Long Ruminants Poems
Long Ruminants Poems. Below are the most popular long Ruminants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ruminants poems by poem length and keyword.
I am the sun, I energize your day.
I speak expressly to the humid air;
'dry up for a day that is bright and fair.'
I command moisture to dry the lush hay
for non-ruminants to be well nourished.
I am ageless, and I am distinguished.
My golden rays have living things enriched,
my yellow rays induce the labourer's sleep,
having toiled so hard for his family's upkeep.
The flower smiles at my usual advances,
and with her fixed gaze, she makes no glances.
My loving rays speak with no utterances.
The day flourishes with my assistance,
as I serve from my celestial distance.
My service to you, none else can replicate.
Without me, life-form will from the earth vacate.
as wind slowly, silently, stirs dry grass
forest ruminants eye darkening skies
sniffing for the scents of Winter’s warning
watch the fading “V’s” - distant disguise.
once dappled fawns stand tall now tawny
alert to changes in the forest’s tone
urgency replaces Summer’s idyll
leafs red alert of warning wildly blown.
cricket violins fall coldly silent
the dragon and the butterflies called home
turtles abandon logs for mud bank nest
gnarled trees embrace the fate of stoic gnome.
burrowers and builders peer from retreats
as thinly spreads this crust of Winter’s bite
chasing the sap of life within its core
hoarfrost to tinge the soul in black and white.
chilled stealth of ice reclaims the rippled pond
swans beauty - fades to black - dots in the sky
hawks ride the frigid winds of Winter’s rise
I store my kayak paddle with a sigh.
John G. Lawless
©10/8/2018
I strained and stressed over
what was assigned to me
she told me as if she was
doing an interview.
She felt honored that thoses
who were responsible for
production
saw her genius and offered her
the opportunity to create.
Not in the manner one would
expect since she was chosen to
create a formula that would be'
used to feed cattle and horses.
She said she thought that it
would be the same formula.
No,no,no! mind you: cattle
are ruminants and horses
are hindgut fermenters you
must formulate separate recipes
to accommodate there digestive
differences. Starting off I started with
salt and molasses and vegetable oil as fats
and binding adhesive. I was lucky
to come across a large
amount of cornmeal, we got it from a store
that was only gonna throw it out.
We were gonna use it to help bring nutrients
to a sandy lot, but
we decided to use it in our range cubes instead.
Do not use monensin or urea in cubes for horses
it can be toxic. Urea and monensin is
can be safe for both llamas and sheep, but it
carries a high risk of fatal toxicity if managed
incorrectly. It is used strictly as a non-protein
nitrogen (NPN) supplement to help mature
animals digest low-quality, high-fiber forage
That's were the formulas differ.because llamas
(camelids) and sheep (ruminants) have distinct
digestive sensitivities, special precautions must
be taken if they are housed together.
Afalfa,Wheat middlings,grain by-products,
plant proteins like cottonseed or
soybean meal, roughage, and molasses
Used along side sudan grass to help get through
the winter!
From; the Book "Alfalfa Desperado" by
"Dingle" Barry Frank" the turnip guy"
-----------------------------------------
airin out the lungs cause this Agee, Ajee
took two peices away from my dozen.
thats why we in here fussin
that jerk got me cussin'
outward brain stem hummock
analogously, (asper bound
minuscule magnum opus)
figuratively paginated with drowned
atavistic animal instincts
roar back to life upon found
perceived or real threat adrenaline
splashes cerebral hemispheres
triggering body electric
to become alert as a blood hound
countless millenniums ago
the flight or fight reaction apropos
when savage beasts
threatened tribe with bro
whizzing primitive creatures some forced tweet crow
wing, thence railing, swooping,
trouncing dough
main housing small cluster of emo
ting primates (gabbling in primal
grunts and groans witnessing ruminants
scurrying to and fro
survival of the fittest danger field
thus by dint of inherent smarts didst grow
outwitting wily coyote, or other lion eyes, hoe
ping automatic saving grace tactics recalled,
when looming predator doth woof
and warp emergency arises,
when debacle fore stalled
for time against getting mauled
whereby each subsequent ruse
out foxing fierce-some, hungry non a mew
zing potential breakfast, lunch,
or dinner as the sorry loo
sir aye sic newt ton, sans this non nonsense game of "Life",
which thru countless millenniums strategies grew
layered upon left and right cerebral hemispheres few
till hetty became diminished
as con tra bands of bipedal hominids drew
upon accumulated storied history
learned from Bubba Zayda's
many times over motley crew
squirreling modus operandi
wove (traversing eons)
corpus collosum hair
(more so nerve fiber weave
a microscopic whirled wide web linkedin
left and right fist size gray matter
coated with transparent integument
custom made swiftly tailored sleeve
ah...proving grounds,
when forebears of *****Sapiens
touch and go tagged on permanent leave
on par with imagining dragons easy to believe.
I can hear the voices calling out beneath as they plunge further into the deep, a large body of water swirling around them like quicksand falling out of the heaven and desperate voices of sorrows, crying out for help, but they sink deeper into the water shed until they reach the valley of the dead.
I stood at the mouth of the Precipice pacing around with my hands on my hip looking round at dead bodies washing away in the ocean, my heart reaches out to them but I could not do anything to save them.
Cars and vans buried in mud saw a sudden flood of water gushing down the stream washing away the Arabs dream. Everything that they own was washed away in seconds from the throne, house and land, man and van was swept out in the deep.
And those in the precipice below had nowhere to go, they clung to each other screaming and crying from the valley but there was no one to help and they need someone to tell the story of how they breathe the last breath, as the stung of death resonate from the deep.
I held on to my courage and hum a silent song as the last ruminants of death trod along, with the final words from the dying soul harmonize with the breeze. "I have seen the light give me something to nyam", and silence sinks slowly into the ground filtering death all around.
My heart could not bear it my body could not contain it, the stench of death muddied the water everywhere, opening up the fountain for disease in the land and on the shore.
The water split the road into two and creates a block between the west and you, there was no way to cross over to the other side, you have to create a bridge on which to abide.
The water had broken out of the dam swallowing the city houses and land, the cities were cut off from each other sending gushes of water up to the ninth floor, taking precious lives with them and leaving mud all over the floor.
But the screaming valleys stood still and the smell of death lingers on its shore.
Days go by
Silence wares
You walked away
I don’t know who you are
Lie your breath
Fingers through your hair
Songs you knew you’d sing
Only I truly know what you mean
Growing up they held your hopes
Hid your dreams
Loved you such
You wrote them all away
No one knows it’s us
Smiles are tattoos your mirror hides
I held you cure from saddened eyes
I took a wishful truth
And wiped away your cries
You change your status
Ruminants of what happened
Ain’t it funny
How those you love disappear
They held you close
You kept your church
I’m lost in you
And now you’re hurt
No one knows we’re us
"I wonder where you are
I don’t know what else to do
I worry that you love me still
I feel the same
But I don’t need to sing"
An ending vision without the sun
In opened streets
To where did you run
With meager vowels
A sudden stench
That favors clean towels
Beauty arose to become you
You became it’s lovely tyrant
Visions disclosed
We grew ever so silent
Indeed you ran
Children of this lost land
Did you find comfort
Within a strangers hand
Afford you could not
His supplied demand
When belief is distinguished
What becomes of a beleaguered man
The ruminants of an eager and pitied fool
With empty palms and scared wishes
She held closely these jewels
Forgive her
For she never knew
Her days
Would find rest on brood
If February were a love story
I couldn’t give you a tale
That meant more to me
But as you can see, In February
We long to become a love story
The verdant leaves
of the cherry trees
rustle as a wagon
loaded with corn
rides deeper into the wide ruts
of a rustic road,
hungry ruminants wallow
by a limpid lake;
cheerful kids wave
and wagtails warble
at my unexpected arrival...
suddenly my Dalmatian barks.
O jovial Autumn
incite my surprise,
and renew my decadent mood!
The grapevines rest
while giving off their fragrance,
and this weary steed
must rest in tranquility
to continue this journey...
before he pants-up grief;
and for mine and his sake,
let him get some sleep!
A sanguine sky
promises the loveliest sunset
ever seen by me
in this rustic Vermont landscape;
thrushes sing with me
to embellish my harmony,
not minding the crickets that
conspire in the hickories,
or the fluttering hawks
that return to their nests..
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The piano screams my name
No body knows my pain
Out on a stormy day
What else does your story say
As we exist
through a code of known morals
Who can strip
the back of a snake corralled
Pleasantly awaken common sense
and flaunt it plural
Ruminants
of an area less than rural
Drip-lets let you know something’s fallen
I wish but then a gain
A wish is an incomplete thought
A decision is contemplation completed
And reasoning
Is only an individuals desire defeated
The piano screams my name
No body knows my pain
Out on a stormy day
What else does your story say
I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe
But tomorrow
will definitely see you first my friend
Searching my pockets thin
Out on my last wind
The curse of we aborted men
Raped in anger a changeling to
An opinion voiced is nothing new
Losing my way
Last night I slept in the morning dew
A masque of reddened death
Prelude to a bubonic fever
A modern day swine flu
Flesh deadened to depths
Unbelievably I stood right behind you
The piano screams my name
No body knows my pain
Out on a stormy day
What else does your story say
"in my glass of cognac"
Shadow souls flying across the sea
Of my senses they knew, what a mockery,
How do I write the song says the dream?
Whereupon the wanderer falls
In the scribbled pines
Of a forest burnt
In the addled minds
of ruminants
Under the spell
Of prescription drugs
A waterfall falling long
Whispering into nothing
And how does a shadow sing along?
With the words planted
When the mind is gone
The cultured lie pearl
Calumny and drought
Don’t ask me
I don’t know what it means
I just write it down
Medicated monsters flee themselves
In fiery wagons chasing hope
When no earthly vehicle
Can help them now
And the darkness of the drones
The forest-flatteners blocking the sun
With gun-carriage storms
Of all fissile material
Spitting their fish scales
Into our faces
And who wrote the song?
Down by the deadpond
Now that Weyland’s work is done
Tantalite, tungsten, sin, tin and gold
Seem pretty small in your hand there’s a phone
But all over Africa mines are still smouldering
How do I write the song says the dream?
Lord help me I feel the world psyche waking
Whereupon the wanderer falls.