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Anton Mar 2019
The calf needs to suckle milk.
The farmer wants to sell it.
The farmer has a sharp knife
and a captive bolt gun.
The calf has wobbly legs
and wide set innocent eyes.
We get the milk
and the calf gets slaughtered.
Colten Sorrells Jan 2019
the words flow in chunks
like bad milk from a gallon
right into your cup
it's not pudding, and it's definitely not yogurt
Chocolates have tasted many
Dark bitter white
Candied and sweet
And from different parts of the
Loved them all ,when I ate them
One, I love the most
Is Cadbury’s Dairy Milk

Unwrapping the purple-golden wrapper
The aroma sweet
Melts in the mouth always a lovely treat
Sweet memories of childhood it brings many
Of sharing the love and care
Sharing this link to an old Cadbury’s ad from 90’s
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!
BJFWords Mar 2018
Your teeth are the colour of off milk.
Your odour is of rancid butter.
I see you and I feel sorry for everyone that you spitter on.
I'm sorry for your loss.
Ben Kaw Mar 2018
The timid moon obscures itself
in shadows of intrigue.
Every night you wax,
a striptease of your soul.

The moon looks over all the stars
reflecting the light of an absent sun.
The cold night glows with wonder.
Though you are smaller than the stars,
the twinkles are minuscule in my eyes.

If you are the moon,
and the moon is made of cheese,
then why am I
cheesy so squeezy.
Sealtest was
substantial when
hormones agreed
that faith
did declare
profane minion
if heiress
of ice
cream would
certify a
revival in
social justice
that buries
hatchet to
enhance a
ticket of
wayward soul.
Mad cow is dairy heiress.  this future of mankind mocks today!
The fonterrorists will go elsewhere
The big boy powers always find a small dot far away from their large splodge
To check and wreck havoc to
It’s got to be far far enough away that if you can smell the smoke,
It’s faint enough that you could mistake it for incense
Or your might twitch your nose
Turn your head and say
Is someone smoking?
It smells like someone is smoking?

When the water is more **** than water
When it is only dry, desitutte,
eroded wasted uselessness,
The fonterrorists will go elsewhere
Somewhere with more utility.
I spoke to this man I met on the street and he told me that while he was on holiday he met a very guilt ridden man who was working for fonterra (read: fonterror) and he told me that they were already laying the plans to move on from colonised Aotearoa once it is all wasted.
A milk udder lure between her thigh
though her chanty where bin nigh
as day her ungulate would stack
their jugs full in this wooden shack
while shop worn gloves did amount
a shine must replete but always count
only first total inside their raw clement.
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