Long Shearer Poems
Long Shearer Poems. Below are the most popular long Shearer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shearer poems by poem length and keyword.
I sing the praises of Sterilite
(even Mary Poppins would tout
a plug for said company she would spout
forcing playthings scattered helter skelter
retreating into their respective bins
analogous to a defeated army
beating a hasty retreat after a major rout
against all odds fighting off
the aggressive incursion
of a trumpeting lout,
which troops use weapon of choice
namely breath issuing "Kraut"
which in German, "Kraut"
primarily means herb
or the leaves and stem
of a plant, as opposed to the root,
also used in compound nouns
to refer to various cabbage products,
most notably Sauerkraut,
which is fermented white cabbage.
Additionally, "Kraut"
can be a derogatory slang term
for Germans, similar to how "Frogs"
used for the French,
according to The Guardian).
which accolades vocalized
on behalf of a company
whose sturdy products
helped transform the wife
from a potential candidate
of Hoarders buried alive
into a rival for the Odd Couple
neatnik character Felix Unger
though room for improvement
the spouse tries to abide
by the phrase
"a place for everything
and everything in its place"
an idiom that promotes
organization and orderliness,
where maximizing the space
afforded by a one bedroom apartment
here at Highland Manor
taught us the necessity
of maintaining an ever closer approximation
to becoming the reigning queen
of spic and span
affected by the mandates of management
(reinforced by dictates
of urban housing for low income
linkedin to yearly "violations")
toward instilling acquiring
"the model tenant award"
by regular inspections
which if I ruled the world
would include a month of free rent
as an extra incentive
leaving no room
for the likes of Oscar Madison,
which objective becoming
neat and tidy truth be told
finds me relishing living
according to the gospel
of several people offering
decluttering and organization methods
similar to Marie Kondo's KonMari approach,
focusing on simplifying and creating
a more joyful living space.
Some notable figures
include Gretchen Rubin,
known for her
"Outer Order, Inner Calm"
philosophy, and The Home Edit duo,
Clea Shearer and Joanna Teplin,
who emphasize visual organization.
Other methods, like Swedish Death Cleaning
and Peter Walsh's approach,
also offer alternative strategies
for decluttering and organizing one's home.
Luck Rides A Stick Horse
Written: by Tom Wright
7/8/2006
If luck is what you’re counting on
A stick horse will always be your steed.
Choose God and a job to rely on instead
Not Casino’s or lottery to fill your need;
You can tell yourself that someone
Always wins and it just might be you.
But a gambler plays the suckers game
Though your reasoning perhaps is true;
People feed quarters into slot machines
And at the tables they tirelessly play.
But most go home with empty pockets
Thinking tomorrow might be the day.
But just as sure as another payday comes
They’re Casino bound and in high gear.
Not seeing themselves for what they are
Dumb Sheep, waiting for the shearer;
Philip heard an angel say,
“Now rise and go!”
And so he rose and went;
He did not know
Whom he would meet
Along the road that day.
Ahead,
An Ethiopian,
a man,
Riding in his chariot,
Coming from Jerusalem,
An open scroll in hand.
So Philip asked him,
“And do you understand?”
He said, “How can I?
I need someone to explain.”
So Philip climbed aboard
And joined alongside him.
“Like a sheep to the slaughter
Or a lamb before its shearer,
He opened not his mouth.”
He asked,
"Does he speak of himself?
Or of another?"
And starting from this point within the text,
There Philip told the man
About the Christ.
And behold!
There was some water
Just off the road.
Look!
Here is a nice pool!
What keeps me from being baptized also?
And so they stopped,
Went down into the water,
And he was baptized there.
Then, in the Spirit,
Philip was carried off.
The Ethiopian
saw him no more,
But continued on his way,
Rejoicing.
And Philip,
Headed to Caesarea,
Stopped in at every town along the way,
And preached the Christ.
(From Acts 8)
The elephants and asses are battling again.
To maintain power over the masses.
We, the people, are on the verge of colossal collapse.
These beasts (of a forgotten Eden).
Have ceased working for (we the people).
They've forgotten virtue and oath.
They bleed us dry and parch our throats.
We, the feeble, are far beyond bloated.
With government doublespeak dope.
Handouts galore to pacify the freeloader...
The media slinging race-baiting tropes.
While careening down the slippery slope.
Our forefathers taught us to fish and pray.
We've forgotten how to tie knots and fold our hands.
Now we lie down in the wrong shade of meek.
Awaiting the blade of the mad shearer.
All the praises you pick along the streets
Go confirm before a new-bought mirror,
And if those rare glories you all find true
Then know she’s near that beauty shearer.
Who’s time, the unerring author of loss and decay.
And so while you wait for she who must deprive
Learn your immortal splendor to wisely salt away
In shrewd acts that the lay waste of time survive.
Reincarnate in yourself some elegant luster
To represent you in the ageless posterity,
And water with care the shoots that germinate
In the fecund garden of your youthful fertility.
The sagacious mother leaving nothing to chance,
Invest in an eternity of prayer, for if bootless
There’s nothing of yours to lose to time-owned eons,
For this enterprise outlives all, and gives all for less.
With these desiderata carefully appropriated,
Now your chance to savor the trappings of luck and time
With vast unapologetic bites and greedy careless teeth
Till the bells of the end give their long-awaited chime.
Come visit us under pink tinged twilight skies..
among boughs borne under a song laden tree.
In fair view of land, meadows green coiling rise,
one hundred twenty counted souls, and me.
The older children play, running in sun washed petticoats,
hair pulled back in pigtails & ribbons, an untied shoelace floats.
Their errant hoops gone tumbling over a dew covered hill,
wonder if sun refused to shine, and not mourning them still.
How resplendent a vessel, White Star's ship of dreams,
carried their passion as coal fed fired boiler steams.
Only to sink 'neath the waves, irony in iron age..
On maiden voyage Ides of April, warned her last writ page.
To the new world go mother, father, sisters and brothers,
prayers spent all would reach safety of harbor's bustling dock.
America's shores promised in the letters of others...
went as sheep to the shearer in Reaper's growing flock.
To third class cabin dimlit, down three flights of stairs,
their mortal passage payed so high a forlorned cost.
Waiting their turn for grace, their last supper's prayers,
scrape of ice., gaping ocean roared, in darkness lost.
God bore them one and all 'way from the tortured deep,
to cold windswept mount where saints and survivors weep.
"Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling"
He sat on the pathway edge,
crossed legged at the feet.
Donned in green moleskin trousers and yellow oilskin, felt pork pie hat and tilting back from the band a pheasant feather,
multicoloured,
catching the sporadic sunlight.
Thin lipped and with a smile that exposed teeth so uniform that if he had done a handstand you would swear the mouth had not moved.
I imagined the canines and molars worn to evenness by the gnawing of rope and net whilst Captaining trawlers that endured weeks at sea, but more likely a University lecturer, Geography teacher.
Like Shearer at the Gallowgate end I held my arm aloft exposing the too tightly pulled wristband allowing entry to the festivities.
Heartily and simultaneously with him “Morning” and his smile extended further.
Drinks were ordered and it was several minutes before I became aware of my inappropriate footwear as wood chippings bit my toes.
Forgetfulness was becoming an ever increasing trait.
Oofos flip flops were not going to cut it.
A Met Office amber warning, dancing and the threat of a drifting mosh pit required a sturdier approach and a journey back out.
“So soon?” he asked ruefully.
I pointed to the uncovered feet, his brow concertinaed, he stood, smaller than expected, deceived by his outstretched legs.
Arms raised, fully extended, he planted his hands upon my shoulders and with quiet authority
“When your Father told you that things would get easier, that you hadn’t to worry, that you will get wiser. You didn’t listen did you?”
He bellowed and I joined him.
He sent me away.
Uplifted.
When I returned he had been replaced, voluntary shift complete. Sat in his place a young man, a boy barely eighteen I guessed.
I left my arm by its side and tugged at the sleeve, we nodded.
Later that day I spied the man, sat on a tree trunk bench.
Pork pie hat with pheasant feather, crossed legged at the feet but held to his thin lips, a dark beer, a mild, a stout or a porter.
Undoubtedly a Geography teacher.
By Robert (Bob) Moore (©2015)
The gun shearer has gone now, like many other things
the shearing sheds are empty, and wools no longer king
gone now like the drover, and the brumbie on the plains
but we still have the scorched brown earth, and droughts and soaking rains
The aussie language has almost gone , the things we used to say
fair dinkum sport, and ridgie didge, and hello was “G’day”
no “its your shout” “snakes in your pocket” “he’s a bonza bloke”
“Bloody oath” and “Dinky Di” and “can’t you take a joke”
no footy shorts and tshirt, an Akubra hat was neat
now its baseball caps and hoodies, and Nikies on your feet
you don’t drive a Holden car, you drive a Nissan tank
the aussie way of life is gone, you can take that to the bank
once you could walk along the street, anytime without a care
bread and milk delivered to your door, the money you’d leave there
upon the step, with empty bottles, people just walked bye
no way that you could not do that now, and you wouldn’t even try
no bangers on the barbie, with a great big piece of steak
Hoges even calls a prawn a shrimp, the Americans to placate
used to say “a barbie out the back”, but now its “al fresco”
with emu, ostrich, and crocodile, and some you may not want to know
now everything is different, but did it all go wrong
can we say that it’s just progress, and we are where we belong
multicultural, many Nations, trying to live as one
no manufacturing anymore, all of that has gone
Is it still a Western Culture here, an Anglo-celtic race
or has it changed, to something else, at a slow, unnoticed pace
there’s Catholics, Buddhists. Muslims, there’s Anglicans and Jews
in every tier of government, and controlling all the news.
So we only know what we are told, and pretend that we don’t see
what’s happening to this Country, ‘cause that’s just not PC
so soon the Lucky Country, may not be lucky anymore
and we’ll find the life which we once knew, has walked right out the door
"We are the wandering wonders forever readying ourselves until our next show and we will be even more spectacular than any of our previous performances where we shall not only marvel at ourselves, but we shall dazzle you our world audience
with our refreshing and mesmerizing brand new us." ... by Poet
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love, concurred”
Do I anticipate, be I forethought,
plan, cautious, store-bought, or am I free thought,
or should I turn and be an afterthought?
Flipflop, reverse or have a second thought.
Mayhaps I be the one in the mirror,
behind the glass or in front, be clearer.
Tell me true, tell me blue, or who's nearer.
Where does consciousness stand; bring your shearer.
Former victims serving others in need.
Lost times we wonder who does a good deed,
deep in prayer, our sins washed, we succeed.
Reclaim, recover, get back, now we're freed.
When we crossed the lines, didn't think it would count,
after all, 'tis a concocted account.
No rhyme or reason, or scheme to surmount.
Pique cross fallacy or clarity fount.
Reincarnation, its majority
tether nature's beast and humanity.
Genesis claims Eden and Ark, singly.
Man and beast aren't one, Christianity.
Pews be filled, constant prayers forgiving.
Pews be emptied, constant those be sinning.
Our measured worth is primed for exampling.
Pews new souls earn Heaven's Gate opening.
Our eyes were opened, filled with empathy.
And see what's meant to be, and not to be.
We're led astray, but here we stay, Glory!
We had learned all about Jesus's story.
They'll be messengers, one true, and one naught.
They'll be harvesters, most rot, others fought.
They'll be winged handlers, who'll descend when caught.
They'll be winged handlers, who'll ascend those brought.
Ronald was a tough old ram, the biggest of his breed
Daniel was a clipperman, renowned of shearing deed
Many sheep were sheared that day and woolless they had fled
Before those two met in affray and battled in the shed!
Ronald, he had seen old Wallace wrestled to the floor,
Mugged of his dignity and fleece, and knew that it was war
And seeing that his turn was nigh, his hooves he dug in deep
He'd fight and though perhaps he'd die, at least he'd die a sheep.
Daniel had no time to waste, he'd quotas set to keep
And unprepared, he reached in haste to take the waiting sheep
But Ronald steeled himself as Daniel took him by the horn
And, rearing, pulled himself away before he could be shorn.
Off-balance, Daniel stumbled, to Ronald's great delight
Onto his knees he tumbled as the shears flew out of sight
And Ronald now unhanded felt his victory increase
Protecting his sheep dignity and, likewise, his sheep fleece.
But Daniel was not beaten yet, he knew that he'd faced worse
His mind was still determined set, he rose up with a curse
But still he was unsteady and Ronald was a ram
His head was lowered ready and he charged the clipperman
Ronald's head met Daniel's side and toppled him again
This time headfirst and to collide his head against the grain.
Leaving, stunned, the clipperman upon the wooden floor
In final victory, the ram strolled out the open door.
But, alas, 'tis not the way that sheep triumph at last
And Daniel would not see the day that any sheep got past
Despite Ram Ronald's victor's pride, the shearer would not yield
So followed a less dignified pursuit around the field.
Ronald, he was fast and he had four legs matched to two
So Daniel was outclassed, if that was all that he could do,
But he also had a sheepdog and so Ronald was defeated
He would have had the victory, if Daniel hadn't cheated.