Long Cows Poems
Long Cows Poems. Below are the most popular long Cows by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cows poems by poem length and keyword.
Withered memories invigorate, rekindling rhythm of heart,
Grabbing hold of me to retrieve elation of forgotten past
Throbbing in enchantment, treasured memoirs now impart,
Where decaying house stands, bearing grief seasons cast.
Up the hill I trek, gazing pastures glistening in dawning day
As glint of dawn slowly scintillates horizon shrouded gray
Amid mooing calls of cows, where mango trees gently sway,
Waltzing echoes of yore, clucking~ clattering hens convey.
How regally it welcomes me, my cherished childhood place
Beckoning as it peeks through the creaking old metal gate
That opens wide its fatigued frame, exuding welcome grace,
Lamenting of rusted hinges, squeaking of weathered fate.
Buoying on impulses serene, you enter boldly realm green
Fixated in pristine meadows~ burbling tenor of streams,
Holding my indulgent embrace, there you proudly preen,
For being blessed to own endearing piece of idyllic dreams;
Envisioning an intimate chalet, built on love felt and known,
Where cattle graze, birds built nests, animals freely roam,
Among paradise of orchards, vines, bedazzling as it’s grown,
While rusty old gate, loath to moan, beholds bliss of home.
July 1, 2022
Placed 1st: One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Name : H2O the silent poet
Title : we're is God
We're is god ?
A question that constancy hit my mind
I ask myself if he's is looking down on us
How is god ?
Is he black or is he white as we are made to believe.
Does he wear
Does he eat
How does he manage to see us all
We're does he slept
What does he like
Is he.....eeeeeei
It's becoming hard to breathe with a mind full of questions.
As question marks become hooks down my throat
Sometimes wen I site back and think on how pastors get Rich off from the poor people they claim to save
I am convinced that god is that bait that religious people us to steal from them of they freedom
So How do you Explain the fact
That we have many Gods ?? But one devil
We are told of a holy war jihad wen did killing become holy Wen we are told killing is evil
What is holy in the war that turns men into beast which we preach against
Why are our gods all about killing and blood thrust
why do they hurt each other wen they preach about Loving one another
Why are we miss informed
Why are we Miss educated
We have been lead to the slaughter
Like cows
Just to please the Gods of our land
You see we seem to forget that from the soil we came and to the same some soil we Return
So before we turn praying into prey
We must know that God lives in us
As we are reminded that we are made in he's image and God is love
you see what ever religion you believe in
They is always a common ground
For is love
You see god wrote the script of your life
So he's mercy is ready available in every sin
@javascript the poet
H2O the silent poet
Seasonal HARVEST OF LOVE:
Dry August and an abundant harvest,
fattened the cows, not to mention me.
September's mustering clouds
and cool winds rustled my mind in preparation.
October leaves rattling in the winds,
astounding breaths of life,
these colorful trees of fall
through my window kept me in awe.
Quickly, time started stealing,
shortening days to keep me on my toes.
Wandering through the light snow covered fields,
the morning's hoar frost shivered me and my icy fingers.
December blizzards and mountains of powder
wrapped me in a blanket with a steaming cup of tea,
seated by my window,
as it continued to amaze me.
March thaws and wet days promised the strength of the coming year,
but matters not what it say,
I will sow again,
praying for yet another dry abundant harvest of love.
9/25/2015 © Al Juman The "said" poet
Type In (Al. Juman) For A relaxing and astonishing moment with all my POEMS
They cannot come to an agreement on how to solve the ground dove’s problem, all the birds are flying around picking at the feather in the old parrots crown ,and the bees circling in the air watching the cicada arranging the music for the summer fair.
The horses, cows and the pigs are marching through the gate to attend the big daddy meeting.The donkey is laying low and lion is on the go; it barges through the gate and occupy the room and wait for the mediator to come in. Big cars starts are rolling in and the giraffe start to sing, “Something must be done to get the garbage out of the town”
The dog walked in with its shiny coats and places the knife next to the ram goat’s throat but the pea-cock walks in slowly and opens its colored wings and covers their naked sins and everyone waits patiently for the mediator to come in.
The fox with is cunning mind walks from side to side and gaze in the sky he has a mission to complete on how to trick the old parrot out of the its dream. It walked in with its winter coat, and take a seat at the head table but the watchful eyes were centered on him and the lion move swiftly towards him and pull at his tail, forcing him to leave that place
They began to hum a hymn when the real mediator walks in .She sits ontop of the table and greet everyone with a grin.
she laid eggs and pass out to everyone and said, go and bury the dead and make peace with the egg and the meeting ended leaving everyone in shock and the mediator left the room.
Roof shingles
are tossed like confetti in a Banshee wind
She says it's going to be a bad weather day,
the green screen behind her wobbles
as a gust of torrential hailstones
rocks the studio,
yet her smile stays bright and perky.
The wind keeps churning through sparrows
and shattering windows. Tornados
spring up out of nowhere,
devastate homes, then ravish cows
as an afterthought.
Through a plasma screen
the buxom lady distracts my eyes,
She grins knowingly
I grin back, as we share a moment,
meanwhile elsewhere, death strikes randomly
with a made for TV toothy banality.
Storms of platitudes continue to numb
while they transfix.
I don't know why some must die
and others must keep watching.
I can only predict
that weather girls will survive
to keep us informed
even as our living rooms implode.
The day began with a shouting match between a cowpoke and his horse.
It became so heated and continued all day until they both became hoarse.
Old Dan maintained that the cowpoke was so obese it caused his back to sag!
The cowpoke dug in his spurs and called Old Dan a "Naggy Nag"!
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"You cinch the saddle so tight I can hardly breathe", Old Dan declared.
"Then you ride me in the dust of the Drag with my nostrils flared"!
"Yer as lazy and stubborn as an old army mule"!, the cowpoke replied.
"At calf ropin' time you let me down...even old milk cows out-run you"! he cried.
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"Neigh! Neigh! Stop jabbin' me with them spurs!
I'm gonna' buck you off even though I am yers!
You ride me hard and nary a word of praise do I get"!
"If'n you keep on that whinny-whinin' I'll trade you fer a mule yet!
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"You can't even throw a loop on a cow you so-and-so,
And you need a lot more practice usin' that old lasso!
When you do git one I stand and hold the rope still...
Even though your chance of throwin' him are oh so nil"!
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"I can rope 'em and throw 'em and brand 'em too,
If I only got a little more help from you!
Oh, you know I'm just spoutin' about that army mule..."
"Well, I know you aint that much of a fool".
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
As the cowpoke pulled the saddle off Old Dan that night,
He took an apple from his pocket and gave him a bite.
"I'll be gettin' you some better food and some new shoes too,
Just to show you I wanna' make it up to you".
NYEIGH! THIS IS MORE OF WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... YEA!
Old Dan got a little teary eyed when this he heard,
Bowed his head...then nuzzled up the cowpoke without a word.
There never was another day between them with this kind of discourse,
Peace again, between the cowpoke and Old Dan, his horse.
Co-written by: Robert L. Hinshaw and Dan Cwiak for Duet Contest
written 12/20 - 12/25/15
At the end of a fjord
The fjord was long and dark
on both sides, hard granite could not soak up the sun
it was like descending into hell.
But the fjord arm opened and at the bottom
could be seen a small village with red-painted houses,
the people here at been isolated from outside influence
for many years and everyone looked the same,
alas, some were giggling idiots.
I big piece of rock fell off the dark mountainside caused
a tsunami that washed the village away and there
were no survivors, except one who didn`t have the brain
to tell what befell, at the time of the accident he
had been high up in the valley to get the cows home.
The village was moved higher up, and new people moved in,
today it has an airport and has joined modern life
"Ennui Sets In”
Whenever pen is placed
Between purloined phalanges,
When my mind unfolds and tears along the seams,
I know it’s time to move my thoughts,
Through the underground;
That dark crusty void
Of dreary dreams diminished,
Where loose hell raisers floss and shine,
Comb and spray,
As drowning voices backwash yesterday’s histrionics,
Dark-eyed winches peek through the
Centers of dead doughnuts;
Bleacher seats rust and wallow
In half-moon emancipation,
Ennui sets in…
My bow tie knows all the answers.
I cry and beseech for all those tomorrows
To resurrect, to pontificate, to loose
The bowels of screaming sunsets, yet sutured.
I flinch. I sigh.
Force majeure got in the way.
Polka dot panacea,
Wretched weasels in the underbrush,
Prufrock is the metaphor to mangle, impugn, vivify,
And otherwise squeeze until the cows come home.
I’m a poet without a message.
My heart pumps vexations of vaseline,
I am dry and empty
Like the musty moans of sweet madness,
Emanating elusively
From the hollow of ancient days,
Amidst unanswered questions,
At the fork in the road,
Two blocks northwest of my last dying breath,
I am the last sunset!
Ennui sets in.
Twilight vivisection holds the door open this time.
There is no respite,
From Raphael’s regurgitated Renaissance.
He jumps backward,
Through the darkening dissonance,
Dissolved, dismayed, dumbfounded.
Skipper Frank lies dead in the glittering gutter.
The Pancake Man melts into the waxworks.
Madame Tussaud wonders why.
Ennui sets in.
Dead meat saliva feeding
The roses of Robespierre.
Little Lord Fauntleroy is mixing martinis, and
A dozen dainty dames are dancing
Past the midnight of my time.
A blue trumpet, buzzing in the steamy shadows.
Lapping corpses line the phosphoric hillsides;
It’s not what it appears to be.
Truth and beauty perceived in the morning mirror.
Ennui sets in.
my carnivore self is displayed out in the open
I tear a bovine’s tendons and muscle with gusto
my teeth coming up red and bloody;
it is the human way, is it not?
my mouth, throat and gullet gulp away,
unaware of the undigested meat already in my colon.
I plan an organized kindness parade, not caring about cows
Or pigs, unless I am anticipating bacon and pork roast.
I seek direction from no one; feeling all-powerful.
I am a carnivore, am I not? This is validation enough.
My cologne is a combo of unrecognizable floral mixes.
I look pretty, therefore, my killing ways can be forgiven.
Later today I can do a bit of wind surfing or fall off my skates.
My concentration is no longer on my food, but on life.
Why am I never satisfied? Where does my depression originate?
My dendrite stream never realizes I am picking up on animal psyche.
In a subconscious way, my body is reacting to their misery.
When they get brain smashed, so they can be carved into steaks.
I lick my lips, enjoying Heinz 57, wishing I can figure out what is wrong.
My soul knows, but cannot share it with me on this plane.
Will I understand post death when I see my own cadaver?
Will my corpse make me realize how uncivilized meat eating is?
Will I be depressed as I head toward heaven?
Or will I be heading to a lower place?
When the storms came it was catastrophic
They came with cattle bashing hammers
Winds whipped up in ferocious tornado action
They came with the giant cyclops on their backs
Angry because of the extra visual acuity missing
They were wielding axes too to slaughter more cows
Revenge is sweet for one eyed beasts
No milk for you, you filthy animals
No hamburgers on a toasted bun
You meat eating savages with no regard for life
Human or otherwise. Shame on you.
Hold the onions and fries while I cry
Cows don't live inside because they hate you
Invisible forces blew through shuttered windows
When the winds came in it was with a vengeance
But there were no cattle inside
They had already died
Open ranges can be dangerous for grass eating critters
Weeks later new cattle arrived on the prairie
When the flying saucers came from outer space
It was worse than anything imaginable on Earth
Invisible forces drew each cow up one by one
In a line for the sake of efficiency
What happened next we can not say
But we began to eat hot dogs (the ones without the tails)
Do aliens really like cows more than people?
We wonder if we all taste like chicken to them