Botticelli takes a warm bath.
Springtime in arcadia,
The Grace chicks are a threesome.
I tend to ignore the other stuff that's going on.
For triplets
they each have their subtle differences
The girls are demure,
yet they seem to be hoofing a sexy gavotte.
We need a Maypole,
I guess the Italians outnumber the English
in Elysium.
They are as soft as a pillow dream.
I wonder if they ever pillow fight -
a pajamaed affair designed
to arouse Pan and all his
goat faced minions.
It's lambing time
and the ladies
are bouncing merrily.
One day I might take note
of what else is happening
in the painting,
pull it all together
with a few well-chosen observations.
Probably, even then
there will be some odd twigs,
or bendable twists of green
I can't weave together,
no matter how hard I try.
Repaper the walls of the loo
Bob got messy, covered in glue
Such sagas to be had
So Bob rang up his dad
But Dad’s busy lambing a ewe
His dad said, “I’ll visit you later”
As Madam ewe, I must sedate her
In my racecar I’ll call
Help repaper your wall
By noon the ewe will be a mater
Telling the old story
Was Golgotha's soil sad
Did it weep for the blood?
Which dripped on the good earth
Cedars and olives bud
Telling the old story
They laid Him in the tomb
Did the rocky cave grieve?
Surprised when He arose
Did Godly dead perceive?
Telling the old story
Was it a sunrise bright?
Did He rise at daybreak?
Was the morn chilled and still
Or a quiet earthquake
Telling the old story
Did doves softly coo
Were ewes then lambing
Or were they grazing hills
Were shepherds' gates slamming
Contest: Andrea's Monchielle Stanza contest
Written: 04/11-12/2022
Theme: Easter/resurrection
Checked with syllablecounter.net, Grammar checker on PS
One line is off by one syllable, and I can't figure out a way to change it
The farmers are starting their lambing,
The cars on the roads started jamming,
As weather’s improving,
We’ve all started moving,
Check brakes though, we don’t want them slamming!
The days getting longer for sure,
The sunshine will last a bit more,
There’s not as much rain,
We don’t want a refrain,
Cos spring days are the ones we adore.
19 February 2022
A pregnant ewe
With a prolapsed uterus
And the lambing season
Hasn't even begun
Such are the problems
That confront us here on the farm
As we tend the livestock
Till the land and plant seeds,
Waiting for the harvest to arrive.
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2021
9/8/21
It's six o'clock in the morning,
And the sky is just turning light.
It's slightly overcast today,
But soon it will be bright.
The Canada Geese are returning.
They've paired up and picked their mates.
They're looking about and searching now,
To find a good hiding place,
Where they will build a fine new nest,
And raise a healthy brood,
Where they will be safe from predators,
And there is lots of food.
The sheep in the fields are lambing.
The cows are giving birth.
It's such a lovely time of year,
When God renews the earth.
Trying to fall asleep in Spring,
I found the trick of counting sheep,
Grazing in flocks and wandering,
Could not succeed in bringing sleep,
Following one another too,
Bleating meanwhile, and eyeing me,
They sauntered by, as all sheep do:
I watched them, counting patiently.
In Spring’s lush pastures so sublime,
It seemed that every flock would grow,
Filling the fields at lambing time,
In numbers more than I could know,
No rest would come, no pillowed bliss:
I saw there was no end to this.
Look how they fall like angels to the earth!
But no soft landing down amongst those rocks.
Those devils on the bridge with gleeful mirth
Terrorised the townsfolk as wolves do flocks
Of sheep at lambing time. For all their worth,
They searched shuttered houses and smashed the locks
Of any door, they could not open wide,
Dragged out the frightened men hiding inside
Battered them senseless to the dusty ground
In gutters, awash with their comrades’ blood
Each in their own vomit and bile half-drowned.
They lay gasping like fish stranded on mud.
The narrow streets echoing with the sound
Of their screaming and each rifle-butt’s thud.
My God, who are these beasts in human form
Whose hearts the desert sun could never warm?
They are Francisco Franco’s native troops,
Moroccan Regulares, so I’m told.
Free to rape and kill, they are the first groups
Into attack. Completely uncontrolled,
Each Regulare picks his prey and swoops
Raping, maiming, and killing young or old.
Just the threat of unleashing these fierce hawks
Compels Comrade Republicans to talks.
When it comes Springtime lambing on the farm
The bleating sheep send out distress alarm
For the black ravens and carrion crow
Locate their prey and glide in on the flow
Ebony ravens with diamond shaped tails
Are now in flight over West Riding dales
Seeing as their wide spreading wings unfolds
their acrobatic chases, dives and rolls
In mating rituals that they display
Ever watchful in likely passing prey
From Arctic to Mediterranean
Ravens favour suitable carrion
In coastal regions they perch to survey
the nests for speckled eggs the seagulls lay
Highly intelligent amongst their peers
Approximate life span of thirteen years
walking my dog
looking across
and over mountains
a breath taking view
blue skies
white fluffy
clouds floating
i began patting
my dogs head
feeling so lonely
loosing myself
inside the mind
just gave the dog
a great big hug
sweet sadness
carried on a fresh breeze
feeling the yawning
in the silence of beauty
sweeping inside
holding out the key
standing thinking
of one beautiful rose
blushing angels
sparkling thoughts
sharing spring time
sheep lambing
listening to the bleats
of the baby lambs
my eyes they spot
a bunch of primroses
plucking one
gently putting
it to my nose
pictures flashed
in this mind
i began smiling
looking at such love
a dream in the soft
gentle fragrance
scenting such beauty
floating spring breeze
tear drops fall
smiling deeply
i never stop loving
until the end
i deserve to be happy
listening to birds
softly singing a sweet song
blowing in
a mountain breeze
tasting spring
floating upon air
oh how i await
that gentle dream beauty
who softy sweeps
over this ocean
on wings
of an angel
~ ~ ~ ~
The vastness of the prairies
Grassed and green
As far as the eye can see
Grace the lands
Of the Big Country
Ranches so large
It takes days to ride
Herds so colossal
Ranchers pride
Long horned steers
Browned and white
Like the buffalo
An incredible sight
The open range
Inhabit with new
Sheep farmers arrive
Lambing Ewes
With vast herds
And flocks of sheep
Big Countries land
No longer deep
The Homestead Act of 1862
Led to the need, to feed us humans too
Ranchers diversified, and farmed as well
As the Big Countries population began to swell
The prairie lands as big as they are
Could never sustain the bovine stars
Organisation would eventually fold
As grazing rights, the government sold
No more roaming for these herded souls
Fenced off ranches, the modern goal
Barbed wire in 1874
Kept the herds, and they roamed no more
You have to admire the land of the free
Make that journey take a look and see
Vast prairies for past ranchers be
The Big Country
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