Long Milk Poems
Long Milk Poems. Below are the most popular long Milk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Milk poems by poem length and keyword.
There is, in the Los Angeles area, a well-known brand of milk, called Alta Dena. Near also,
is the city named Alta Dena, and my grandson lives there. I asked him if he had seen the dairy there, and he told me that it does not exist. I then asked him if he had seen herds of milk cattle there and he said that he had not, and doubted that there were any. Of course I wondered why the milk had such a name, and jokingly asked him to look for at least one cow in the city, since it was well built-up, and there were no obvious open pastures at all. I told him that we could only conclude that it this had to b a very famous and rare cow that could supply all the milk needed by a large urban dairy, and thus must be insured, protected from the idle public, and secreted in some private home where she would not be disturbed. The whole story and speculation grew into a riotous family "search" for this wondrous animal. I, of course, ask my grandson each week when I see him, for a progress report on the search. Finally, I have decided to turn it into a poem:
A Search Continues
Something very hush-hush is going on
and Alta Dena folk aren't going to tell.
All cowdom secreted within its bovine lair
yet Bo would stare contentedly at us
with no incursive moo directed at the hellish
vine that she must eat, in lieu of meadow grass.
That ever-present cud must still
be masticated; yea, her celebrated udder
must be filled.
Yet none admit to having sighted her.
Beastiana though she be, no Altadenian
will dare so much as low on her behalf,
no bull, Eden-bound, is ready to exchange
his bold, testicular desire
to service mewling ruminants
who merely run away.
Nay, uncowed are they, though cowed they be,
and cowards not--and if you do not see
their wisdom, chalk it up to power,
Bo's mammary magnificence, so easily
in jeopardy before a single squeeze,
not of a nipple but a trigger
thus applied, and speeding out of sight.
Challenge, indeed, our quest to find
this noble and prolific queen
who dominates with graceful quietude
her milky empire slurping quite
without a care, lush liquid destined
not to slosh within her, rather
in those tumescent tummies
ever crying out for more.
Would I betray them for a share?
Of course. Away with those content
to sour the milk of human kindness
with deception. Let the search go on!
~
I don’t think I shall quite forget the name Camilla Martin.
She’s the teacher of me grandson at the local kindergarten.
No question she’s a lovely lady; dedicated through and through,
but the lesson that she learnt this day is one that I learnt too.
It just happened on the day I drove young ‘Gaz’ to kindergarten,
there’s a special birthday happening - it’s his teacher Mrs. Martin.
I wondered why young Gazza had this present all wrapped up,
so after telling me the reason, he whispered “It’s a cup.”
It was a special morning for all the Mums and Dads were there.
I was the only Grandpa but young Gazza didn’t seem to care.
There’s a birthday cake with candles, lollies, hats and lemonade,
and the kids all brought a present … and I’m glad I overstayed …
To see the look upon the faces of the kids who held their gift,
as Mrs. Martin stood up at the front to give these kids a lift,
by waiting to receive each offer as presented one by one,
and she really liked the cup handed to her by me grandson.
And the other little children were quite interesting as well,
as they stepped up to the podium with a similar tale to tell,
when Mrs. Martin made predications to what the wrapping held,
for she knew the parents business thinking that their gift has gelled.
She’s spot on with Jenny Damon whose family own a florist store.
Mrs. Martin beamed out “Flowers,” and Jenny smiled, “For sure.”
When the local milk bar’s Billy Cann stepped up beaming bright,
Mrs. Martin said “This must be chocolate,” and Billy nods “That’s right.”
Mrs. Martin waited patiently for ‘Ginger’ Roberts from the hotel,
who stepped forward with his gift that she thought that she could tell,
because it appeared somewhat a shoebox that did have an ominous sign;
it appeared a bottle’s leaking and she gathered it was wine.
Mrs. Martin put her finger in the liquid but the taste to her is strange,
and for a joke she said to ‘Ginge’, “Is this not Penfolds Grange?”
‘Ginge’ answered “No” so Mrs. Martin tried to guess again,
with one more taste upon her lips, she asked, “Is this champagne?”
‘Ginge’ shook his head when saying “No”, so Mrs. Martin gave a sigh,
“Well I give up,” she smiled at ‘Ginge’ “No, I’ll give it one more try.”
So on her lips goes one last taste to resolve this gift of grog
as Ginger interrupted - “Mrs. Martin … it’s a little puppy dog.”
(Continued from Bill's side 10“)
"Never mind that. I know you well enough to know you know what you’re doing.
Just stick with me and keep me informed especially on this one. I’ll give you as much
leeway as I can. I got a hunch this case is going to be rough in more ways than
one. Get me? I’ve been around a while. I didn’t come with this morning’s milk. The
Captain and I already been discussing this one with the Commissioner. This
vigilante thing is dangerous and already out of control.”
Bill still didn’t know where this was going but at least so far he hadn’t been
demoted to walking a beat. His hope and nerve was picking up. This Griggs guy
was tough and had a rep for no bull. “Yeah, that’s wha ….”
“Just shut up and listen, Sgt. Lipton. The Captain doesn’t want any part of that
vigilante case. He wants a good record for an upcoming political agenda. That’s no
secret. He doesn’t want anything to do with this case because he’s afraid it won’t
get solved and his record will be stained with it.
You just stick to what you’re supposed to be doing and keep your ear to the
ground. From experience I know that vigilante.. if it’s just one,... isn’t going to work
out his issues in just one precinct. Keep in touch with what’s going on while you’re
on and off duty. If you got to check something out off the cuff, you are to ask me
first. Get it? Mums the word to the Captain. If he hears anything about our talk I’ll
deny every bit of it and you’ll be left holding the bag. Do you get my drift here Sgt.?
……… … .. …. “Cat got your tongue?”
“No sir, I just…uh …yes sir I mean ….I get your drift.”
“Good , I enjoyed our conversation…now haven’t you got someplace to go? It’s
knock off time. I believe your up for mounty duty tomorrow.”
“Yes, I believe I am. Is there anything else Lt Griggs?”
“Yes, close the door on your way out.” Bill took his hat up off his knee, stood up and
walked the three steps to the door when Lt Griggs said without looking up from his
paper work on his desk, “Bill…?
“Yes sir?”
“ Glad to have you back“, he said with a more relaxed tone, “Now get outa here.”
And he went back to his case file.
Bill smiled, went to his office, traded his ball cap in for his Stetson and left the
building mulling over what the Lt had and had not told him.
(to be cont on Richard Pickett poetry site)
To MOM; March 11,1979
This is the story of an animal trainer,
Whose mettle and courage, couldn't be plainer.
A search'd reveal if you'd care to explore,
None greater exists than El Eleanor.
She's faced the very meanest big game
And transformed them all , smiling and tame.
There's Big Daddy Harry, King of the Brood,
He fights in the jungle and brings home the food.
When the hunting is hard, his scorn can be raw.
El soothes the pain, takes a thorn from the Pa.
The next animal is Rusty the Red.
The patron saint of unmade beds.
A beast of habits, bad ones galore,
His head s in the clouds, his, clothes on the floor.
El's plans are to put an end to his bad mannered life,
By chasing him within,an inch, of. his wife.
Lindsey's the next, she's no longer wild.
El taught her well when she was. a child,
Out of the home and into the night,
She's now a trainer in her own right.,
By way of taming by putting a smile on,
She's done a dog, a .cat, and one big Italian.
The animal Robert likes his milk whole,
Drinks only unmixed, unopened and cold.
Devour, he can, a whole pound of meat,
Sharing with him sure ain't a treat.
El''s main defense against his devour'n,
Is a refrigerator as big as a cavern.
Next on the tour tour is Kristin Clothes-Horse.
Her closet is full, but never her purse.
El hopes to prevent a new"confederacy"
One which would a poor man, namely, "Poverty Lee".
Now we find Jenny the Baker.
With time, she's become quite the good pastry maker.
Jenny however''s a wrestling cook,
An odd combination that's not in the book,
She has her own reasons, for truth to tell, son,
The cooking is a wrestling move called a"full Nelson".
Hilary's a creature who likes to get around
In automobiles at the speed of sound.
She doesn't always though, 'specially not at night,
Then she likes to travel at the speed of light.
It's hard to see now but she's on the track,you see,
Of her own future business - called Hilary's Taxis.
Nori's the last, but not the least,
A full member of this zoo, and like the rest a beast.
A paradox of sorts, this Blue Prize winner,
Is proof that church schools are chock full of sinners,
Thus we are the animal house,
And though we may complain and grouse,
Everyone, no matter his status,
Thinks El Eleanor's got to be, the World's Greatest!
Happy Fifty-fifth Birthday,
From son Rusty,
Guess who I saw today,
A little girl!
When I saw her, I smiled because I remembered you,
I remembered you, my younger me.
I was told that you were born many years ago,
I really wished I could tell what your face looked like when you came out from mummy's womb,
But I was told that seeing your face as she held you in her arms, brought tears of joy from her eyes.
What were the sounds that you made relishing mummy's breast milk?
Sincerely, when I hear babies make amusing sounds when they are being breast fed,
I can't help but wonder, "Did you make those sounds or were yours different?"
I wish I could remember and picture all what you did
When you cried,
When you laughed,
When you were hungry.
I was only told about some of your little escapades by mummy, daddy and grandma.
So you learned to sit,
And then you crawled,
What was your first word?
Was it 'Papa' or ' Mama' ?
Please when you took your first step,
Who saw you?
Daddy or mummy?
I am sure who ever did was super excited and you felt like a star, right?
You took a step,
Then another and another
You started walking! What a feat!
Grandma said when crying you always mentioned 'Pamuuu'! 'Pamuuu'.
Immediately you were given 'Akamu' you would stop crying.
No wonder pap turned out to be one of the meals I enjoy taking even when I am sick.
With the scars I see in my body,
I need nobody to tell me how playful you were.
I still remember how you would run around with other children.
You never mind bathing out in the open,
You never mind mummy sucking out phlegm from your nose with her mouth,
You never mind daddy giving you a chunk of meat from his mouth,
You never mind being on mummy's back till you slept off.
My younger me,
How come you were so afraid of the dark?
That at the sound of 'Ojuju', you ran faster that one aiming for a reward.
You never understood lies, hatred, unforgiveness, jealousy and unhealthy rivalry.
These are scarier than the dark.
How excited were you when you started school?
I can only imagine your little feet in your shoes
And your uniform as mummy took you to school.
After many years,
I see how you have grown,
Grown to become a beautiful lady,
A lady who appreciates life and all that it offers,
I am glad you lived because
I would not have been able to see the little girl Who made me appreciate you,
My younger me.
Part Three
...swishing away with your sunshrivelled burgundy knotty arms with broad disdainful harvesting sweeps the cobras come out to water in the sweltering heat by the thatched fly-buzzed hole
your low under-the-breath warning tones a reminder of the will of your self-inflicted charge
you never ate until i gorged myself
like the dutiful wife given with a dowry
watching me all the time through the shield of the wisp of cloud of cheroot smoke in your sentinel corner against the far wall your eyes glinting fearing that i might take exception and even before my plate was half-empty you had already darted across the kitchen floor to bring me more fried brinjals mashed greens fried and sliced plantain the steaming rice lying bare by its metal cover hanging on the lip of the open pot-mouth in a clear aluminium pot by my side
now they say you are gone for some plotted and took your life in haste
even before you had time to ensure an heir
others say you were alone dismayed abandoned by your own
prey to enchanters coveting
the plot of land the house derelict forsaken by your absence
they say some one else caretakes it for himself
others no a forbidden son of your husband’s has raked it for himself
alas would you have known how landless nationless stateless i’d be
this dot of ancestral land clinging-clanging in memory
did you know then you might never see me again
nor probably ever hear of me
or if you had how might you have taken it all
did you believe the tales true and false they told
or only what you wanted to hear
of your precious prince you once served in silence and
who had gone to slave in other lands
Notes
eevaa peerankal muuvaa marunthu is a take on another well-known Tamil proverb: eevaa makkal muuvaa marunthu meaning “children who obey even before the order is given are a God-send”. Here, in lieu of children, the word “grandparents” is substituted
chembu: a small usually copper vessel shaped like a rounded vase with a tapering neck and open mouth, used for holding drinking water or milk
kuul: thick holdall gruel which may also be highly spiced
chemman: red soil
Vaithi: ayurvedic doctor, practising the traditional Indian homeopathic medicine
© T.Wignesan 1997 - Paris May 7, 1997 (from the Sequence/Collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
Three Score and Fifteen Years Ago
By Franklin Price
11/14/2020
Three score and fifteen years ago
I was born upon this earth
Joined a family of eight,
Was the ninth, for what it's worth
Four sisters and two brothers
A mother, father there for me
I was to be the last of them
That nevermore would be
Was brought home to my siblings
Who were shown I was a boy
They were told it was not Christmas
That I was not a little toy
Spread of ages, ten long years
Stuart Taylor to begin
Then, Nancy Ruth and Shirley Lou
Stopping then, would be a sin
Earl Joseph, Laura Gertrude
Were the next ones in the game
Judith Carol just before me
Franklin Arthur is my name
Brought home to Merritt Island
Yes, the one of lunar lore
Was then a growing citrus place
Barely had a country store
We had no city water
No AC then, you know
No TV there for watching
Listened to the radio
Milk brought by the milkman
Port Canaveral had no cruise
Truman was the president
The local paper brought the news
Many years have gone by
Helped shoot man to the moon
My father and my mother gone
Some siblings, way to soon
Nancy Ruth and Laura Gertrude
And myself are still around
They're now octogenarians
Five more years and I'll be crowned
My life has been exceptional
The best wife for fifty years
In seven days it's fifty-one
Can still remember that from here
Left High School in sixty four
Sixty- eight in Vietnam
Sixty-nine sent man off to the moon
It's great to be the who I am
Married, November, sixty-nine
To my wife and daughter too
They were the rocks within my life
For the things that I would do
Involved with start up ventures
Traveled all around the globe
Collected hotel ashtrays
Lots of shampoo and a robe
Had my own small business
A little longer than a score
Rode on Harley cycles
Three hundred thousand miles and more
Rode all the lower forty-eight
Three provinces above
A thousand miles in Africa
All of these with my true love
So you see it's been a great life
And I'm only seven- five
I got up this fine morning
It's still great to be alive
Friends and family, who read this
And know of these things I say
Know you helped to make it great
As I traveled on the way
Here's a toast to all of us
And the passed days since our birth
I'm sending love to all of you
For all that may be worth
Bone-drained, there is no respite, no split second of peace. The “sundowner”, a hyper-active toddler in a man’s vehicle, never sleeps nor sits.
When I succumb to that one precious moment of rest; I am awakened to a furnace running full blast in a freezing cold house and on a nineteen degree night. A butter knife has removed a window; the culprit and dementia-mind panics; he’s terrified of being trapped in a fire. There’s no arguing with dementia-mind; it’s best to play along with the his ideas.
Another day of madness and I awake to a frantically screeching doorbell; it’s his nurse. I've revived in the floor. A migraine faint pulled me down; I’ve had no sleep for eight nights, you see. Sweet respite…she says she’ll, “sit with him”, so I can lie down a bit; a pleasant miracle; such happenstance is a rarity.
Dementia-mind has no solutions, only hallucinations, delusions; absence of mind and aggression for the “sundowners”. I watch at breakfast, as he pours his milk upon the floor; he has no clue of what he is doing or why;
he stares, mindless. When the eyes go blank it’s obvious; he’s not in there. A robot gone haywire, used to be my Father. The last thing to go, were his mathematical skills. Dementia-mind has forgotten so many people; how to swallow, but recalls numbers…
“Who is that man?” he demands, pointing at himself in the mirror. My exhausted mind briefly forgets and I mistakenly reply, “You dad.” The firestorm is initiated; he calls me a, “liar”. Self recognition has failed him now; the flame of his mind is burning low; soon to extinguish.
He’s fed and dressed, but I’ve no time to eat; if he should sleep an hour today; I must cook for the week. It’s the only opportunity I have…when and if he sleeps. I must not go to the bathroom; he’ll break something or fall. I must hold myself until my sister arrives.
The “passives” are painful to watch, as they deteriorate, but the “sundowners” are constant exhaustion. I was in the ER, almost as much as, he. You see, there’s no one to care for the caregiver, but themselves and when they can’t, exhaustion and malnutrition escalate. Dementia-mind is round-the-clock work and two doing the work of six people, takes its’ toll. The disease never discriminates; it destroys everyone.
(My Father died with dementia, a form of Alzheimer's in 2003, after a 15 year battle.)
Its off to grandma's old fashion cottage we go;
past snow covered pine trees all in a row.
To her humble abode adorned in holiday charm,
And two grey horses inside the red painted barn.
Inside a crackling fire warming- nothing to compare.
With flickering flames dancing with flair,
Mesmerizing grandpa with a hypnotic spell.
And up the chimney smoke bid's farewell.
Grandma's cooking in her colorful blouse
the smell of baked bread drifts about the house,
And Grandpa snoring, asleep in his comfy old chair
in a plaid shirt and head with no hair.
Outside freshly fallen snow- a winter wonderland,
With frolicking young children mittens on hands
playing with vigor on freshly fallen snow
Their rosy red cheeks fully aglow.
Carolers singing along the snow covered street
each one adorned with a smile to greet
With sleigh bells jingling
and people joyously singing.
The aroma of roasted chestnuts swirls in the frosty air
On Maple street near the town square.
The White Chapel's steeple reaching toward the sky
A glorious symbol to the faithful eye.
Inside the tiny White Chapel with lights burn bright
a beacon to the world on this most glorious of nights.
Inside rich harmonious voices with glory to sing
As flying wild geese with the moon on their wings.
The parson adorned in modest vestment
As the choir sings- a worthy testament
Outside its silent, still and calm
Inside the congregation seeks the Savior's healing balm.
Cheerful hearts gratitude they bring
patiently waiting to celebrate the birth of their king.
For it came upon a mid night clear
as their voices raise for the Lord to hear.
Inside grandma's cottage on this snowy Christmas Eve
snuggled warmly asleep in their bed
waiting for Santa's with presents filled in his sled.
Billy, Tommy, Freddy and Steve
Next to the fireplace for Santa to find.
A glass of warm milk and cookies to dine.
Upstairs Sally and Sue unable to sleep
waiting for Santa to get a sneak peek.
Christmas Tree lights blink with a fury
the children wanting Santa to hurry
And mom and dad quietly sitting
Grandma in her rocker quietly knitting.
Decorated stockings hung with care from the fireplace
Sally’s and grandpa's adored with red and white lace
photos of grandchildren that grew up too fast
Grandmother's cottage with memories of Christmases past.
Perche Sono Me IV (Fire)
It’s been a long time since I have told anyone why I was myself and why I am me. It was long ago that I dictated three prose poems on this matter. The same questions have come up; newer ones add to my plight. I am single because I will not settle for anyone who only fulfills the needs of my loins. I prefer a person that arouses my intellect and respect for her. The people I have met only meet one of those criteria, except one meeting two of the three. Still, to get all three is a challenge. Even getting two of the three is a challenge.
Why are you Single?
I am myself because of the pain I have endured by many who have claimed to want of me while they were giving a kiss of deceit. Playing with anyone's emotions is an unethical crime that haunts the perpetrator later in life. Several females who claim to know what they want are falling and feeling the pain they deserve for what they wanted was not deserved or earned. If you are stupid enough to want a bridge and house built for you without contributing to the production, then do not expect to have them when the man has built them. Of course, an unethical man will claim to have these until you are trapped and left out in the trash. Do not expect the good man to take you in, as you are not recyclable. When you give up on wanting a respectable man, you give up on being respectable to yourself. Your pain and the pain of your children were caused by you pursuing the pleasure of your false beliefs. One of them believed that she wanted a person of her faith. He could not commit to the person of free milk. He used her for five years. HARK to her for showing disrespect to herself and her daughter. Now, she is with someone who cares about how they treat her. Putting aerosol on excrement does not make a candle's scent flow in the breeze.
What type of partner do you want to marry?
Education is vital to me as I have seen many go to school only to find a mate or find a person to mate with. It is pretty disturbing that the goal is procreation and recreation. It is wiser to find someone who matches the qualities of a good girlfriend or wife if they meet the higher qualities. If you want a good friend, find someone with the qualities of a good girlfriend. If you want a good girlfriend, find someone who would make a good wife. If you want a good wife, then focus on these two aspects.