Long Herd Poems
Long Herd Poems. Below are the most popular long Herd by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Herd poems by poem length and keyword.
The ugly American likes waving the flag.
And dissing what he doesn’t understand.
He’s scared of change and threatened by intelligence,
But says he’s only honoring his clan.
The ugly American can’t think for himself.
He follows the herd spreading rumors and fear.
He’s a self-taught gomer, and a sucker for conmen
Who always tell him what he's eager to hear.
The ugly American is an immature child.
He wants to live in the past as though those days were gold.
He’d have worshiped Father Coughlin, and Kingfish Huey Long.
Now he champions a modern demagogue.
The ugly American doesn’t need to rob banks,
Molest little children or murder his wife.
All he needs to do is keep his head in the sand
To see the consequences of an unenlightened life.
The ugly American never looks in the mirror.
He prides himself on honoring his roots.
If he saw his reflection, he’d be faced with the fact
That he's as useful now as worn-out cowboy boots.
The ugly American likes waving the flag,
And dissing what he doesn't understand.
“Obstacle In Our Path”
Elephants
Side to side
Side to side
Rhythmically rocking my enormous body and head
Side to side
Side to side
Like a pendulum my trunk swings side to side
I'm only doing this because I'm bored
~
My family and I walk for miles and miles
Foraging,
Dusting,
Mud wallowing,
Swimming and socializing
~
We encounter an obstacle in our path
Humans have built a fence and block our path
Evidently they forgot that we never forget the path we always take?
~
I tense my enormous frame
Flare my ears and with a
Trump of rage
I gather my herd and together we work and push the fence down
To clear our path
~
Side to side
Side to side
We walk across and melt into the bush
©By: Eve Roper 8/28/2015
Contest Name: Giant animals
Sponsor: Nathan D.
I KNOW YOU, you're me because I am you
I know in the dark when you think No one is watching, in your head you question !!
In feeble struggles your weak mind tries to remember, too bad its an unfit muscle!! You should have exercised it, you should have thought more!!
I know you silently ask yourself:
"Where am I,
Who am I" No, you ask yourself
"Who am I really"
"Who can I ask? You silently ponder!!
Well you can't ask me and you can't ask us!!
Somewhere in time you lost yourself and you pretended to be a sheep and flocked along with the herd but now you're truly lost,
You lost your individuality and now you don't know what you lost because self to you doesn't exist. you walk, look, act and talk like a flock, we can't tell you apart
So they too must be lost, they cannot guide you! so now you wonder who is herding, who is grouping you? Who is numbering you?
Could I be him? Maybe you're different, Do you think we're alike?
Am I different or am I insane? If I'm normal then you're not
Somehow you long forgot where you misplaced your driving purpose, now the confused media is your driving deities.
Who where you before this world made you a number?
Before it programmed you all flock, fleet, herd and all prey to this disease of the mind, this insanity cloaked in normalcy
Does time mean anything to you, or are you too busy to listen?
what do you live for?
For in shadow in the stead of you truly living you choose to simply exist.
Do you know where you're herded or you like just being so much that you flow with tide. You shall rue this precious time you wasted dilly-dallying
I know tomorrow you will not have lived nearly enough, you'll wake up depressed and think on giving up and wish for an end and when the end comes, I know you'll wish you had lived for what truly matters.
We're not sheep, we need not be herded by men. Open your eyes see and believe , listen intently and truly hear to understand. Swallow this sour pill it is truth, its both bitter and sweeter than lies. Follow your heart ask for insight, use your mind, its a useful muscle, deeply breathe in today and make a vow to yourself to truly live.
Form:
I met a lanky ol' feller th' other day,
An' I want ter tell ya'll about 'im if'n I may.
An' ol' slouch hat was pulled down on his pate,
An' he ambled along at a leisurely gait.
Slightly bowed legs says he'd spent years in th' saddle.
His steely-eyed glare would make a rattlesnake skedaddle!
His flowin' mustaches drooped down b'low his jaw.
In his cheeks wuz a huge wad uv terbaccy chaw!
He wuz leadin' a handsome cattle cuttin' cayuse.
Let me tell ya'll uv his skill with a stream of terbaccy juice.
Why, its been told 'round these parts fer years,
That frum fifty paces he kin pin back a jack rabbit's ears!
"Well, it's time to go ter work", rails the boss,
An' he climbs aboard his good and faithful hoss.
Ridin' all day long, th' fences to mend, and,
Gittin' ready to round up the dogies to brand!
Pete tol' me he'll never herd cows in a pick-up truck,
Nor eat grub frum no fancy eatery fer chuck.
He'll keep ridin' th' range on his devoted ol' horse,
Cowboyin' th' ol' ways with absolutely no remorse!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Death
kills not despair
emotion found in Hell
nor does it kill wrath
against life imperfect
kills driver's chance
instead
to turn wheel
to gratitude gear
before bodyless
descent
down
slippery slope
of no return
all stays static
in Hell
no need for change
in boring hell
only the perfect
ends there
life changes
from imperfect
to imperfect
teethless to toothless
biting teeth of winter ice
to birds' alarm chatter
stinking flowers
nourishing wasps
to blistering heat
of sun caprice
till autumn thief
robs trees
dry
men to cows
parasites
helpless baby
senseless pa
ignorant mass
mediocre at best
leaving carbon
footprints
and nothing else.
Elite's wealth
will rid earth
of the useless:
pestilence, wars,
famines, GMO's
contraception, abortion
secret weapons
of mass destruction
nuclear blasts,
perfected by nerds
to kill the herd.
Devil dimmed eyes
don't you see
it's suicide?
Nature won't stay deaf
adding its toll
to death
revenging blood
unjustly shed
shaking mountains
out of lap
sneezing objects
down from sky
clouds dry
no tears left to cry
volcano mouths
erupting
dragon breaths
sea belly vomiting
tsunamis
turning skyscrapers
to dirt
killing with one blast
good and bad.
Humble life
not claiming
to be perfect
content of doing
the correct
to continues God's
life breath on earth
rotating wheel
from baby to caretaker
circle cycling
different each time
light following night
crocus piercing snow
unafraid of dying
from ice
rain and sun
softening heart's clay
for seeds to sprout
melody of spring songs
in azure skies
God's image
of love
shouldering sin
waste
breathing out
life
pears and apples
with God's seeds
perpetual imprint
whispering of peace
its silence
one limb torn
from humanity body
even the stones will cry.
Satan hates life
mortal wound
to his pride
only God
can create and
resurrect life.
God's life breath
not destroyable by death
descends into the abyss
if Holy Spirit's flame
is blown out by sin
or ascends to Paradise
of joy eternal
if forgiven by Jesus Christ.
That is all
that matters
to No-Body
which in time
is everybody.
I had the distinction of being labeled 'Robert' by Mom and Dad.
Somehow that evolved into the moniker I'm known by today,
And the name I prefer, just plain ol' Bob - what more need I say!
I shed the cute name of 'Bobby' when becoming an older lad!
Many chaps through the ages have carried this distinguished name.
Let me list some of the redeeming qualities of us guys,
And I'll leave it to the reader, our attributes to surmise.
Some of us were destined for dismal doom - others to glory and fame!
Bobs tend to "git 'er done" with a minimum of pretension.
Most every Bob is a trusty, reliable and decent sort,
And is just an all-around ordinary good sport.
We like to get lost in the herd thereby attracting less attention!
But, mind you, Bobs when necessary can be rough and tough.
There is nothing flashy or tawdry about us Bobs,
And we detest crude behavior and insufferable snobs!
Furthermore, from nary a soul will we take any guff!
The solid ol' name of 'Bob' means "bright shining fame."
The name 'Bob' is also a palindrome, don't you know,
Easily spelled no matter which way you go,
Something a Clarence, Buford or Wolfgang can't claim!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for CT's "What's In Your Name" Contest
Just In Headliners:
A sinister come-back
Falsity applies, a genuine bible hack
In a Dracon stratosphere, a reincarnate
Harsh is a nice word, worst of the worst
Anticipating being heard, spitting at the herd
You don’t understand how good you’re at it
What awaits us lonely hobbit
Acute awareness behind lips whistle
Missiles of angst, killer of bloody killer’s
Boasting and blasting warns of crucifixion
Shaking a finger, shaming on us
And nothing for the souls, they’ve had it
The riff raff became a bore, as he is more
Swinger raising quite a few eyebrows
Mad cow, bird brain, fluish mind bestows
Astral parasites, bloody vampire bites
Make space stagnant, a dangerous empire
Hate beast the top crow eats crow
Painfully punitive now disappear
An emperor naked to the world
Take my eyes for they see the truth
I see the people who live in fear, gone by
Mutilator of words they are lost in the gallows
Take my ears they tire of lies hard to swallow
Stringent ideas, antis’—shït show theatre
Clique-Nik's tough trumpeter’s end is closer
Brutalist codefest a poser nauseates
Hope feels buried in alabaster quick sands
Tears shall drip for years in western pools
Take my breath for I can’t live with fascist fools
In tyrannical hell where opaque deeds dwell
It's uncertainty smells of rotting flesh
Not a time for the timid of heart
Not a time for summer soldiers
nor quasi part-time patriots
Perhaps the end of time
or just another existential design
in a warped world
Oh, noble beast, you stand before me muscles quivering in fright
wanting nothing more than to flee. Unable to break or jump the
bars, you blow steam from flaring nostrils and paw the ground.
Once you ran free as the wind racing with it through canyons and
climbing high up the steep slopes you rear in pure joy at the top.
Little do you know you have captured a heart, the heart of a man
who desires to own you. That soon he will trap you and enslave you.
Soon you will be ripped from your herd forced to leave your mares
and foals unprotected. No longer free to roam the wild ranges.
Run down until your flanks heaved with exhaustion and the sweat
soaked your skin. Lassoed and dragged to this corral. Now you swing
your hip in warning for none to approach you. The man sits himself
down and quietly waits until curiosity finally wins and cautiously you
draw closer and snuffle his scent snorting as hastily you back away.
Several days pass now you take food from his hand and allow his touch.
Yet still you gaze far off to the valleys and I can see your longing to
be there free again. I take your side against my man pleading with him
that it would be wrong to enslave this fiery spirit of yours. His place is
not here see how he pines for freedom and his herd. Reluctantly her
man agreed and swung wide open the corral gate startled the horse
stared out then bucking he flew out to freedom yet shortly he returned
and put his head on the man's neck as if to say thanks.
He returned to his herd and fought off an intruder who had moved in.
Now you might think this the end of the tale but oh no it is not.
That winter was very harsh new foals found it hard to cope and often
perished. The stallion remembered the man and drove his favourite mare
to his place placing her in his care only just in time as she foaled that
night in the worst blizzard in living memory. The stallion returned to the rest
of his herd and brought them too down near the homestead and so a lasting
friendship was formed with both enjoying their freedom and yet also sharing
with each other.
In this process of holy
One must always submit
As long as you tithe
No sin is necessary to admit
Walk around with authority
No self-doubt permitted
No guilt or shame
Over violence you've committed
When the pool of healing
Is stirred by angels unknown
Jump in with full assurance
That you, my brother, are fully grown
A shepherd in good standing
Fully approved by god
To herd your lambs at will
And utilize that staff and rod
When others get out of line
Though you are worse than they
Only God himself is over you
So, not one of them can say, to you, NAY!
...this is the contract you signed
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-07-2026
A BUSH FIRE
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it,
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.