Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
CDs Jul 23
Within the stomach of the world
The country stretches its branches, uncurled
Who is the horror of Napoleon Bonaparte?
Who darkens and fools the heart?
Often when man is shaken to the core
Other worlds sneak peeks in his door
And even in the junction of cattle
Metaphysical and mystical truths dazzle
Touched by the sea, a vision came
The pearls of the earth in flames
A jackdaw perches itself on pistons
Radiating heat from all of its mission
His mystic sense stayed tight beneath eyelids
Yet lit the flame in all said and undid
Like a voice in the wilderness
Or even a prophet of old, who might deliver us.
Cut off God’s thirteenth finger,
It brings the world bad luck.

At the supper of the twelve,
It traded life with a kiss on the cheek!
A tree held a rope for it,
So it could trade the life back!

Number thirteen of the twelve,
Died in a non-existent hotel room.

The dead speak tales of the one,
Who’s kiss killed the sun.
Blew out the world’s candle,
And slaughtered god’s cattle.
Loaded three long nights into a gun...
And pulled the trigger!
S Nirmal Kumar Nov 2018
Swaying blades of grass
Tenderly await
Grazing cattle
A Simillacrum May 2018
Robot noise
Robot noise
The only sounds on Earth
are the stomp of heavy metal,
and the grinding of gears.

"What's worse than this?"
we wondered.
It turned out
we had more to learn.

The pure human had left
at the start of the new internet.
We were hybrid beings
of fleetness deemed cyberspeed.
The faster we learned,
the less we learned about us
as creatures.

As creatures,
we were captured in chains
the day we fully interfaced.

Hammers for nails before,
the sales elite saw this in store:

Stood up sleeping,
cow cattle weak to sweet lies.

Robot noise
Robot noise
The only sounds on Earth
are the stomp of heavy metal,
and the grinding of gears.
Homeless.
Worthless.
Nameless.

Let's examine the heart of rebellion,
shall we?
a rider there found the lore
and envision his plan
though surely a wire tell
and fine her in her skull
a minute's worth of plaintiff
while they meet rhetorical
and anchor a horse feather
this bar between hither
with Pegasus dimly lighted
and Chisholm Trail afoot
wholly charm a spirit together
in a kiss of extraordinary measure
that a yellow sky glitter
under the stars tonight
Burn your brand into my skin and treat me like cattle
Just don't be angry when I leave the door open
I live behind gates you've born me within
I eat the filth you hand to me, last on the line
Open your mouth, talk to me like I'm below you
Tell the world I'm cruel when I bite back
Tip me over, you know I won't fight you
Metal in my hands say I stand firmer on all fours
While you struggle to confidently stride on two
I'm built to react, you call me sensitive
The bond we share could slaughter our herds
Send me away from your vile care
And prove to me that cleavers are dull compared to your words
Vexren4000 May 2017
Given numbers,
To remove humanity,
To take away a sense,
Of feeling,
And to give an air,
That man is but cattle,
Driven to a slaughter.

©BAS
Äŧül Feb 2017
It is the feeling of having previously met,
Not necessarily as a professional vet,
Dairy animals mooing to attract.
My HP Poem #1426
©Atul Kaushal
Don Bouchard Mar 2016
How does the rancher learn to dance
The annual rhythms of the land?

When do we bring the cows, bawling,
From open summer to sheltered winter pastures?
When is it time to bring the stubborn bulls
To the empty, urgent cows,
Or to remove them from contented cows,
Grown placid in the heaviness of calves?

How do we know the time
To round up the sweltering herds,
Bringing the bellering calves to brand?
Or when do we cull the frightened heifers,
Lucky in their selection, but uncertain?
When should we pare the weanlings,
And when call we the buyers?

And, when is the time for hiking forty miles
Of rusting fence,
Replacing posts,
Mending broken wire
Before the changing of pastures?

And when is the time to come to ease,
To sense the satisfaction
In seeing grazing cattle,
Tails swishing away the black flies of June,
Moving through gray-green prairie grass
On their way to cool creek water?
If I keep working on this, I'll never get it up online, so here it is.
We used to have a larger group
Ten thousand head at best
Once we had the largest herd
Of Longhorn in the west

But, times got tough, we sold a few
There was the drought back in '11
I didn't know it got so bad
But, now....we're down to seven

Yep, seven steers and cows and calfs
Out standing in our field
There's not a lot of meat out there
It's really a poor yield

The Longhorns down in Texas
Took our football tickets back
They said that our best looking cow
Was like a blanket on a rack

We've done our best to make amends
We'll be on top once more, I'm sure
But, we have to keep the calfs all fed
Or else ....we're down to four

There's lots of land for them to graze
They'll grow big, I am assured
But, now I find it difficult
To call seven head...a herd
Next page