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.
The sun barbequed the skin, raising a tenderized pink glow
to the cheeks of the children in the ramshackle red barn.
The three story hay loft partly empty was bristling with tikes.
Pincushioned with straw, sharp as needles,
in their hair, tee-shirts and socks
an “itch-o-rama” of gross magnitude.
Hoarse screams of “Geronimo!”
propel a girl child out ward over the abyss;
letting go directly over the haystack on the first floor.
Barn boards groan under the weight of her flailing form.
Sweet, so sticky sweet, was the air with sweat, hayseed, and manure.
Red welts form on errant scratches rising up on the her skinny arms.
The boy plops from the thick dangling rope inches from her.
“Hi-Ho Silver!” he hollers; kissing her cheek with a big wet raspberry,
running deer-like from the barn doors toward the pastures awaiting bossy.
Up the stone tossed rock wall he clambers at ankle breaking pace.
Leaping from stone wall to the cow’s back;
“Come on, chicken!” he yells.
The girl follows more timidly watching out for
the broken, blue-bottle, glass shards
that poke out from between the fieldstones.
Reaching cow side, she blows brown hair from her face.
Hands on her tiny hips, she eyes the cow and rider.
The cow evil eye stares at her from one side of its huge head.
He slaps the cows rump. Sneakers wail into cowside
and with an indignant bellow of disgust rider and cow are off, girless,
toward the saltlick, leaving the kiss
and the red barn, but a memory.
Dry skies scorch the earth, and skin shrinks to bone.
Heat sticks on teeth like obstinate plaque.
When nature's passive aggressions attack,
silenced rain ~ ruins seeds ~ yields beds of stone.
Misty eyes melt quickly ~ tears are prone.
It's all straw, opines the widow with a wilted back.
Dry skies scorch the earth, and skin shrinks to bone.
Heat sticks on teeth like obstinate plaque.
Dogs die, crops rot, cats run hot, cows moan.
Sorrows rise with the sun also ~ too bright is black.
Wilted widow folds at the knees for her abysmal lack.
Palms locked, cradling the final petal she will own.
Dry skies scorch the earth, and skin shrinks to bone.
On ocean bowride below gentle titans peep
ghost ships of the Pacific hunt and chase -
where great barnacled seafarers of the deep
beneath the waves its blue waters grace.
Old sea tales of killing lance and spear tip
tell of the dying struggle of the flurry -
once more mighty hulks of beast and ship
haunt the dark shadows of the undersea.
Let no harpoon pierce your skin,
no flense cut and slice,
not body or fin.
Let no kill sound its death throes,
and may long
live the shout of “thar she blows!”
Far and yon an old boneyard whaling station
fluking bulls and cows circle the perilled pod,
and breach and dive in fabled echolocation
the bones of Ahab and wreck of the Pequod.
Still ghost ships old hunting grounds scout
that mystic echo whalesong far reaching,
and still cavernous mouths unmade to shout
trap by moon and tide on remote beaching.
Let no harpoon pierce your skin,
no flense cut and slice,
not body or fin.
Let no kill sound its death throes,
and may long
live the shout of “thar she blows!”
Written: July 1992
Statetly young prince into a village came riding
Prepared to pay the price of bride that he decided
Hearing that in this village one such maiden was residing
In the village an uproar as young maidens were adorned
A feast was called and all the village brought new corn
Meat fit for a king to eat, dried fruit, a fat calf new born
In this village a young maiden plain, homely, quiet spoken
Her aunts, mother, said to fix her shouldn't be undertaken
She would remain home care for family, aged, heartbroken
When all we gathered around the ceremonial table
All the village elders showed the daughters available
The prince looked and stated their qualities acceptible
He kept saying aren't there more maidens that you adore
Well the chief said from one family here there is one more
Bring her please let her grace come to the center floor
This young maiden came with just a simple lamp, flask of oil
The prince felt his heart fill and overflow with joy, no turmoil
This is the one this is my bride the choice for my life unspoiled
He paid the price of the bride in that day one healthy cow
One year later at a distance a watchmen saw a caravan and did bow
As this group can slowly into the village on them did descend
With them there was a herd of cattle fatten the pride of any man
Thousand of them when the count was made
Upon the finest horse one not recognized did parade
She sat with pride a smile on her face
Then all recognized that she was the bride
One so homely now was the cherished prize
When the prince found that his bride was worth rubies
Buried treasure without measure he brought to the village
A thousand cows for she was his prize his joy his bride
Crazy 2020
Up side out – downright up –clocks get surly;
Rivers flow north – time faints – Murphy’s Law scores;
Early runs late now late running early –
One and three just don’t make four anymore.
Rosters crow at midnight – moonrise at noon;
Zebras minus stripes – giraffe with short legs;
Cats with trunks – hippos hop like kangaroos –
Cows give green milk – pink hens laying pink eggs.
Natural order all in shambles – spun round –
Winter's wearing flowers – snowflakes confused;
Mother Nature’s psychotic break profound
Normal now anormal – chaos unloosed.
Year “out of order,” just hang the sign out;
Wait for repair – a screwed up year no doubt.
5-23-20
14 Lines
One evening, in a sleepy Connecticut town, the locals saw a peculiar sight,
a UAP had landed in an empty field, and man, it lit up the night.
They were, axiomatically, from a distant galaxy, here to explore our shared cosmic space,
their metallic-phallic-rocket was multicolor pastel bright, like a carnival showcase.
There were cows that mooed approvingly and dogs that barked up at the sky,
like they needed to show where the thing came from - no one really knew why.
Soon little green people-like beings emerged, they had big, wide eyes that looked eerie,
but then again, this is how they’d always looked in movies and on TV.
"Take us to your leader," they said, but it was hard to take them seriously,
because this is America and most of us disagree on who that leader should be.
Someone brought out lawn chairs and the alien-astronauts settled in,
tables appeared shortly thereafter with a spread of pies, casseroles and fried chicken.
They spoke of their interstellar journeys, of planets far and wide,
of space cafes and wormhole highways and how gravity worked like tides.
One of the kids played some music and the explorers started to move,
soon we were having a dance-off - which they won - with some wacky, cosmic moves.
As morning light edged the horizon, our little green friends waved goodbye,
after saying that in some ways they envied us and our simple terrestrial lives.
Though they never promised to revisit, when the sky turns certain shade of blue,
townsfolk will set up a pasture party - just in case they do.
.
.
*Webster: Axiomatic: something understood as obviously true
#With_my_mother_in_mind
My heart aches but some distance hunch, clears the odds, thus far I have traveled, the little spark in that very distant, blows soft breeze to my weakling faith, that; your body still shielding that breath, it's an envetable precision that your better days are pulling closer.
Thinking of my mother, crying tears in me start to dry up, hold my head up, my heart warms up, I sense joy crouching, the steps fades, with their nearing approach. Hand me the spear, I wanna stand secured, to ebb life of every evil hand into my ancestors served jar. The eye of heaven looked for the worthy, and my ancestors availed me, taught me the tricks of life, as a package to pursue their calling.
God and my ancestors agreement. Cut off my umblical cord, bare foot on the ground, for their floors are holly. With a lion leather my ancestors clothed me, as a crown for a king. Fear distanced with every encounter to my duties, a spiritual warrior belt on my upper left hand. Voices like unleashed bows to the back of my ears, penetrates; lead us, they say.
Start running like a blind loose bullet, tearing every dungeon, piercing every beast of evil, as I pass. Assured by the price before my life; a better world, a better tomorrow. A whistle hanging on my neck, to call for backup when the going weighs on my tiny body.
Gathering strength with every success of the challenges. My body structure says; you are a child but in me I constantly hear forefathers and foremothers speaking through my voice. It's the spirit that counts, you are a spiritual forefather. I could feel the leaning stick settling comfortably in my right hand palm, ngiyikhehla
Feared death would leave my pursuits without guard and the voices returns; ancestors watch better their artefacts from above; you are secured, spiritual kingdomship, where we are and your throne remains vacant, until you ascend back to it.
Drop on my one knee, bowing with glory, giving gratitude to them. Many will be called but only a few shall be chosen, I'm of the chosen tribe. Lions and wild cows articulates my name better
#Poetic_Ink
There is a water shortage.
A problem the moon shines
to introspect its tides
and how they can become still
with or without the clouds.
I forgive the engineered outrage.
Attracting everything but
rhythm because to flow
is to sleep next to a hut
thatched with growth.
While the children
in the village no longer
need to chew corn
or drain milk from cows
for nature or for their people.
No need to carry buckets of water
or language in long distances
that they forget The Alphabet,
Speaking rivers and
lakes of a lost youth.
An unprotected innocence,
choosing for this thirst
to be satisfied with a new system.
Too many missing words
in all our constitutions.
apes smile
ants pile
bats cleave
bugs leave
cocks crow
cows plough
dogs bark
ducks quack
elks stride
eels slide
frogs leap
fleas creep
goats skim
gars swim
hares dig
hens sprig
insects
infect
jays sing
joys ring
krills feed
kois breed
Lord*-blest
life's nest.
*Genesis 1:25 And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
May 7, 2022
7th place, "A Brian Strand PREMIERE" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/7/2022.
We must haste
They are so happy, the parents, grandmother’s uncle and aunts showing on Facebook the addition
to the family.
Do they not for a minute think what the child´s future will be?
The world is on the brink of total collapse, but no one takes this calamity that is coming our way, will
kill them and the children.
The polar ice is melting so much sea it is drowning smaller islands
who will become refugees seeking shelter somewhere safe?
Nowhere is safe with fire and endless tornados turning houses into driftwood.
Big cities will be unhabitable and sink under the greedy sea.
This is happening before our eyes, we build bigger airports
and larger aeroplanes; yes, and ships too.
Ah, I hear you say, we can be rid of fossil fuel and rely on electricity
to do that fields where cows grazed had to be converted into solar farms.
And we have windmills, but it will not be enough even if we built a million
of them filling the landscape with their ugly appearance.
The rest has to come from converting coal into electricity.
The hardest thing of all is to get rid of cars the clogging up motorways befouling, the air, we breaths.
We have to learn living closer to our place of work is a more compact smaller world we can`t all use bicycles unless we`re middle class
And use the bike for recreation.
If we do not repair what we have besmirched, there will be no future for the new generations.