Long Mooed Poems
Long Mooed Poems. Below are the most popular long Mooed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mooed poems by poem length and keyword.
My Grandmother's House!
That country-styled house of yesteryear has gone so fast now a sweet memory of times gone away from me, You could smell the breeze pushing and blowing a fragrance in the air. This story is told where memory has been and will be again to unfold!
The lace curtains white and brown twirled with a sash
In the wooden country house of old oh and that wooden firewood stove. Yes! Still, remember the delicious smell flowing in the air
A burning memory of mine, so old! and rare!
Its a memory of a time gone by and the taste of
Grandmother's juicy Blueberry pie and her SweetP Potato pies
I was there! Waiting!!
Step by step in and out of the house pacing back and forth!
Walking by the wood stove waiting
As I wanted a taste of that blueberry pie! Smelling this tantalizing scent the potato pie glazed my eyes too and moist my tongue I had to wait so my mind was made up because the eyes knew and saw
which I would taste first but at that time I was looking and staring at the empty plate also the wind seems to blow this fragrance out the window a drift
down the road down the street across the path back inside again! However when I looked toward the barn, the cows mooed and the trees gave a breeze blowing sweetly it felt like the joy of pure delight and me, and my mouth held on tight to the scent felt like it had crossed the sea then back to me , it was there everywhere Just thinking as am walking down the street thinking about Oh yes my grandmother, the wood stove of old burned like no other high cooking fire in grandmother's house! I was there!
Excuse me Miz this is
McDonald, may I take your order Please? Yes! just
thinking!
You were so handsome
that the low ceiling of the sky
it rose only to lighten
the world for you...
The cows mooed sweet chants
to show off your friends...t
The birds in the trees
performed the most beautiful chirps
in your honor...
The street dogs barked
in unison happiness
when they saw saw you
and swayed
the tails with
refined technique...
All because you were wonderful...
I also included myself that all
I offered it to you...
perform in my mind
extraordinary feats
in worship to you...
All because I thought that
you were mine... but you weren't... !
Today far away where are you?
castled, I know that still
your beauty makes that
everything be as before...
But not for me... because I know
that you are not mine!
The farm was nestled deep in the country,
down a dusty road was a lovely house and barn;
where horses ran and jumped in a meadow beyond,
and fat cows mooed and chickens clucked, and
a rooster welcomed each dawn and strutted proudly.
Farmer Hector Cuckleburr, Hec for short and his,
wife Josephine Cuckleburr had many other animals;
oh yes many, like pigs and sheep, and babies too
and the delight at having lots of jumping baby lambs
which brings me to a little dog called, Smidget Puggily.
Smidget Puggily was the smallest of the Pugs born,
and the other Pugs pushed her away at play;
squeaking you are too small, Smidget Puggily, go away,
so she did, wandering the barn yard she saw something,
that bleated and stretched from a curled up sleep.
Hello, said Smidget Puggily, gosh you are pretty,
thanks, was the reply, and I am smart too, a leader;
I could teach you things, be your guru, your teacher,
your guide around this farm, see how high I can jump,
and with that, she jumped in the air and bleated loud.
I will name you Prettisome Guru, and I am your student,
show me how to jump, soon Smidget Puggily was jumping;
lets play follow the leader said Prettisome Guru, just follow,
Smidget Puggily, listen to me, I have excellent vision, hearing,
and smell, but best of all I like to cuddle up and get touchy.
Well, from that day forward those two walked the farm yard,
with the Smidget Puggily following her Prettisome Guru faithfully;
farmer Hec and his wife Josephine would stop and laugh,
when they found those two curled up asleep, all cuddled up,
and that was often- those two slept most of the day actually.
_________________________________
March 1, 2019
Poetry/Narrative/The Smidget Puggily and her Prettisome Guru
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1119-309-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, The Smidget Puggily and Her Prettisome Guru
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger
Second Place
Did anyone see millions of rainbows fill up the skies?
Did anyone see the heavens bloom and a child appear?
Flying, floating, and fluttering to a numb-filled surprise
Rested between Joseph and Mary, filled with divine cheer
The racks where they dwelt, as there's no place in the human hearts
Mystic music concerts were heard like thunder and earthquakes.
Cows, bulls, and sheep stood as though forgetting their breathing arts.
The Almighty's graces seemed to surround them like ice flakes.
Those who were sleeping were dreaming of the birth of a saviour.
Though they felt a thud, they did not feel the need to be awake.
And, hence, on that blessed night, they could not find God's favour.
The shepherds hurried to meet him, who came down for their sake.
Cows mooed and goats bleated the Gloria of the angels.
Eyes open, Jesus slept amidst changes that seemed changeless
The day my life went so crazy
Was when I laid eyes on Daisy
She was an old sow
Who mooed like a cow
And drove all farmhands crazy
We tried to put her in a field
But sadly that pig wouldn’t yield
She’d sit down in her sty
And she wouldn’t comply
Her stubbornness would be revealed
I said Daisy you will come a cropper
The farmer will get you with a chopper
Daisy sat and chewed grass
And got mud on her a s s
Soon Daisy became quite a whopper
Old farmer Bill sharpened his knife
And showed the honed blade to his wife
He said it is time now
I must kill a fat sow
His poor wife just ran for her life!
The farmer went out to the shed
When Daisy saw him how just fled
She hid behind a bull
To escape a quick cull
I’m relieved there was no bloodshed!
N/A in The Day My Life Went Whacko Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
03/28/30
Daisy was a bossy cow
How she loved to rule the herd
The other cows detested her
Yet they dared not moo a word
Daisy would moo and moo all day
Whilst the other cows chewed the cud
She gave her loud opinions
Whilst the other cows landed the stud
One day Daisy met up with the local bull
He really was a handsome chap
She fluttered her eyelashes for she was on the pull
But her bossy ways were a handicap
The bull mated with all the other cows
Poor Daisy’s nose was put out of joint
He hated her attitude she was very rude
Yet she still tried to argue the point
The louder and louder Daisy mooed
Made the other cows back away
The bull turned on his heels and left the field
And left Daisy alone eating hay
Now Daisy was the farmer’s oldest
And as bossy as the farmers wife
He knew for the sure the old cow was the coldest
Sure they both gave him tons of strife
So when the butcher came to town
To bargain for cheap cows all around
The farmer smiled and sent them both on down
Let the poor butcher figure which old cow to drown!
My 900th poem I wanted it to be a fun write
100 in a row #9 Sponsored by PD Linda
12~19~15
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.
We bought a cow at the state fair
and loaded her on the truck
to take her home, but halfway there
we had a stroke of good luck.
We hit a rock, and from the crash
she bounced away down the hill,
she mooed and made an awful splash
in the stream beside the mill.
The water was still awful cold,
the cow already freezing…
resisting as we roped and pulled
her breathing turned to sneezing.
My father said this won’t end well,
he couldn’t have been more wrong.
He thought the cow, we ought to sell
but changed his mind before long.
We took her home, our shook up cow,
unloaded her in the barn.
We thought we’d let her sleep for now
then see to her in the morn’.
The next day, just around sunrise,
the cow already awake.
I milked, and to my great surprise,
I got a frozen milkshake!
05/02/15
The First Christmas
by Michael R. Burch
’Twas in a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).
And THEN a star appeared on high,
The brightest man had ever seen!
It made the children whisper low
in puzzled awe: What did it mean?
It made the wooly lambkins cry.
Not far away a new-born lay,
warm-blanketed in straw and hay,
a lowly manger for his crib.
The cattle mooed, distraught and low,
to see the child. They did not know
it now was Christmas day!
This is a poem in which I tried to capture the mystery and magic of the first Christmas day. If you like my poem, you are welcome to share it, but please cite me as the author, which you can do by including the title and subheading.
***
A Child’s Christmas Prayer of Despair for a Hindu Saint
by Michael R. Burch
Santa Claus,
for Christmas, please,
don’t bring me toys, or games, or candy ...
just ... Santa, please,
I’m on my knees! ...
please don’t let Jesus torture Gandhi!
***
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to kill and plunder?
For he'll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
***
I Syng of a Mayden (circa 1400)
translation by Michael R. Burch
I sing of a maiden
that is matchless:
the king of all kings
for her son she chose.
He came as still
where his mother was
as the April dew
falling on the grass.
He came as still
to his mother's bower
as the April dew
falling on the flower.
He came as still
where his mother lay
as the April dew
falling on the spray.
Mother and maiden
there was none but she:
well may such a lady
God's mother be!
My Rose Garden was devoured by a cow that thought it was a bull.
The farmer and his wife pleaded with the cow to go back to the field.
But it refused by stomping and grunting.
Now what remains is a baren field, and a broken fence.
With not much to eat in the garden but rose thorns, the cull cried of stomach pains.
Throughout the day and night she mooed as if to blame the world for its life.
In time, not even the steer expressed an interest in his mother, as his future was cut short.
With no calves in the field, the bull left for the furthest sections of the property.
And with no place to escape, and no cows and rose gardens to be found, he simply laid down, and died.
by, Martin Braun
12/21/24