Long Ewes Poems
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BOTTLE DANCE
Across my land, abysses gnaw at automobiles,
From the foot of the mountain,
To the shores of the oil fountain.
Certificated youths drinking piss to mellow their brains,
Clutching at wheels, dodging bumps into fog lights.
“Stupid, ing dog” curse survivors of amputation “you bastard”
“Who cares, you swine” retorts I the offender
just before crashing into the next one.
In my shack, counting my yields and sighing,
evading the burning eyes of hungry breeds.
How did I ever get here?
In the ring stood I, surrounded by Foncha, Endeley, Jua and Ntumazah
Um Nyobe sang the UPC song and they danced.
They danced the bottle dance.
Sandwiching in the center, on the slaughter slab, my motherland.
Nigeria to the left, La Republique to the right,
Trampling upon outright independence.
Foncha danced and Endeley danced and Nyobe sang and Britain watched.
The tune was clear, the rhythm was jazzed but the lyrics were blur;
Whence had a nation’s independence,
Been conditioned upon attachment to already independent states?
So how did we ever get here?
A loaf of bread baked in the flames of WWI
And served into the plates of Imperial barons of foreign insanity
Too blind to the tongues of oneness.
Drawing a line far far away in the halls of mirror
That tore grandmother’s breasts apart.
The story of the Ewes of Togoland
Was being whispered in her land while she slept.
A line dragged across the highlands of the Adamawa and drained into the Atlantic,
Sullied the virginity and orthography of kamerun.
Grooming a set of dysfunctional twins through years of alien doctrines,
Only to be reunited in an unholy matrimony called Cameroon or Cameroun.
Testaments of tongues foreign like those on a devil’s Pentecost,
That sowed seeds of immortal division.
So this is how really I got here!
A son deprived of the warmth of a Mother
Drained of her milk,
Tapped and shipped offshore.
Scorned and oppressed by a brother,
His name slowing fading away from the sands of time.
And now, the land of bottle dancers clamour for a new dance:
For I know how we got here and I too want to dance;
Federation to the left, secession to the right,
Trampling upon the pseudo 1972 re-unification.
The blood of the brave pipe the tunes
And rhythms of gunshots meet hallelujah,
Sang in a coffin.
While Shepherds watched their flocks by night all seated on the ground
The ewes collected up their lambs and gathered them around
"Listen now," the old Ewe said, "you young lambs listen well,
If you all want to grow to sheep then hark to what I tell
You may see lights up in the sky, or coming cross the downs
They could be aliens my dears, from space, or other towns
They may use flashy coloured beams or other fancy sights
But sometimes they have dim headlamps and indicator lights"
"It does not matter how they come or from what other lands
Aliens are just as bad who drive white transit vans
So lambs who plan to wander off and get up to no good
Can get sheepnapped to Cygnus Prime, or maybe Cricklewood
And whether you are beamed aboard, or bundled in a sack
The aliens have got you, and you won't be coming back
A simple truth for young lambs to, within their noddles, keep
Is alien companionship is never good for sheep"
"It matters not a sci-fi whit dissected in a lab,
Or spiced and served with napkins in a curry or kebab
The preparations, much the same, occuring on the way
Are what you can undoubtedly expect to spoil your day!"
The little lambs were chastened much and some quite overcome
And resolved that they would keep themselves close to their mum
But other things were happening and shepherds on the ground
Beheld an Angel visiting, with glory spread around
"Fear Not", he said for mighty dread had seized their troubled minds
"Great tidings of great joy I bring to you and all mankind"
The sheep reckoned that was not them and were much relieved
It did not really matter if the shepherds were deceived
But still, they thought, 'twas best be off, although no need to hurry
And one or two thought shepherds might improve turned into curry
The night was dark and shepherds eyes were full of holy light
And so the sheep all silently crept off into the night
Leaving shepherds to their fate somewhere among the stars
The sheep hit Bethlehem's nightspots, the clubs, the pubs and bars.
There was a land, and on this land lived sheep.
Like all good sheep, they had their rules to keep.
They lived on farms in their own different flocks,
sleeping, socializing, and taking walks
to find green grass on which they liked to graze.
They mostly lived in peace, but in a haze!
They did not see above them the entities-
(overlords controlling their destinies).
Most sheep were unaware of this, so they
just lived their lives since when as ewes they’d play,
content to later let themselves get fed
or by dogs (which were like police) be led!
The evil overlords who ruled them all
decided on each farm to put a wall,
assuring all of them be forced to eat
a strange new food which tasted rather sweet.
Seeing some sheep dying (even ewes dropped dead) -
a few sheep would not let themselves be fed
These rebel sheep cried out, “Let’s take a stand.
Green grass outside our walls is being banned!”
In protest, they lay down, prepared to perish,
denied the grassy land they’d grown to cherish.
They even found some mud and rolled in it.
The other sheep baa-baaed them, bleating “Quit!
Quit being idiots. Do as you’re told.
We’re sheep, you know. It’s good to be controlled.”
Just then, inside one farm, a wall came down.
The sheep on that farm gathered all around.
The rebels cried, “Perhaps it is a scam!”
when there appeared one of their own – a ram.
With rushing hooves, sheep followed that ram through
a pretty field, but where did it lead to?
There was a cliff which the ram went over.
Behind him followed every sheep pushover.
Three rebels saw what happened, and they tried
to flee their farm to warn all sheep worldwide.
Would other walls come down, each with a ploy?
What other mean schemes would their lords employ?
A tragicomedy needs to be light,
and so to make this story kind of right,
I’ll say a revolution came to pass,
and sheep again are gazing on green grass.
Oct. 2, 2022
for Joe Maverick's Tragi Comedy Poetry Contest
Country Road
Rolled carpets of lawn lie, on a shaven bed
A bed that only a month ago, looked barren and dead
While in another paddock, one of pure contentment
Sit dozens of wooly ewes all with their minds bent
On dreaming of fulfillment; or suckling fluffy lambs
Or perhaps having a frolic, with their favorite rams
And now there spreads a blanket, as far as I can see
Composed of a zillion tiny flowers - weeds, presumably
A mixture of purple and pink, and rich chartreuse
As a ray of sunlight highlights delicate hues
Successions of rays follow now, flooding the whole plain
With new energy and color, before the next bout of rain
Car-sized boulders of granite, surround me now
Like mysterious permanent entities, and I wonder how
They came to be here, in a paddock of their own
Except for the fat merinos, always on the roam
Maybe the boulders rolled here; down from the mountain top
But they're firmly planted now, like surrounding crops
These boulders large and small, had no supervision
Unlike Stonehenge, with its sense of precision
Imagine what they've seen since the ice slowly melted
While weathering nature's blows, as they remain unsheltered
From the wrath of nature, from above and below
And how pretty they'd look, lightly covered in snow
As I quietly move along now; not driving fast
Three majestic eagles rise, from tall ochre grass
Their wing spans are enormous; their beaks bent and mean
These un-caged eagles are the first I've ever seen
They were only fifteen feet away, but then flew up to a tree
Where their gray and fawn feathers, blended in perfectly
Fields of vibrant colors, now, catch my eye
While I'm delighted to see, more rainclouds in the sky
And the wildflowers of delicate and cool-colored hues
Like cobalt, lavender and various other blues
Along with rust-colored grass bordered with lime-green
Turn this country road into, the prettiest road I've seen.
oOo
END
It was not a dark and stormy night
The night was not sultry nor moist
The sky's color didn't please the knight.
The Knight was a gentleman since his youth.
That that Knight had had a thing for mares
of the night was not whatsoever an untruth.
But today, he is OK, managing his wares.
The firmament was red and raining.
It rained blood. 1920! I was eight.
The Knight was fond of chess playing.
When he saw a white knight
was missing he rushed to the stable. The horse ate
the knight!
Luckily, his rival, the Czech
had brought with himself a board.
Thus, it's impossible to be bored!
Nevertheless, the Knight punished the horse
for eating the knight. What a night!
And, although the Knight's voice was hoarse
as a crow he made sure the cheeky horse
would behave. "Now back to the stable!"
At this point, the Knight, didn't feel stable.
Now, let's go back to the chess match!
They did make sure the pieces match.
And the Czech, ludicrously, bust out a match
for his cigar. Now, not a missing piece!
Great! They can start the game in peace!
11 minutes later, the Czech mate
won. So, he said: "Checkmate!"
$100 prize! A cheque signed the Knight.
"This is a bogus cheque, mate!"
cried the Czech. What a horsey night!
They both heard
the horse neigh.
A lamb in the herd
heard the Czech say: "Nay!
This is a counterfeit cheque!
You can't do this to a Czech!
I had you in check
only once before checkmating you!
You won't pay? Gimme the ripe ewe!"
"I can't! The ewe is on the lam!"
"Then if no ewe, you get me a lamb!
Should you refuse, I shall touch the piano!"
Dark Castle. Knight and Czech keep arguing.
Stark hassle. Night can't check this lightning.
The mussel sleeps
and counts
ewes, lambs, sheep
and Counts.
The Count's mussel
can't count muscles.
America Watts
1851-1934
Mister White buried me here beside Greek George,
Back here, with the wind-tossed weeds and the walnuts.
“Hey George, you old camel driver, you.
Can you hear me over there?
I can relate to your dogged controlling ways.”
With invisible trace chains attached to my pigtails,
Mister Watts for 39 years was my master and tormentor;
Five times in our marriage I felt the bloody pangs,
Of his beaded belt, and bare knuckles.
Five times I fled from his house a frighted,
Wondering if I would wake up the next morning alive.
“Hey George, you old camel driver, you,
Can you hear me over there?
I was no beast of burden to beat,
Nor was I his old blanket to hang on the line.”
When a possible sixth time erupted in 1891,
I ran to the tool shed next to the privy,
Out back, there, with the lilacs and the bleating ewes.
And I desperately grabbed his bladed axe.
“No Mister Watts! You will not beat me today!”
I screamed, as nearby neighbors looked on.
“No Mister Watts! Never again will I accept this!”
Looking back on that moment, here in my grave,
I believe Mister Watts was waiting for me to at last resist him.
No more after that was I his silent patsy.
No more was I his old, used-up mare,
His old brow-beaten girl, with ticks, gadfly bites,
And a thousand silent complaints.
“Hey George, you old camel driver, you.
Can you hear me over there?
Truth be known, I stood up to my only love in life.”
I finally decided to make a stand against him,
The one who fed, clothed and provided a roof over my head.
And he stopped. He stopped!
Thank the Lord, he stopped beating me!
And here I am, after 83 years of toil, hardship and pain,
Buried happily, way back here,
With the wind-tossed-weeds and the walnuts.
My Regular Day
by natalie
As the first light breaks,
How the hawks soar above me.
The sheep graze alongside me,
As the colors of oranges, reds and pinks shine
brightly
When the cock sings his beautiful Morning song,
The new lambs will perfect day commences.
Fervently my dark-grey led hits the bare paper,
That's when I portray all that I have seen,
The hawks soaring, the sheep grazing, the cock
Singing and the lambs prancing.
Ah, the beauty in one morning.
Now! Its time to add all the stunning colors,
The scarlet-red mixed in with the carroty-orange
mingled with cherry-pink,
All rightly colored as that morning that took my
Breath away.
The chilly water tickling my toes.
The composed minnows gather around,
As the fox hides in her den.
The butterfly slowly flutters above me.
The two dragonflies dancing their duet,
The strong smell of fresh mint fills up the creek,
As the creek slowly flows with the sound of tingling
that follows with it.
The refreshing breeze blows on my face,
Cooling it down from the temperate sun.
When the day comes to the end,
The radiant stars slowly gather around me.
The hawks take their slumber,
And the mysterious owls take their place as they now
soar through the sky,
The warm, puffed up mother ewes snuggle their
young while they go onto their nightly trance.
As the strong rem stances proudly on the hill
watching and bravely protecting all the sheep.
The crickets take the tough cocks place and cries its
nightly song,
As for me, well, I take my rest as my dreams fly by,
Hoping that the next day will be another regular day.
Form:
The Promise
A promise wakes your mornings
Following you in whispers,
Walking in your footsteps,
Murmuring in the soft bleating
Of birthing ewes
As close to you as the breath
You take in and out
Sustaining life –
A life you yearn to extend
In a line longer
Than a string of stars
Created by your creator’s hand.
And, even in the stillness
Of newborn moonlight,
When the promise spills out of you
In ribbons of scarlet saturating the ground
With an earthy musk,
It stands before you,
Beckons you to leave your sighs
In the alabaster light –
Left as one month – one year –
Folds into the seasons
When lambing, shearing, spinning and weaving
Become as one day passing –
An unbroken thread
Defined by the promise
Until, one day, touched by the divine whimsy
The absurd begins to grow
Deep within that place in you
That stopped believing
Until you too must look past
The cycle of the moon with joy and expectation
Dancing together in every heartbeat
And every new breath –
The promise smiles, then laughs,
As waters burst to bless the barren
Flowing on the arid ground
Where scarlet ribbons once turned the earth
Bright crimson;
Your barren arms, now filled with blessings,
Reach out to cradle
The promise thriving with an invitation
To look beyond this family
Into the days and hours approaching –
An unbroken heartbeat –
A whirlwind rising
Pulling up your new, now ancient family tribe,
To mirror in their eyes
Your covenant
Yearning to become one heartbeat
Pulsing throughout days, weeks and decades
Called back into the fertile birthing place
Where the One, the Word, resides forever.
The morning has started with a trace of a dew
An ascent through the tussock ignites the new day
Trailing huntaways eager to work on the ewes
Awaited shrill whistles loose the dogs on their prey.
A new shepherd surveys as proceedings unfold
Sinewy figures employing hill sticks with care.
Spectacular vistas with a dawn of pure gold
Formidable mountains looking solemn and bare.
Below a glass lake reflects sharp rugged peaks
A boat carves the water, slicing the image in half.
Sounds of dogs barking as sheep break from a creek
White ribbons slowly form in planned choreograph.
Shepherds whistles are mingled with thousands of bleats
Descending sheep merging to form an earth cloud.
Above dust and steam rise, as if to compete
Wisps of white rolling as matagouri stands proud.
A fantail flits on the first hints of the breeze
While a waxeye settles amid two twists of barb wire.
As sheep reach a plateau, the expanse seems to tease
Though allured, dogs restore order on sheep that inquire.
Searching mouths hastily nibble tests of fresh grass
Stragglers are hastened by gleeful dogs and their bark
Looking back up the hill the commotion has passed
Hawks floating on thermals within a large arc.
Mid morning arrives as the sheep enter the yards
Dogs climbing in troughs and having rest in the sun
The new shepherd knows this is his time to safeguard
His future life on the land has now just begun.
**If I haven't quite portrayed the
picture properly this may help.
http://www.photomack.co.nz/farming
Is it truth, is it fruit, unspoiled?
Filtered news under play kitchen hard boil?
Unproofed, (by the look of empty pews);
But filled with spoofs of slogan-bringers
and their faxual cheques and unbalanced ques.
Tic Tac tow line item wiki tiki savy? Views,
for the mass of slaughtered Ewes at the pulpit of
Mediacracy Stooged Grammys.
Is it coordinated, perpetrated, instigated
by a disaster an example of to make?
Seized upon like DeathEaters, coffin display cased, Golden Corall Death-Match buffet of Elites vs Human Race.
With News worthy Typeface Headliner, AP API,
folder and *IA attache case.
MSNns.attached.
Letters to the Editards.
Typesetters, Jetsetters, Letterheads, say "Obey"!
Official Mandates, of The Green Religion.
scapegoatery, and vision of the "Ascended Masters"
masked itinerary. Although our binary Twin is causing
it from Space.
Christian hating, "peace loving, Cartels of "walking.
according to lusts"?
WhOracles Selling hallucinogenic traffic, as trending.
justice online in the name of us in fishnets and busty.
nuts.
In spirit of the counter culture of cancel culture of.
Lucis Trust.
Fallen Angels Dusting for keylogging fingerprints,
recognition facing us, off against us.