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winters the rolls.
If my past childhood memories serve me correctly.
Better than playing in the wettest Christmas snow
leaves a sweet kiss behind.
My lips follows, with an expected sigh.
To again taste one of many...
the many tasty treasures left behind
by the Elusive divine.
In that very moment;
where the sweet cinnamon lubricates
my feisty lips.
All is ******* history.
Isn't it?
And so I ravaged the now decimated sweet treasure
with many sinful bites.
Smoked a cigarette afterwards.
There was a no smoking sign.
Indeed, **** and cinnamon don't mix.
On the tiny red plate, where the cinnamon rolls once lived.
a few crumbs in its wake still exists.
Confusion is typical of this kind of ish.
When you lick the mooing cows hidden dish.

Written and Copyrighted (C) 2014
by Claude Robert Hill, IV.
Consciousness pouring out of me disguised as words. I am craving cinnamon rolls.
I said I was sorry
But it wasn't true
This is all
Got to say






Just had to let you know
So I could

O wemo way
O nemo
Lion sleeps
Tonight but then...
Pagan Paul Jan 2019
No milk today.
Please tell the cows its nothing personal.

© Pagan Paul (27/01/19)
Silly one :)
Isaac Jan 2019
Miniature Cows
Miniature, you might not see it.
  Realistic, you might mistake it.
   Creative, how can anyone make it?
     Fast and slow, can you see it's patterns?
      Brown, black and white, yet no blues and blonde.
       Can you see the light or are you stuck in the eventide?

2. Cows in the field
The cows are dancing in the field, the green grass below their feet. "Moo!" the cows cry in joy, with the birds flying in the electric, light blue sky. 'Why can't I fly?' thought one cow, who was stuck on the ground forever and more. But this cow is sure about one thing, They can fly, but only in dreams.
I thought 'why not' and posted another one, but I saw the second one and did both.
Zywa Dec 2018
Rainy days mud
my garden, the golden root is rotting

my wishing well spills over
I am spent

flaccid roads to the city
get me nowhere, no one wants

to pay for that, the world stands still
my little son is sleepwalking around me

by touch, cow and calf look
at me and frown, sighing

vapours muffled by the fine droplets
of rainy tears on the globes of my eyes

the sachets of water in which the world
always is upside down

a violet hangs and thinks:

mud will become waterproof
slate, eventually
Golden root: Rhodiola Rosea, it grows in Siberia and is also called Roseroot

In French, the Viola tricolor is called “Pensée” (Thought)

Collection “Pending rain”
Andrew Rueter Nov 2018
The cows graze in their pasture
Subservient to their master
Who doesn’t move faster
To help avoid disaster
So the cows are on their own
To deal with snow
Those all alone
Completely froze
Yet those who know
To use the warm glow
Of company that showed
Survive temperature lows

The cows used to solitary grazing
Now begin embracing
To fight cold air they’re facing
That is life erasing
While frost is lacing
The grass once worth tasting

The winter refuses to yield
As snow builds in the fields
The cows’ cohesion is revealed
As they protect their veal
And forget to steal
To connect and heal
During this ordeal

In times of inclement weather
The cows huddle together
Like someone pulled a lever
That won’t stay locked forever
So eventually ties are severed

As summer comes
The dumber numb
Thinking they won
Soaking up sun
Knowing winter is done
They divide into ones

A flow line
Of the bovine
Slow grind
Shows flies
Grow wise
With no size
They devise
To go for eyes
Cows go blind
In their mind
And cannot find
Their herd in time

Pretty soon the irritating fleas
Give them mad cow disease
As they don’t look to please
But put the good on their knees
While they’re hiding in trees
And biting with absolute ease
Seeing the absence of immunities
From their lack of community

The lost independent
Weather defendants
Become repentant
When they hear encroaching
Thunder clouds approaching
The cows become hectic
From a storm electric
Their formation eclectic
So they feel unprotected
But a fence was erected
So they can’t join the dejected
And this lonely life they elected
Is sadly reflected

The lasso angler
Hassling wranglers
Unmasked as stranglers
Bring the herd together
As they pull a lever
That’ll stay locked forever
As the cows’ heads are severed
And the horns in their head
Stick around once they’re dead
As we eat what they were fed
While they made their own bed
Liberalintent Sep 2018
Dawn's golden notes stream
across barn's yellow beams
supporting stables hemming horses
cavorting cows sagging udders
melding with yellow hay
bouncing glistening pitchforks prongs
as the song begins.

Dust, glittering as if a nebula, each speck of it freed of
ground, twittering around like birds wading sound.
Spread out, as if a picture, dots of bright ethereal
in their luminescence lightened blinking out
as if frightened, but then heaving about
in the barn's barren air circulating redoubt,
sparkle yet again,
and again,
until they are drowned dark black out
by the opening of a barn door.

Little of moment's loves
Transform our precious
Frail pleasures
Into eternal loves
Unless there is a decision
to greet the old and mundane as
as if dust were stars.
Bubu Aug 2018
Like a zombie stuck at the heart of the industry
I feel unmeasurable guilt
They all look to me for safety and comfort
I love and talk to them more than I do with those of my own kind
Yet I’m the one who sees them to their demise
When I look into their eyes I feel the calm innocent souls within
They love me
And I love them
I’ll scratch all the places you can’t reach
I’ll help you up when you’re down
Ill fix your feet when they’re not fit for walking
I’ll take away your respiratory problem when you are ill
I will always help my dear girls
But my heart it stops and skips when you’re sent away
I lose sleep at night thinking of the horror you all face in the end
Torn from your mother’s then your own offspring torn from you
Your milk is their gold
And then when you’re too old
A cattle ****, truck, shocked then killed
I hope your souls go to where the birds fly, high and free
And that if you could look back on me
The one who wishes he could just set you all free
Please forgive me
You’re all friends to me
I just slave for the man with all the money
Only so I can make sure your lives are filled with less misery.
Pagan Paul Apr 2018
This is not the best haiku in the world ...
... its just a tribute.*
(to HaikuDonnajones and her Dean).

At the crack of dawn
me and dean go milk our cows,
pulling the udders.

Our cows milk is good
for cheese, yoghurt and butter,
very nice in tea too.

are great, make good customers,
Vegans not so good.

What the hell is this
new coconut milk anyway?
Or soya butter?

I don't understand,
its not real dairy goodness,
its all fake dairy.

Our cows are organic,
no artificial cow feed,
just grass and fresh air.

After milking cows
me and dean have our breakfast
to give us energy.

I may turn Veggie,
but love my deans big sausage,
bacon, eggs fry-ups.

Our goats have kids to,
tidier than our own lot,
don't complain as much.

Me and dean are happy
with our kids, cows and our goats,
on our dairy farm.

© Pagan Paul (01/04/18)
*paraphrased from TenaciousD
Now go read Donna's myhaikudiary poems!
Terry Collett Mar 2018
Having got
the cows in
from the field,

shooing them
from the rear,
spreading my arms out

to prevent them
going the wrong way,
they followed

the leading cows
up the muddy path
towards the farm

and the milking sheds,
I thought of you
with your dark hair

and brown eyes,
and wonder
what you were doing,

while I was
those **** cows
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