#cows
seeded dreams
an advertisers game
demographic bullseye
another dollar gained.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 7:49 AM UTC
In the afternoon
Grandpa goes to the stable --
and sings the cows in.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 5:00 AM UTC
Twas in the Shire of Calabar that Stanley Pitt was born.
His mother‘s name was Stella and his father‘s name was Sean
Stanley was a bright young lad as far as they could tell
but when it came to milking cows now this is where he fell…
He’d grasp the teat and pull on it until the cow turned blue.
He’d even lie beneath the thing to get a better view
He tried so hard but every day he couldn’t comprehend
why every time he touched the beast the milk just seemed to end!
One day Stanley got a “spark”, a really beaut idea!
He got in the pub while he was sipping on a beer.
He built himself a new machine that ****** them jerseys dry!
Changed the whole towns’ fortunes in the winking of an eye.
So if you’re ever losing hope, think of our Stanley!
For every dog can have it’s day…. And a taste of VICTORY!
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 8:59 AM UTC
I take You everywhere I go
I take You everywhere, slow.
The sun sets to sleep,
The last of its rays reaches the backs of sheep.
From golden sun,
To rose-red set.
What's left of the turquoise blue sky,
Humming out its lullaby.
The cows mo(O)ve us on,
And the roadside trucks rattle strong;
Carrying next night's meals to the city gone.
I take You everywhere I go,
Searching high and low.
You're all around, this I know.
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 5:23 PM UTC
There once was a man from Green Bay
Who made it a habit each day
To ****** an udder
While churning his butter,
Then go for a nap in the hay.
Oct 12, 2024
Oct 12, 2024 at 11:33 AM UTC
The cows float about,
bobbing in the green, ******* --
they hoist their tail sails.
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 3:22 AM UTC
by the light of the m👀n
in the blue @fterⁿ°°ⁿ/
həy ****** dibble,
a cat p!ays a fiddle,
a li'l d○g nam'd Skiffle
laffs like fracking a maniac,
& a cøw jnmps
👁ver a runcible ****
Jul 27, 2024
Jul 27, 2024 at 4:22 PM UTC
A cow is a cow,
anywhere in the world she --
looks at you deeply.
Apr 17, 2024
Apr 17, 2024 at 3:58 AM UTC
One horizon all
round the green sea, here and there --
a cow sailing by.
Jan 17, 2023
Jan 17, 2023 at 2:27 AM UTC
The cows are mooing,
sheep are bleating, and the wind --
disperses the seeds.
Sep 2, 2022
Sep 2, 2022 at 3:15 AM UTC
Fearful cows. Proud buckets. Sequestered and barbed.
Three freckles. A constellating of anchors.
Violating space.
The long road travelled and the long road ahead.
Each length, perfect reflection of the other.
You are travelling as a mirror. Roving.
Violating time.
Swallowing hours. Draped. A shroud of volition.
The sky is still crying. The sea is angry.
You hear it sometimes, underneath the wind’s wails.
It can hear you. Sometimes. But always it sees.
Violating mind.
What it sees sends sun to sky and turns rain to
tears of joy, collected in proud buckets, that
drizzle down, dousing the faces of fearful cows.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
Oh Brown-eyed Beauty
this morn, you look so forlorn
What has you so troubled?
Through daybreak haze, I
follow her gaze, hear her sigh
Why would they take him?
She takes one last look
as he is hung on the hook
then she resumes her graze
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 4:49 AM UTC
In bitter winds the little Pipistrelle bats
Flitter hither and thither
Into the hills,
Around tree-timber limbs
With brittle twigs.
They wing their way
In thrills
Of twists
And turns.
Meanwhile, deep down below
The cows moan,
Roaming through the range.
They moo while they chew the cud,
Ruminating their food
Grazed earlier from prairie meadows.
Through the long day
They are accompanied
By flocks of birds
Twittering and tweeting,
Much noisier than the bats.
A feather flung chorus
Singing operas and arias
Amongst the misty trees.
Word composers love these things:
Mother Nature wrapping us
In her arms
And filling the air
With sights and sounds
That sooth the soul,
Sending us soundly to sleep
While those bats
Come out to play.
Paul Butters
© PB 26\11\2020.
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 4:53 PM UTC
Green, long grass.
Fields tamed by stone walls
Fences twisted by stray twigs.
Breeze that brushes through
Cows' ears and lambs' wools
Strokes my hair as I stare
With glee knowing that we
Are joined by this same sensation.
Perhaps they avoid stepping on bluebells
And then regrettably flatten buttercups
like me.
Might they not step on the cracks
between stones,
As I do not step on cracks between drains?
We share the same fear as other
humans approach,
Ready to flee if they come too close.
For they could be the death of us
Or we the death of them.
Once this fearful distance is breached
What will happen then?
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 5:40 AM UTC
Cinnamon
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.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 4:01 PM UTC
.
No milk today.
Please tell the cows its nothing personal.
© Pagan Paul (27/01/19)
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
1. 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.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 9:28 AM UTC
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
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
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
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
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
new,
as if dust were stars.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
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.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC
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.
Vegetarians
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)
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
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
shooing.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 4:49 AM UTC