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The Good Pussy Oct 2014
.
                                  Dairy
                       ­      Grains Meat
                           **** Fruit and
                         Vegetables Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****    Fruit
                             an d    V ege
                             tables  Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****    Fruit
                             and   V e g e
                             tables Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****     Fruit
                             a n  d    Vege
                             tables  Dairy
                  Grains Meat **** Fruit and
                Vegetables Dai  ry Grains Meat
                  ****  Fruit  an  d   Vegetables
                     Dairy Grains    Meat ****
Quentin Briscoe Mar 2013
Im watching over them...those freaks and perverted beast...the dark flesh that owns the land..I save them from there doom...keep them out those tombs...my job is to protect the sick...as I sit...I glimpse and I see a ray of hope...
Purity...from the ***** of my imperfection...I began to be aroused...thought about swooping down, in a single bound..being so cliche'..but I've since grown from my stereotypical ways....Cuz this world here ain't kind to no hero..this worlds only sin painted in a mural...But she could be the one...my chance to save the day!!...But they wanna **** the hero...they say **** the hero....Try to save the hoes...but I think I save a woman...kryptonite to my sins...She could be the cleanse...I could actually win...
-Dairy of a ****** superhero.
martin Mar 2017
If everything is going wrong
And your mood is blue
See Mary in the dairy
She'll put things right for you

If rain has soaked you to the skin
Your horse has lost a shoe
Mary in the dairy
She's the one for you

She'll nip your tuck
And tip your buck
Bust your boomaroo
Riddle down your bibble-up
Make you feel like new

She'll sum you up with one look
Remember what I say
She can read you like a book
Brighten up your day
King Panda  Aug 2016
dairy queen
King Panda Aug 2016
the tiles that encompass me
are falling like dominos
this is blackness at its zenith and
I have a coneful
lucky me
it’s like the summer of ‘96
all over again
and my friend’s dad jumped
in front of a coal train
we ate ice cream that day
in the dank Minnesotan heat
everyone was dripping
the mosquitoes were flocking in
green cloud
ignite
flame
ignite

and the crunch of bones
like this water falling on my shoulders
wash
wash
again

the sticky syrup from my chin and
poor Dane’s pants smell and there is
**** pooling at his ankles
enjoy this chocolate-dipped cone
or possibly this one with
patriotic sprinkles
no
I think I’ll pass
I’m watching my ten-year-old figure
you see this paunch?
it is my heart
it is so fat and ugly
take it from me, god
enjoy it on top of your
sundae
I always looked better red-chested
anyway
Jack Varnell Dec 2009
(Authors note: I realize this is more short story than poem. I hope you find it poetic as well. Apologies in advance if this is not an appropriate forum.)

Have You Seen This Girl ?

I sat sleepy eyed one morning enduring yet another cardboard and treebark bran flavored bowl of breakfast with milk, 2 percent of course, and I stared at the carton.

First I reviewed the measures of various fat content, and nutritional values listed as a matter of law. And as usual, I thought of you. This time by way of pondering the plight of the American Dairy Farmer and remembering it was the “corporatizing” of the independent dairy farms which led your family to other uses for the land they had raised dairy cows on for over a century. And I missed you terribly.

To quickly shake the associated feelings of loneliness, and your face from my mind, I was drawn to the deep dark eyes of the child who was missing and apparently exploited on the other side of the carton. She had innocent, kind eyes that indicated she wouldn't even harm an insect. Curious eyes that would watch an insect for hours as it munched on grasses and leaves she fed it.

She would be two years grown and two years older since last seen in blue jeans and a t-shirt in Amarillo, Texas, in the company of her biological father who was possibly armed, dangerous, and driving a pickup truck towards Mexico. Or Canada.

And it struck me. You needed to be on the side of a milk carton. 2 percent of course. At some point in our life together, you had been kidnapped. Whoever was responsible had gone to a lot of trouble to replace you, to carefully drop you right back into my life. It was a great attempt but finally my belief that the real you would never do the things you did to me were validated. You had the misfortune of actually having an “evil twin” and corporatized or not, it seemed only the Dairy Council could help, since there is no Center For Missing and Exploited Adults.

Big red letters screaming “Have You Seen This Girl ? ” were what we needed now. God knows I had recent photos, and could describe all of your features-distinguishing or not.

I think tomorrow, I'll have French Toast.

Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on my work at www.emotionalorphan.net.
Quentin Briscoe Dec 2012
The sun falls...and the freaks are on the rise...With my Cape wisked behind my back...the freaks are on the rise...
I save you from their touch...I'll keep your out their grasp...Cuz im here to save the world this is what you asked...And she screams...I go to grab her hand but instead I grab her ***... and as I lift her from the danger....the freaks are on the rise...she looks me in the eyes...opens up her thighs....and claims I am her savior...Cuz the freaks are on the rise she can see it in her eyes...I'm the hero of the world here to save the girls...cuz the freaks are on the rise...and I can see it in there eyes....#****** superhero
Lorna Bradley Mar 2012
Some things are just too strong to take
on their own. Like my coffee
harsh, bitter, and black, offensive
to my tongue. But still so necessary
is the caffeine wired within, so vital
to the start of my long days.

But I can make it bearable. Add some
non-fat dairy creamer + sugar. Just fluff,
it’ll go straight to my gut, to get
the caffeine past my tongue
and wake me, allowing me to see
what I could not when the alarm
first screamed.
Lawrence Hall Jun 2019
My father painted his dairy barn yellow
Maybe because he found some bargain paint
Then came along the inspector fellow
With his clipboard, and he said that yellow ain’t

Legal, that dairy barn paint had to be white
My father had The Book, and from it he read
That a dairy barn’s color only had to be light
“Well, I’ll find something else,” the inspector said

He found a fly speck on an old cow bell -
May Texas milk inspectors just go to (Newark)
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:

Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com

It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
M Clement Dec 2012
Wet, dripping
Hot, sweaty
Meatpacking shop
Cutting up cows
Cold ***** in your local safeway
I have no *******
Prompt: "Cold *****"
Ruby Harrison Jan 2010
Since fifty-eight
the jaycees come
rounding up rattlers
in Sweetwater, folk from all over
for a weekend in March
when snakes leave the hibernaculum
and slide back up
into west Texas and the wind.

Mr. Herrera knew his Luis and I
rode the seven-thirty bus,
had cokes and potato chip sandwiches
with Mitchell and Thomas
after Sunday school,
shot jackrabbits that ate alfalfa
in the dairy pastures.

Dad said he reckoned,
so I took Mr. Herrera’s apron
and offer and brought my knife
that Luis sharpened to a razor
and shaved his forearm hairs with.  
Frank tried that once,
sliced himself like a tomato
when he slipped.

Snake shop’s a butchery,
down the main street
past the dairy mart
and primary school,
in the yellow open scrub.  
If buzzards had noses like dogs
they’d flock, smell that
snake blood from Mexico.

Rattlesnake skinning
is all stringy guts, soft skin,
pulled teeth and poison
squeezed out of gum sockets
like milk from an old cow’s ****.  
Fancy skins with eyeholes
and lips cost ten,
specialty of Mr. Herrera.
Headless strip plus rattle
just two dollars the foot.
Cut the belly lengthwise
and rip,
easy near the backbone
where it catches.  

Out-of-towners buy anything.
Wallets, boots, belts with snakeskin
sewed or tacked on,
lucky rattles, picture frames
for proof of their longest catch.  
God-fearing jaycees doing good
for our communities will eat
deep-fried snake meat,
like tough old chicken,
but good with black-eyed peas
and sweet tea on the side.  

The women even come
once the round-up is done,
the church women, the Jesus women
with belief
and pistachio pudding
with marshmallows,
like Mrs. Howard
who shrieked “Boyd!”
and lectured about hygiene
when she saw me in my apron
and ****** to my elbows,
menacing the street.  

The biggest round-up days
we worked late, past midnight.
Past the dairy mart hours,
so once the skins
were all peeled and stretched
and the sticky linoleum
hosed down some,
Luis and I walked back through town,
deserted, dark





except lights from Roscoe and Roby
and even big Abilene
miles away, shining
across the flat nothing,
coyotes yip yip yipping
somewhere near the lake farther north.

Luis showed me how to eat peanuts
shells and all
and let me try on his brother’s
high school letter jacket.  
Late night in Sweetwater is a nothing.  
The wind never stops blowing,
and there’s nobody else
on the ******* planet.
Where honeybees work Pineapple Sage , where the Cattails stand proud
in the lyrical winds ...
At the terra cotta crossroad where timeless love and friendships have coalesced ....
Down the hillside toward hospitable , glistening , green bottom lands ...
Across the grassy divide into sunny , well kept acreage ...
Forever walking the field road to the Old Starr Dairy ......
Copyright February 21 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
My dairy knows all about you
Funny things
we don't know each other yet

We do talk to each other
not that much
only on Sun- DAY
Lol

it's all about you
believe you me


I'm not poetic not at all


Year 2013 _ 20142015
years later 2017

— The End —