Long Milking Poems
Long Milking Poems. Below are the most popular long Milking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Milking poems by poem length and keyword.
She used second-hand water.
Water which had first been used to scrub vegetables, or rinse the dishes.
And poured it over her red geraniums with loving hands
Waste not, want not....that was her motto.
In offering such hand-me-downs to her flowers, ....they cared not. ....
For her own apron was a hand-me-down...made from a worn out shirt. ...
In her small way it simply told
how she had learned to cherish what matters most.
That even the smallest things, have value.
Her flowers seemed to know her gentle way, her tender touch...
You half expected that when she turned away,
the flowers would leave their place to follow her,
the way the kittens followed from the barn when she came up from milking the cows.
There may be other languages of love,
But those stubborn red geraniums would not die...
they simply bloomed brighter and brighter,
as if they understood whose tender hands were there for them.
Written for my Grandma....who loved her garden...
Why shed the blood of a lamb
that can't trample a scurrying ant
nor scare a perching fly;
that can't hurt a brooding hen
nor startle preening chicks;
that can't raise her voice beyond a baa
nor bleat in a noise-free zone;
that can't brawl with fellow lamb
nor upset her shepherd's peace;
that can't restrict the udder to her young
nor deny the fingers of a milking maid;
that can't shield her ram from harm
nor refuse a nod to the slaughter table;
who in silence walks to the shearing shade,
who in silence yields her throat to a knife--
in silence shouts her innocence?
For food or fur?
No: the price to keep
the wild free,
the roaring lion from shedding blood.
Celestine S.? Ikwuamaesi
(Jan 29, 2018)
Dear friend,
I am trying to master the ancient art of Almond Milking. It's quite difficult and my sweetie hasn't had a drink of almond milk in months. I started with cats to improve my dexterity, but they kept getting away and the little stinkers kept scratching me. The great thing about almonds is that they tend to be a bit more co-operative. I am hopeful that by Christmas I will have achieved my goal.
There is one question I would appreciate an answer to, how do I find the nipple? I thought it was at the pointy end and as I was simultaneously squeezing the ends of two almonds they shot out from my fingers. I was mortified when they inadvertently struck the buttocks of a lady police officer. She turned around with such blinding speed I was surprised...What surprised me even more was that she drew and shot her Taser. Ironically both leads pierced my nipples.
One last thing, do you know how I can get milk stains out of my shirt???
Sincerely,
Donald P. Thump
This piece was inspired by my friend David McKay after he sent the following email to me. His comment was the result of an earlier conversation about the scene in the movie "Meet the Fockers." In the movie Ben Stiller says, "You can milk anything with nipples." Robert Deniro responds, "I have nipples, can you milk me?"
David's email: Thanks for joining us. Nice to see you and Mary again, and remember Richard "You can milk anything with nipples" Lol!
Ttyl!
David McKay
Sent from iPhone
When it is too late
When I was twelve I lived at a farm milking and looking after cows, but a war had ended and the impression it made stayed with me and nothing could change the imprint of my mind
I lived a good life herding sheep and milking cows and my best friend was a little horse called Dolly and she loved me, she never had a foal, and in her mind, I was
a good substitute mind, I spent hours brushing her and trimming her horse mane
Idyllic, wasn't it? Worth writing poetry about the bumble bees and hens finding worms in the dark soil
Despite this, I missed my old life the fear the uncertainty
of sitting in a bomb shelter, the one under the schoolhouse
listening to the worried voices of the adults, waking up going back to our flat where my mother's brother had secured a loaf and margarine and the happiness the meager offering brought, it was all too late I had been conditioned to a life where tomorrow is not an extension of today. I left the secure life.
From a life of turmoil to the risk of violence by the mob in the knowledge that my mother loved me, for this, a son can endure the hard time.
There were many ingenious things that helped win World War Two.
Jeeps, Higgins Boats and Victory Ships just to name a few.
Other things were vital such as radar, C-rations and wrenches,
But the ungainly steel helmet won favor with guys in the trenches!
Though the soldier always tried his best to look meticulous,
That "pot" atop his head did make him look somewhat ridiculous!
Designed to protect the head as directed by Army ukases,
The enterprising American soldier found for it many other uses!
It was used as a portable sink in which to wash and shave,
And it came in handy as a bathtub for the occasional lave.
It made a great laundry tub for the scrubbing of his drawers.
(Heretofore, Mom took care of such mundane domestic chores!)
Hunkering in his foxhole to evade the dreaded Grim Reaper,
It became a useful shovel as he strove to dig a little deeper!
On numerous occasions in it he was served his meager chow.
It was used as a milk pail for milking an obliging cow!
To rest his weary bones the helmet became a comfortable seat.
For all-around utility this handy-dandy gadget couldn't be beat!
Oh! And by the way it saved innumerable lives along the way,
Since its sole intended purpose was to keep shot and shell at bay!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
We used to just have a cup of coffee
Black
Possibly with milk
Maybe with sugar
Mostly on Sundays and with cream as a bonus
Today they call it caffe latte or cappuccino
Americano for the purist
From a fancy machine
With intricate pads
Anytime everywhere all day long
Espresso and hard pressed for choice
Salted caramel mocha
Strawberry frappuccino
Machiato or Mochaccino
Did the wallet grow with the taste
But the ultimate gimmick on the luxurious decadence scale
Chewed and spit out seeds collected for Monkey Coffee or
Kopi Luvak or palm civet beans basically half digested poop
For one hundred dollars a pound I volunteer to add enzyme
And flavour to mucus secretion purely organic and human
Free trade maximum wage and organically tested intestines
At a price I would consider to s(h)it in a greenhouse in Iceland
Or gaze at Taj Mahal Paddington Station or the Eiffel Tower
Volcanic eruptions with Ricinus oil are available at a surcharge
Gluten free habitat and vegan production site can be arranged
Hypo allergenic and guaranteed lactose tolerant for milky coffee
The crap has no limits and animal welfare comes at a premium
Ingenious and indigenous I vow to cater for all upper class smells
Calibrate flatulence and ingestion ablutions elimination and harvest
So you my dear customer can metaphorically kiss my solvent behind
Who says that one cannot turn faeces into money by milking some fools
09th January 2020
It was a hot summer
It was a lonely summer.
In many ways it was
Really a sad summer.
Mother with a new baby,
Dad without a job,
First summer in Connecticut,
Far away from family,
Far away from friends,
Far away from the familiar.
Nine years old and in a
Strange new town with
No friends, no context.
Our big old gray-shingled
Three-story rental was
Beside an alley behind
Stores on the main street,
High hedge of lilacs between.
Firehouse on the other side,
Bar across the street.
I learned the main street.
The little kosher market with the
Wonderful generous owner
Who gave my mother credit
When there was no money.
The candy store where
I watched candy being made.
The flower shop, the bakery,
And, best of all, just beyond,
The Brock-Hall Dairy.
Even though we were in town,
Behind the retail dairy store
Was the dairy farm itself,
The tall barns with the cows,
The sweet-smelling hay,
The smell of country.
I could spend hours there
Petting the big, gentle cows
Watching the milking.
Other times I’d walk down
Putnam Street from Whitney Avenue,
From our house past blocks
Of houses, then the fenced and
Wooded water department land.
A half mile or more and
I would come to the farms with
Summer farm stands where
We bought strawberries
And fresh vegetables.
I wasn’t always lonely
Just because I was alone.
I was more lonely when I
Was left out of things at school
Because I was shy and different.
Jacob had a small farm on the hills outside Picton.
He had sheep, horses and a dozen milking cows.
They were the Bos Taurus bred and could give 10,000 litres of milk a year.
His wife of 25 years Melissa said she was going out on a girls night out.
The problem was, after a few phone calls Jacob found out
That she was at the Mall shopping for sexy underwear with her boyfriend.
Jacob new the marriage was over.
After 25 years of getting up early to milk the cows and feed the animals,
She betrayed him with some loser boyfriend who meant nothing to her.
He decided to confront his situation and finished off a bottle of whiskey.
He then went into the cow shed and sat on a tripod milking chair.
Drunk as he was he found his voice and talked to the cows.
They were a little spooked but just mooed politely.
“Oh cows that are tied up and serve your owners well,
Is your life one of servitude or freedom.
You have all the grass you need and are treated kindly.
But are you happy? Are you cows happy? Are you girls even capable
of being happy?
I tried my best to look after you and get all the vet checks.
I moved you to higher ground when the floods came.
I tended to your every need. Who then is the slave here?
Am I the slave who has to care for you or are you the slaves that
give up milk every day?
I guess I don’t know.
But my Melissa knows. She has chosen a boyfriend who will let her down.
She has given up a good man for a bit of fun. She is not a slave.
I have a job to do. I will decide for you. I will set you
cows free.”
With that Jacob opened the shed door and guided the cows outside.
Some of them wandered slowly unaware of freedom or servitude.
Others ran as fast as they could and left the farm.
Jacob took his rifle and sat down again on the tripod chair.
He put the rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Morning came and the cows came in only to find Jacob
dead on the floor.
They mooed loudly wanting to be milked but he was gone.
On a snow covered beach in the middle of Summer
Basking in the gloominess of a dark so much glummer
There lived a cow who the cowboy rode so proudly
As he rode past the horse the farmer was milking loudly
Everywhere he rode, leaves were falling from a blue sky
While the joy of Christmas fell upon the fourth of July
We celebrated the holiday with a hot cup of cocoa
And left gifts around the American flag, a little loco
On a snow covered beach in the middle of July
There came the sound of Silent Night’s sigh
Drifting on the air as dazzling fireworks would deny
Today was the day for even reindeer to belie
Nonsense Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
July 4th 2021 (LOL)
Fireflies dance through black space
twinkling in the shadows of moonlight
reminding hearts why the star's glow
flickering kindly with a silent hope
wistfully tracing the silhouettes along
breathing in whispers of heavy darkness
milking the night for its silence pouring
across mountains in showers of pelting
plethora as it creates a sanctuary for
endless pulses of blood curdling screams
awakening murky milky way boulevards
into thoroughfares of heady grace
~~~
Fireflies dance through black space
To the music of melancholy praises
Sung on the hearts of night owls
Who fling caution to the winds howling
Across ridges and hills with laughter
Sounding furious on the gloomy horizon
~~~
Fireflies dance through black space
Somber voices of nocturnal prayers
Word Play Poems with Play-on-Words raison d'etre -- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Anderson
July 9, 2021