Shearing Poems - Poems about Shearing

It’s shearing time again My husband has to go Back to the boards again To make us all some dough. He walks out the front door Lets out a quiet moan And gathers up his cutters Tool box & his wide combs. The boss will not accept Less than 100 sheep today My husband knows full well any less won’t be much pay. He bends down as...

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A man who'd crowned himself a vainglorious king, 'twas filled with foolish pride and never-ending need to be revered with loud praises, heard in echoes ring. Ego plowed the fields in his mind, planting that seed, and he cared not if bitter words made hearts bleed. Though smug notions danced in his swelled head, his smile withered; lips quivered as a...

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My head hangs low above the sink, Ha, no, unlikely what you think! True, there were times excessive drink Did see the gut, recoiling, shrink. Nay, far more happy time and place Would best describe the here and now, But weeds have overrun the fields; It’s time to put the hand to plow. ’Tis head that’s needing to be shorn, A humming scythe across...

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the sheep won't be led to slaughter /until sheared into submission...

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The yards behind the shearing shed are overgrown with grass And the fence posts look a little worse for wear There’s cobwebs on the tractors that are sitting all forlorn And a farm cat snoozes gently on a chair The boards have not been trodden by a shearer’s boot for years But the remnants of their trade lie on the...

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Larger than large, fostering the void, Rippled iron for the walls, roof and door, Above six-foot legs reaching up from the dirt, To cradle the woollen greased floor, With broken old memories in the years now at peace, Years from the sheep shearing and men, Years of disused hard immovable love, Love from the chutes, race and pens, This...

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I'll bet this set of rusty shears have a story they could tell, of the loneliness and broken backs in a land that's hot as hell, where hopes and dreams mirrored lives that these shearers led, here among the ruins of an outback-shearing shed. I'll bet this set of rusty shears have a story often told, in optimistic mirages where...

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Everything becomes atmospheric in its nature: the black rock holding open a door to a room with no entry. Redemption comes with a price, but it is not for sale here. Kind gestures mastering no weight, and music being played idly through a cracked window. Without your bright signs, or the screams of the...

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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...

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