The same names keep coming up,
all the usual suspects,
but they give the illusion
of being many.
The same faces surface
the bugaboo’s,
the clown-faced devils.
We are taught to listen
without thinking,
to drink in
only their thoughts.
A critical mass is reached,
at last the sheep
are teaching themselves
to be sheepdogs.
Now we are watchful
of the wooly flock.
We will not drink
their watery beers.
Categories:
sheepdogs, poetry,
Form: Free verse
His name is John Albert Cummings,
born 1878 died..... well we are not sure,
the stone is much worn.
Up we hop on the green mound,
dance the frantic dance.
The sacrilegious sex
adds risqué flavors,
drives us into an underworld
where flesh struggles
atop old bones.
Laid out spent on the turf;
panting like sheepdogs,
we giggle a prayer of thanks.
The stars are so clear --- they glitter
like prismatic ice.
John Albert Cummings born 1878
was nice.
Categories:
sheepdogs, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Saucy Sally, sits solemnly on said sidewalk,
Stifling sniffles, sees sympathetic staring,
Some snidely shuffling slowly sideways, so
She surreptitiously swallows her sadness.
Studly Sam, strolling six shaggy sheepdogs,
Soon seizes on saucy Sally’s situation, and
Saunters steadily, still standing; swiftly,
Suggests she stifle her sniveling sadness.
Suddenly, she’s sharing six shaggy sheepdogs,
Silently, Sam says, sweet saucy Sally stay.
Written August 18, 2022
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Submitted to "Alliteration - Old or New" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
August 30, 2022
Categories:
sheepdogs, fantasy, fate, fun, humorous,
Form: Alliteration
Jesus may have been the first
or last human being;
the rest of us following
or reluctantly being rounded up.
A vision of a winding file of us all
entering that Door one by one,
angelic sheepdogs nipping at our heels.
Categories:
sheepdogs, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I am not much of a follower,
but today I am following Rabbi Jesus;
he has taken off his sandals,
and I am wearing them for this
borrowed moment.
He said: I Am The Door.
Jesus may be the last human being,
the rest of us following after the fact.
That which was, is, and has yet to be
- all just a shot glass of moonshine.
A vision of a winding file of us all
(both shoeless and shod),
entering that Door;
angelic sheepdogs nipping at our heels.
Maybe I’ll be one of the slackers
at the back of the line?
I won’t mind much,
as long as I see that Door
shutting out this hell of a world
forever.
Categories:
sheepdogs, poetry,
Form: Free verse
His name is John Albert Cummings,
born 1878 died..... well we are not sure,
the stone is much worn.
Up we hop on the green mound,
dance the frantic dance.
The sacrilegious sex
adds risqué flavors,
drives us into an underworld
where flesh struggles
atop old bones.
Laid out spent on the turf;
panting like sheepdogs,
we giggle a prayer of thanks.
The stars are so clear --- they glitter
like prismatic ice.
John Albert Cummings born 1878
was nice.
Categories:
sheepdogs, poetry,
Form: Blank verse
I am not much of a follower,
but today I am following Rabbi Jesus;
he has taken off his sandals,
and I am wearing them for this
borrowed moment.
He said: I Am The Door.
Jesus may be the last human being,
the rest of us following - after the fact.
That which was, is, and has yet to be
- all just a shot glass of moonshine.
His sandals are too light for my heavy feet
they float away like paper kites in the wind.
A vision of a winding file of us all
(both shoeless and shod),
entering that Door;
angelic sheepdogs nipping at our heels.
Maybe I’ll be one of the slackers
at the back of the line?
I won’t mind so much,
as long as I can look back, and see that Door
shutting out this revolving hell of world
forever.
Categories:
sheepdogs, poetry,
Form: Blank verse
Oh, there'll be such a celebration
When the folks from every nation
Come to worship at His throne
And all of God's sheepdogs get home.
Those who stood 'twixt us and danger
From now clear past the manger
Are God's sheepdogs tried and true
Loving God and loving you.
All the singers will be singing
And the praises will be ringing
The honor torches they'll be lighting,
T'will be oh so exciting.
We will finally be at peace
When all the conflicts cease
And returning from where they roam,
All of God's sheepdogs get home.
by E. Marshall Evans
Categories:
sheepdogs, christian, heaven, religion, spiritual,
Form: ABC
I'm bordering on a collie, a farmers friend indeed..
I've heard I am a sheepdog or so the cockerel crows..
Others say I'm barking mad and doing harm to trees..
But there's much to like about my life, except for Winter
mornings, when the cold and snow are laying...
My paws play tiptoe in the snow, I need some furry boots..
I'm up each day at the crack of dawn and working in the fields,
no fleecy coat for me...
Those wooly headed creatures are driving me insane..
Now they're going scatty because the wind is blowing...
Running round in circles, not knowing where they're going..
The ewes are feebly bleating for their lambs of yesterday..
While the happy rams are far away and seeing pastures new..
What would the farmer do without me, maybe whistle in the wind..
Or have blisters on his on his size ten feet..
Categories:
sheepdogs, animals,
Form: Blank verse