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"dairy" poems
I don’t care, That you don’t care, About caring about What I care for. And you know what? I don’t care that You won’t care for the only thing that I really care for. What if I care about cake? Would you not care about cake? Would you not care ABOUT CAKE? You care about cake, of course you do. I can see it in your eyes and by that tell tale dribble at your mouth. Cake is something that will make your legs quake with butter cream goodness. A good cake baked, makes you proud to be a cake baking citizen in a country that will let you bake cake. So what if I care about democracy. Would you not care about democracy? Would you let people live in fear of the **** of a gun, Would you care that there are those who are on the run from tyranny and violence who know pain and loss, that you could only wake up from, in a cold sweat? As you turn and toss in your memory foam bed. There is more happening on this Earth Then cake. There are greater causes than choosing between Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration and that traditional Victoria Sponge your Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week. The struggle humanity faces, is to live in harmony with each other. It cannot be resolved with cake. You cannot bring democracy to a country with cake. Or can we? What if we swapped, Non radar detectable aircraft For dairy delectable foodcraft, What if we swapped 12inch shells for 12 thousand babybels? What if we stole RPGs and gave back MSG’s (they’re less harmful in the long run, if thrown at you). What if, for once, everyone cared. And then we’d get somewhere. Every voice in every home Would not be a voice alone, And for once, we’d all agree about the fact we like cake and democracy for all.
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Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
Cake and Democracy
I don’t care, That you don’t care, About caring about What I care for. And you know what? I don’t care that You won’t care for the only thing that I really care for. What if I care about cake? Would you not care about cake? Would you not care ABOUT CAKE? You care about cake, of course you do. I can see it in your eyes and by that tell tale dribble at your mouth. Cake is something that will make your legs quake with butter cream goodness. A good cake baked, makes you proud to be a cake baking citizen in a country that will let you bake cake. So what if I care about democracy. Would you not care about democracy? Would you let people live in fear of the **** of a gun, Would you care that there are those who are on the run from tyranny and violence who know pain and loss, that you could only wake up from, in a cold sweat? As you turn and toss in your memory foam bed. There is more happening on this Earth Then cake. There are greater causes than choosing between Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration and that traditional Victoria Sponge your Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week. The struggle humanity faces, is to live in harmony with each other. It cannot be resolved with cake. You cannot bring democracy to a country with cake. Or can we? What if we swapped, Non radar detectable aircraft For dairy delectable foodcraft, What if we swapped 12inch shells for 12 thousand babybels? What if we stole RPGs and gave back MSG’s (they’re less harmful in the long run, if thrown at you). What if, for once, everyone cared. And then we’d get somewhere. Every voice in every home Would not be a voice alone, And for once, we’d all agree about the fact we like cake and democracy for all.
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68
It’s something that try we should To provide the parrot its basic food Apple minus seeds mango banana Grape orange guava papaya As for vegetables cooked dried bean With beet broccoli its heart you can win Cucumber carrot and cauliflower They surely love like they love a shower Corn on the cob is fun for parrot They aren’t fussy as them you thought Hot peppers peapod lettuce For them delicacies you can choose Sweet and baked potato well cooked yam They devour in delight add to their glam Parrots are cute friendly and nice Give them oatmeal millet brown rice They’re not greedy from you they won’t beg Though these birds love scrambled boiled egg The parrot is innocent gorgeous and sweet Can’t call them carnivore yes they like meat Must talk to them and not keep your mouth shut Your loving pet the parrot loves occasional nut. Now words of caution what don’t do them good Candy and chocolate and all junk food I know you are smart and not at all mean To offer this wonder bird mushrooms caffeine Believe my words they aren’t my opinion Use them in your food don’t give them onion Dairy products for them are a big ‘no’ ‘no’ You surely want them to healthily glow Give the parrot shower keep its cage clean Give them just fresh foods no sugar no caffeine Say ‘no’ to pesticides choose only organic See in their bowel nothing goes toxic Follow what I’ve said the task is not hard Spend your time well with this beautiful bird.
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Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
Parrot Care
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
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Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
dairy queen
GMO foods punch holes in cells permeate the gut, creating gaps in guts Leading to food floating in bloodstreams, rivers of pain Food allergies, ulcers, IBS .... these are the milder troubles I won't speak of  IBD, Cancer and Crohns disease Babies born now allergic to foods, children allergic more than ever They said, though the BT injected crops killed bugs, bursting their bellies that they were still safe for humans....They were wrong! Now these GMO crops are causing a myriad of gastro problems in people! Food crops are now Roundup ready in the Killing Fields. Videos to watch: www.youtube.com/watch?v=FS72J9bDvPM&feature;=relmfu www.youtube.com/watch?v=6D3TUk-XX1o&feature;=relmfu TOP FOODS TO AVOID (unless labeled organic) Corn Soy Potatoes Canola, Cottonseed Oils Sugar, fructose, corn syrup Dairy - except organic Tomatoes - except organic Papaya/Hawaiian Helpful links:   www.naturalnews.com/035734_GMOs_foods_dangers.html http://truefoodnow.org/
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Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
I'd love to "Roundup" the GMO monsters
One day tears will hit my cheeks - raging hail and empty streets. One day joy will kiss my lips - soft balloon and vacation trips. One day sickness will swell my throat - fevered flesh and ***** coats. One day health will sing my song - common loon and acquitted wrongs. One day weakness will force me down - rusty bridge and broken crowns. One day strength will lift my arms - solid rock and dairy farms. One day fear will eat my heart - barking dog and missing parts One day faith will keep my beat - mustard seed and new feats. One day pain will fill my core - blazing fire and open sores. One day love will lead my legs - kind words and scrambled eggs. One day hate will my itch my knees - long distance and sneaky fees. One day peace will tickle my toes - green grass and escaping prose.
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Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Rollercoaster Life
I'll have me an Irish Coffee, make sure the coffee's fresh and stout, add a dash of dairy cream, and do NOT leave the whiskey out! http://beautyineverything.com/4819896887 Here's the ****** recipe: "Black coffee is poured into the mug. Whiskey and at least one level teaspoon of sugar is stirred in until fully dissolved. The sugar is essential for floating liquid cream on top.[11] Thick cream is carefully poured over the back of a spoon initially held just above the surface of the coffee and gradually raised a little.[12] The layer of cream will float on the coffee without mixing. The coffee is drunk through the layer of cream. To ensure the integrity of the ingredients of Irish Coffee, NSAI, Ireland's national standards body published an Irish Standard, I.S. 417 Irish Coffee in 1988.[13]" D-NOTE--It doesn't say a ******* THING about adding Bailey's Irish Creme or canned whipped topping and a plastic shamrock to the top of the ********* drink, now does it??? Anyone making Caife Gaelich with trendy ******** add-ons should be beaten with a shillelagh!
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Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 3:07 AM UTC
An Irish Coffee (Caife Gaelach)
Marinara is my favourite kind of pizza. I mean, I can’t really have any others... Yes, I am one of those ‘annoying vegans’ But I also don’t like the non-dairy cheeses. I used to order the gluten-free version. So, I guess I am even more annoying. However, the dough was so dry and weird I just could never enjoy it. I’ve tolerated it though for maybe 4 times. But seriously, it was quite nasty. So, please, just get the normal Marinara, Unless you've got celiac disease. In which case, I'm sorry, You gotta have to get the gross pizza.
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Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 6:30 AM UTC
Midnight Contemplation
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.
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Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
Dairy 6 of a ****** Superhero
Alright, you've convinced me. Let's get ice cream and eat it out of the tub with two spoons. Like the civilized pair we are. We'll eat it in one sitting. No, maybe two. I promise this will be our favorite part of the weekend. You and me. Munching on fattening, frozen dairy. Enjoying every bite. And each second as we sit on the edge of the bed together. So, I'll get my shoes you get your keys and we'll make one of our favorite memories.
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Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
ice cream
I have hairy legs. The dishwasher is broken. I have been reading books. I have been solving stupid math equations I have to wash the food crusted dishes. I’m writing a novella I’m also researching sodium chloride My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far. Comment vous appelez-vous? Why doesn’t anyone participate In the Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program? I’m studying French. -b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a) Anyways. I have been teaching myself How to play my Black Stretchy Accordion. [I don’t know why, But it’s stretchy Like mozzarella cheese] I have to help my sister-in-law move Into my house. Into the basement. Heh heh heh. Daiya non-dairy cheese: “Melts and stretches!” Now I have to scrape the Black tar gunk Off the plates, because Mother told me to do so. Oh, the odium of sodium! There is No more time For me To shave My legs.
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Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
Hairy Legs
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....#psycho superhero
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Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:27 PM UTC
Dairy 2 of a ****** superhero
I want cheesey garlic bread! alas, it's all that's in my head- and if lactose I could tolerate, this might not be such a debate. though I'm sure my body could conform, but it's taken this long to reform! from the **** and mucus that is dairy, that will surely turn your knuckles hairy. I'll eat a piece of gluten toast, for it only makes my tummy bloat, but from cheese I must stay far away, unless I want my **** to spray. it's a sign, I think, that my body rejects such a harmful product, my body protects but god ****** I want garlic bread, the cheesey kind, it's in my head...
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Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 1:30 AM UTC
I want cheesey garlic bread
pastel monotone thoughts paint an image of me in her mind complete with shrinkwrap and a bright smiley face sticker her eager hand sweats the dealt moment she awaits with impatience for her daily christmas time package her daily reprise of her happy moment she remembers it with fondness her pastel colours spread slowly like an intellectual STD a malfunction of the common man she is a true modern miscreant she wants a pretty girl lover that comes complete with emo look a like laptop gamer girl attached the hip down to matchin **** selfies a hundred smooth moves and cheat codes she wants the complete package at the discount rate shes a card carrying member of some fan girl fandango she calls me captain saveahoe street nasty superhero with kung-fu grip trailing through the dank alleys in search of the legendary ultimate dumpster the prize of every divers wet dreams wandering all night with a few vampire hangers on looking for a fashionable means to a glorious end meanwhile the corner girl is waiting on me thinking i'm just trying to find her a safe place to be she is my safe place and i'm hers the few of us that survive the moment stroll on through the rain to the dairy queen to see and be seen dont cha' hate that whole show up to show off she lives to die for it but thats ok cause i love her just the same
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Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
pastel thinking
The bar behind the theatre was nearly empty apart from a couple of gay boys. Well, it was a gay bar, so no ******* surprise there. I glanced at the fat one and decided, 'No thank you very much,' as I have noticed fat people often smell unpleasantly, maybe it's the sweat trapped between their ********** that does it. But the other one was very cute and I decided I would have him. In those days, it was regarded as 'de rigeur' to buy a lad a lager and lime before dragging him home with you for some nookie, so I coughed up for a half pint with charm and grace. Sadly, he was no great shakes in the conversational stakes, but was I after intellectual stimulation? No, I ******* wasn't. Anyway, once I'd checked his passport to ensure he was over-age (no one wants any ******* trouble from the bigoted morality squad) I dragged him back to my elegant bachelor orgy-pad and stripped him off to investigate his lithe little body; a nice smooth little **** and a reasonably clean **** What more can you want from a one night stand? After a bit of a damp snog and a good old ***** I lubed him up and gave his *** a right good poking. He moaned a bit, but then who wouldn't moan, with seven and a half inches of thick gristle shoved all the way up their sphincter? I know I would. After I had filled his rear end with love juice a couple of times, I felt that kicking out was the name of the game. Generously, I gave him a half-crown for his bus fare as he said he was a bit short of cash, being unemployed. It was the least I could do, as he had three miles to go home, and it was raining cats and ******* dogs outside. After he'd left, I checked out the bed sheets (as you would) and was irritated to find a few skidmarks there, or they may have been where I wiped my fingers after having eaten a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk. A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicions though. 'Ah well, true love always comes at a price', I reflected, as I scraped the worst bits off with a nail file.
0
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
A Gay Adventure
The bar behind the theatre was nearly empty apart from a couple of gay boys. Well, it was a gay bar, so no ******* surprise there. I glanced at the fat one and decided, 'No thank you very much,' as I have noticed fat people often smell unpleasantly, maybe it's the sweat trapped between their ********** that does it. But the other one was very cute and I decided I would have him. In those days, it was regarded as 'de rigeur' to buy a lad a lager and lime before dragging him home with you for some nookie, so I coughed up for a half pint with charm and grace. Sadly, he was no great shakes in the conversational stakes, but was I after intellectual stimulation? No, I ******* wasn't. Anyway, once I'd checked his passport to ensure he was over-age (no one wants any ******* trouble from the bigoted morality squad) I dragged him back to my elegant bachelor orgy-pad and stripped him off to investigate his lithe little body; a nice smooth little **** and a reasonably clean **** What more can you want from a one night stand? After a bit of a damp snog and a good old ***** I lubed him up and gave his *** a right good poking. He moaned a bit, but then who wouldn't moan, with seven and a half inches of thick gristle shoved all the way up their sphincter? I know I would. After I had filled his rear end with love juice a couple of times, I felt that kicking out was the name of the game. Generously, I gave him a half-crown for his bus fare as he said he was a bit short of cash, being unemployed. It was the least I could do, as he had three miles to go home, and it was raining cats and ******* dogs outside. After he'd left, I checked out the bed sheets (as you would) and was irritated to find a few skidmarks there, or they may have been where I wiped my fingers after having eaten a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk. A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicions though. 'Ah well, true love always comes at a price', I reflected, as I scraped the worst bits off with a nail file.
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35
Wet, dripping Hot, sweaty Meatpacking shop Cutting up cows Cold ***** in your local safeway I have no ********
0
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Brought to you by dairy farmers everywhere
There was no evil in the eyes of the man that smiled at me in the dairy section when I was little. There was no evil in the eyes of the drunken man that tried to talk to me at the bus stop the other day. There was no evil in the eyes of the construction worker who gazed upon my bare legs for a little too long one summer morning. But there was evil in your eyes.
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Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
No such thing as "stranger danger"
Brigid was born on a flax mill farm, Near the Cavan border, in Monaghan, At Lough Egish on the Carrick Road, The last child of the Sheridans. The sluice still runs near the water wheel, With thistles thriving on rusted steel. Little's known of Nellie's early years; Da died before she knew grieving tears, They'd turn her eyes in later years. She's eleven posing with her class, This photo shows an Irish lass. Her look is distant, Her face is blurred, But recognizable In an instant. She was schooled six years To last a life, Some math, the Irish, To read and write. Her Mammy grew ill, She lost a leg, And bit by bit, By age sixteen, Nellie buried her first dead. Too young to be alone, Sisters and brother had left the home. The cloistered convent took her in, She taught urchins and orphans About God and Grace and sin. There were no vows for Nellie then. At nineteen she met a Creamery man, Jim Lynch of the Cavan clan; He delivered dairy from his lorry, Married Nellie, Relieved their worry. War flared, men were few, There was work in Coventry. Ireland's thistles were left to bloom. Nellie soon was Michael's Mammy, Then Maura, Sheila and Kevin followed, When war floundered to its end, They shipped back to Monaghan, And brought the mill to life again. The thistles and weeds That surrounded the mill, Were scythed and scattered By Daddy's zeal. He built himself A generator, Providing power To lights and wheel. Sean was born, Gerald soon followed; Then Michael died. A nine year old, His Daddy's angel. Is this what turns A father strange? Francie arrived, Then Eucheria, But ten months later Bold death took her. Grief knows no borders For brothers and sisters. We left for Canada. Mammy brought six kids along, Leaving her dead behind, Buried with Ireland. Daddy was waiting for family, Six months before Mammy got free From death's inhumanity. Her tears and griefs weren't yet over, She birthed another son and daughter; Jimmy and Marlene left us too, Death is sure, Death is cruel. Grandchildren came, she was Granny, Bridget, Nellie, but still our Mammy. She lived this life eduring pain That mothers bear, Mothers sustain. And yet, in times of personal strain, I'll sometimes whisper her one name, Mammy.
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Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
Her Many Names
Brigid was born on a flax mill farm, Near the Cavan border, in Monaghan, At Lough Egish on the Carrick Road, The last child of the Sheridans. The sluice still runs near the water wheel, With thistles thriving on rusted steel. Little's known of Nellie's early years; Da died before she knew grieving tears, They'd turn her eyes in later years. She's eleven posing with her class, This photo shows an Irish lass. Her look is distant, Her face is blurred, But recognizable In an instant. She was schooled six years To last a life, Some math, the Irish, To read and write. Her Mammy grew ill, She lost a leg, And bit by bit, By age sixteen, Nellie buried her first dead. Too young to be alone, Sisters and brother had left the home. The cloistered convent took her in, She taught urchins and orphans About God and Grace and sin. There were no vows for Nellie then. At nineteen she met a Creamery man, Jim Lynch of the Cavan clan; He delivered dairy from his lorry, Married Nellie, Relieved their worry. War flared, men were few, There was work in Coventry. Ireland's thistles were left to bloom. Nellie soon was Michael's Mammy, Then Maura, Sheila and Kevin followed, When war floundered to its end, They shipped back to Monaghan, And brought the mill to life again. The thistles and weeds That surrounded the mill, Were scythed and scattered By Daddy's zeal. He built himself A generator, Providing power To lights and wheel. Sean was born, Gerald soon followed; Then Michael died. A nine year old, His Daddy's angel. Is this what turns A father strange? Francie arrived, Then Eucheria, But ten months later Bold death took her. Grief knows no borders For brothers and sisters. We left for Canada. Mammy brought six kids along, Leaving her dead behind, Buried with Ireland. Daddy was waiting for family, Six months before Mammy got free From death's inhumanity. Her tears and griefs weren't yet over, She birthed another son and daughter; Jimmy and Marlene left us too, Death is sure, Death is cruel. Grandchildren came, she was Granny, Bridget, Nellie, but still our Mammy. She lived this life eduring pain That mothers bear, Mothers sustain. And yet, in times of personal strain, I'll sometimes whisper her one name, Mammy.
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84
Where be ye going, you Devon maid? And what have ye there i' the basket? Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it? I love your meads, and I love your flowers, And I love your junkets mainly, But 'hind the door, I love kissing more, O look not so disdainly! I love your hills, and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; But O, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating! I'll put your basket all safe in a nook, Your shawl I'll hang up on this willow, And we will sigh in the daisy's eye, And kiss on a grass-green pillow.
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3.4k
Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid?
Don’t think too much About forbidden touch Or legal abuse of such Little creatures like dairy cows and fabric workers. Don’t feel too much. The homeless man with his crutch Can disappear, hush. Turn your head dear, eat McDonald’s chicken fingers. Don’t love too much. Why on real people crush? People slip through your clutch. As flashing lights reanimate Rihanna, both your eyes close the shutters. Our world distracts us from seeing, Persuades us we need a break. Deserving one after a day going nowhere. Turn the TV on to the latest ‘Bachelor’. So loud. So loud. So loud. Too loud! I shut my eyes from the too-bright lights. I need to escape the escape, to find solace. I put pen to paper and hear its whisper. Poetry softly roars while TV screams shrill. You’ll remember the written words for time Degrees of magnitude than you’ll remember (consciously) that singing cat meme. Real love takes more effort Than a heart reaction on Facebook. Writing truth takes longer than re-posting. Yet I want to share myself, not another gif lol. Mute the volume for a second. Can deaf ears hear again the music of the pen? Think too much.
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Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Don't Think Too Much
Morning smells of Lilacs rapture me, Taking me back to Kinderhooks Chatham Street….June 21st 1961……not a cloud in the sky. Lying in bed I open my eyes to the hum of a window fan. And in the distance I hear a Hudson River barge blast its horn. This moment in time, well it brings tears to my eyes. Eleven years old, brown hair, hazel eyes, a toothy smile, Grins in the mirror, hoping to find a whisker or two… My cat Oscar sits there on the sink purring out his contentment. “Oscar” I say, “today I leave for the Freedom Farm” The Freedom Farm is the one place where I’m free to be me Without the fear of a negative comment or a boot in my *** I climb aboard the Greyhound bus with suitcase in hand, And looking down at Mom and Dad....I wave…. So Long Suckers!!               Walton NY, June 22nd, Dunk Hill Road, the smell of cow **** The land of Milk and Honey, Fields of four leaf clovers and 10’ corn stalks. It was here that all my friends lived, Shorty the horse, Mrs Blue the Holstein,                                                                               And there was Uncle Ike, Aunt Minnie and 9 Cousins. I loved them all! On this little dairy farm……my potential was unlimited, Uncle Ike taught me to drive the Tractor, water the heifers,   Milk the cows, shovel **** spread manure and have some **** fun! Hell Uncle Ike even let me try a piece of his plug tobacco... (Note to self…Just say No Thanks next time) A summer filled with character building experiences and an eight year olds understanding of work ethic. But we still had plenty of time for fun and cousin bonding. My Cousin Tom taught me to ride the cows and honed my spitting skills. And in my downtime I'd perfect the finer points of armpit farting, Four weeks of heaven on earth where nothing was impossible. *Once you work on a farm you get dirt in your shoes. And when you get dirt in your shoes, you can never get it out!"
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Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
The Freedom Farm
Morning smells of Lilacs rapture me, Taking me back to Kinderhooks Chatham Street….June 21st 1961……not a cloud in the sky. Lying in bed I open my eyes to the hum of a window fan. And in the distance I hear a Hudson River barge blast its horn. This moment in time, well it brings tears to my eyes. Eleven years old, brown hair, hazel eyes, a toothy smile, Grins in the mirror, hoping to find a whisker or two… My cat Oscar sits there on the sink purring out his contentment. “Oscar” I say, “today I leave for the Freedom Farm” The Freedom Farm is the one place where I’m free to be me Without the fear of a negative comment or a boot in my *** I climb aboard the Greyhound bus with suitcase in hand, And looking down at Mom and Dad....I wave…. So Long Suckers!!               Walton NY, June 22nd, Dunk Hill Road, the smell of cow **** The land of Milk and Honey, Fields of four leaf clovers and 10’ corn stalks. It was here that all my friends lived, Shorty the horse, Mrs Blue the Holstein,                                                                               And there was Uncle Ike, Aunt Minnie and 9 Cousins. I loved them all! On this little dairy farm……my potential was unlimited, Uncle Ike taught me to drive the Tractor, water the heifers,   Milk the cows, shovel **** spread manure and have some **** fun! Hell Uncle Ike even let me try a piece of his plug tobacco... (Note to self…Just say No Thanks next time) A summer filled with character building experiences and an eight year olds understanding of work ethic. But we still had plenty of time for fun and cousin bonding. My Cousin Tom taught me to ride the cows and honed my spitting skills. And in my downtime I'd perfect the finer points of armpit farting, Four weeks of heaven on earth where nothing was impossible. *Once you work on a farm you get dirt in your shoes. And when you get dirt in your shoes, you can never get it out!"
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26
A Four day concert, created by Roberts, Rosenman,  Kornfeld, and Lang Was originally supposed be a three-day  music festival, and up it sprang But the citizens of citizens of Wallkill, N.Y. did not want their nice quiet town filled With drugged up hippies that would overrun, and with this idea they were not thrilled With many battles and protests, Wallkill passed a law on July 2, 1969 banning The would be concert from going forward leaving the town quite less enchanting Almost not getting off the ground, hippies all over demanding refunds for their tickets Stepping forward, Max Yasgur offered his 600-acre dairy farm so no one would picket The new location for the Woodstock Festival would be Bethel, New York No one from the other town would not have complaints or come uncorked Despite the many problems of people threatening to quit Woodstock got off the ground despite things still being chit This concert was poorly planned with two major setbacks, as news spread that it was free There were congestion of cars that policeman had to turn away, for as far as one could see Organizers lost huge amounts of money while hippies walked through gates without paying But it was estimated that 500,000 people made it to the concert and they came in swaying The music seemed to play non-stop as people sat and listened and some would play It was very muddy from all the rain of what it did from much of the concert everyday Listening to greats such as Creedence Clearwater Revival, Santana, Jimi Hendrix, Sweetwater Can’t forget, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jefferson Airplane and Ten Years After The concert ended and picking up the pieces began, that wasn't just the trash that was left behind It was the lawsuits that many filed against the organizers since beginning to end put many in a bind The greatest music festival in history later put to a movie that is divine Something that will forever be talked about from the summer of 1969 Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved
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Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Woodstock
A Four day concert, created by Roberts, Rosenman,  Kornfeld, and Lang Was originally supposed be a three-day  music festival, and up it sprang But the citizens of citizens of Wallkill, N.Y. did not want their nice quiet town filled With drugged up hippies that would overrun, and with this idea they were not thrilled With many battles and protests, Wallkill passed a law on July 2, 1969 banning The would be concert from going forward leaving the town quite less enchanting Almost not getting off the ground, hippies all over demanding refunds for their tickets Stepping forward, Max Yasgur offered his 600-acre dairy farm so no one would picket The new location for the Woodstock Festival would be Bethel, New York No one from the other town would not have complaints or come uncorked Despite the many problems of people threatening to quit Woodstock got off the ground despite things still being chit This concert was poorly planned with two major setbacks, as news spread that it was free There were congestion of cars that policeman had to turn away, for as far as one could see Organizers lost huge amounts of money while hippies walked through gates without paying But it was estimated that 500,000 people made it to the concert and they came in swaying The music seemed to play non-stop as people sat and listened and some would play It was very muddy from all the rain of what it did from much of the concert everyday Listening to greats such as Creedence Clearwater Revival, Santana, Jimi Hendrix, Sweetwater Can’t forget, Grateful Dead, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jefferson Airplane and Ten Years After The concert ended and picking up the pieces began, that wasn't just the trash that was left behind It was the lawsuits that many filed against the organizers since beginning to end put many in a bind The greatest music festival in history later put to a movie that is divine Something that will forever be talked about from the summer of 1969 Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved
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Write me ****** Converse with in my notebook Write me in verses Use lust a word to trace my lips, kisses in forms of sonnets, Touch my hair in feather inked pens, pencil my buttocks with curvy nouns Endearments in & out like syllables, while spelling out sensual adjectives poetically ****** me, calling out my name as you rhyme again in and out out and in ****** deeply within me your hard penetrating Philosophy. Wrap your hand in mines as you once more trace your tongue down my notepad become master *********** within pages of my dairy. Converse with in my notebook as we fill up my pages. Please Please Please Write me in verses Write me ****** Write me harder& harder Faster Please Write good long as you Write me Sweet Poets! Always Me Ayeshah
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Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 7:55 PM UTC
Sweet Poets
Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear The warning whirr and burring of the bird Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder. Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird, Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire. So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth, Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night, Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset-- Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.
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2.8k
Goatsucker
We know it by the Huge blinking lights From rides that Tend to make people Throw Up Dairy Queen. We know it by Those big, intricate Winding tatoos That snake up the arms Of half of the attendees That have a message That I can't read. We know it by Little children Clinging, Terrified, To the hands of their Irresponsible mothers. And we know it By inhaling so much Secondhand smoke That we're almost positive That a little lung cancer Has invaded our privacy. We know it by The Herndon Festival. And we love it.
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May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
Herndon Festival