mausoleums.
They find noxious inland Taipans in murky museums.

Dogs bite their masters; cats, like tigers, cull their lords with claws.
Cows, bulls, and goats butt, stamp, and pin their herders for no cause.

Arrogance and aggression emblazoned by humankind
Their hearts and minds by evil thoughts, words, and deeds are maligned.

This place too is made by God, I know, like other places.
But, to cut the heads of others, here, each one runs races.

RICEPUBLIC

Tell them we are working hard
They will soon afford to buy rice
Show them our graphic evidence
Of rice pyramids. We are self-sufficient.

When they complain of hardship
Give them rice!

When there is rising unemployment
Add some more rice, I say
There's plenty of cassava too to eat.

If they plan to protest
And the workers want to strike
Pacify them with mudus of rice, right away
I know my people, they will shelve it.

All subsidies are gone forever
Taxes all around have come to stay
And when those rabble begin to grumble
Let the Custom open their stores
Of foreign rice to them. It tastes good!

My people are understanding 
I have instructed them to tighten their belts
But if they questioned my extravagance
Give them state-sponsored rice
Sold at a subsidized rate.
Let them know we are truly empathic.

Not our fault about climate change
God knows why! We inherited banditry 
Herders-farmers' clash, from our predecessors
But be assured when disaster strikes
Our response shall be swift
To distribute rice in camps of the IDPs!

the vanishing

the vanishing 

My fingers itch to write, not about the moon
is a balloon, the title of David Nivens book
if you remember, he was the first  James Bond
I refuse to turn on the news, a big ship is
in trouble, setting to sea in stormy weather 
on the coast of Norway to give amateur 
sailors a thrill and upset stomachs 
I have read the news in one of Britain's most
famous newspaper, Palestine wants NATO
to protect them, NATO says they can't because
Palestine is not a member of the alliance 
although they bombed Libya, mainly for as 
the USA said, fighting for freedom
the genocide will be complete when children
are murdered, if anyone is left, they will be 
a curiosity and the Israeli of the quaint people
who used to live there, goat herders that 
believed in a false religion called Islam

searching for manna in tent city

They used to put the mentally unstable away
for their own good and for the good of society they say.
Society evolved and said NO! this is wrong.
So, they closed the institutions releasing the unstable
from their stables- praying that society would stabilize.
Now we've got tent cities brimming with instability.
Some unstable types have made it as far as capitol hill
and beyond.... perhaps.

Now it's payback time
the herders have become sheep
the sheep have become herders 
with a couple of wolverines sprinkled in between.
These are strange and sensitive times...people.
Society was much happier when it was high
but eventually somebody had to go to work.

Back in the day people were somewhat genuine
now its all-saccharine grins and plastic handshakes.
If you don't stay within the everchanging lanes
they'll hamstring the flesh...
Although you've still got your soul
but your soul never put food on the table
unless you were that one in a billion-manna man,
Amen.

Dead Dog Walking

Took my dead dog for a long walk today.
I like to think that some that passed by
glimpsed the whisk of her bushy tail
or heard her cheerful panting,
as she strained at the leash.

I was reading a book about Shelties,
how they were bred to be working dogs,
sheep herders,
and won’t ever be lapdogs.

Back home, both tuckered-out,
I glance down,
she is asleep already,
no doubt chasing my legs,
around a bunch
of lampposts and fire hydrants.

Nighthawk

A sliver of October moon
sinks slow into the western night
and the life of a billion stars
begin to fade beyond my sight

The black curtain of night dissolves
as colors flare the eastern sky
The glorious hues of morning
proudly herald a new sunrise

Heaven's light spreads o'er the valley
telling all the world to arise
Bright autumn leaves upon the trees
mimic the grandeur of the sky

Sunflowers turn their golden heads
to the promise of what's to come
A melody from wings on high
sing a joyous praise to the sun

I get a little misty eyed
as other cowboy start to come
Can't help but feel a little sad
that this night-herders job is done

Herders

Each Galaxy has its Guardians
Constantly on watch and patrol,
Spread throughout the Universe
Each a part of a disparate whole.
They are the Whales of Space,
Entities of energy and light
Making their endless journeys
Through vacuum’s constant night,

Attending  each Star’s dying,
There to record and behold
That final transition into Black Hole.
Watch that slow process unfold.
Communicating at a frequency
Only receivable by their peers
Information moving  back and forth
Across a Galaxy’s light years.

The Universe expands, spreads,
Galaxies crash, disappear, merge
In an apparent contradiction as
Somehow some of them converge.
Will the Whales carry out their task
Until every living star is gone?
In a dark universe of Black Holes.
Will their patrols still carry on?

Herders of Heavenly bodies,
Now in their ultimate darkest form,
Are the Whales there just to oversee
A mysterious period  of reform?
An inexplicable part of destiny
Emotionlessly awaiting a time when
Suddenly there is situation where
A Universe explodes with light again?

Harvest

He sang seven songs of freedom
Whilst his cat danced a jig
And his monkey rode side saddle
On this pot bellied young pig
And the people of the village
All looked at him in awe
For none had ever seen
His like and type before
As they .peeped from the trees
He could see tapping feet
As he switched up the volume
And speeded up the beat
And they flooded in to the open
Left the shelter of their trees
At first just a little slowly
Then out in twos and threes

And the herders came and took them
Marched them to their ships of grey
That scoured through the skies
Of the endless Milky Way
And the forest seemed so silent
Not a sound to be heard
A silence finally broken
By the singing of a bird
And the projected image
Of the singer and his pets
Continued to perform
For a little while yet
Until the coming night
Cut solar batteries one by one
And as darkness bathed the clearing
The singer flickered and was gone

Pinkies and Stinkies

That pop you hear 
is just another can of pin worms being opened
by the disgruntled the entitled the privileged
complaining about what they think they lack
while ignoring the many things they do or could have.
They cluster together in a bait ball of perpetual misery 
(of their own making)
pointing stinky middle fingers 
at anybody that doesn't agree
with their funhouse mirror philosophy...
In the (mean) time they grow fat off freebies
courtesy of (term limitless) pinkies in government
using the stinkies to divide the masses
while taxing the crap out of the working class
to perpetuate a two class system made up of
sheep herders and sheep
with a big blue collar hole in between....
and as long as the stinkies are miserable
the pinkies have gotten what they want
and will continue to fill our blue collar noses 
with the rose colored snot of their bad intentions....
and that buzz that you'll soon be hearing 
is the last of the sheep being sheared.

The Pettus Bridge

My friend and I walked across the Pettus
Unthreatened like marchers decades ago,
The peaceful river below hummed for us
A freedom song; we aren't free, although
The span is shorter than it used to be.
We see progress written on the girders
Or did we mere imagine what we see,
Gentle waters ebb and flow like herders
Coming and going without disturbing melee
A time when peace will rain supreme,
The placid waters still rolling on are free
As is the famous bridge crossing the stream.

Written August 30, 2021

I Was Not With Him When He Died

I was not with him when he died
Though he was not alone
His friends were riding right beside,
Their flesh torn from the bone.

Fuel oil and some fertilizer
Plus a dollar blasting cap
One enormous atomizer
One gigantic thunderclap

Low tech weapon in a ditch.
Can't distinguish which from which.
Indiscriminately murders
Fighters, biters, camel herders.

No one saw them when they died
I should have been there by his side
My heart was all he had of me,
My tears his love will never see.

The fuel oil warms my house today
The fertilizer, stashed away
To feed the plants when I'm away.
The blasting cap awaits in kind
In the ditches of my mind.

Not My Business

Yesterday, 
Wole-ola wailed home from the farm, 
hot on the heel of his father's maimedness.
"The herders chopped his limbs while shooing off their herds from feeding off our field." 
He exclaimed with anguish splattered all over him. 

I squinted long at him and muttered: 
"not my business,  so far I'm not touched. 

This morning 
the news had spread like wildfire:
Nna Uche was tied to a tree
 and right there his only daughter, Ogechi, was dragged down and ferociously defiled
by some lanky men until life deserted her. 

I shrugged my shoulders and muttered:
"not my business, so far I'm not touched"

In the noon time,
 they came again like bandits for Mama Aisha
 and made away with her three children, demanding huge ransom. 
She wept and writhed in the yard. 

I stared long at her and muttered:
"not my business, so far I'm not touched."

Later in the evening,
I went about my usual ramble. 
Only to be hemmed in on by these same lanky demons. 

I looked long at them and said to myself:
"it might be my business now..."

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