"herder" poems
Your commitment to me
will always be
Competing against that of Lucas
While I stand in the buff,
you want space stuff
You want sabres and jedis a’clashing
If you loved me,
as much as wookies
We’d fly just as smooth as pod racers
While I give you my heart
you’re busy hating the 1st part
I know, the prequels were ******
300 odd days
till the force’s new phase
And Solo returns in the falcon
By then I’ll be brain fried,
I’ll have gone to the dark side
I’ll be just as done as poor Greedo
Solo may have shot first
But man its the worst
always coming second to that nerf herder
Even when I’m gone
just like Alderaan
You’ll dream of Leia’s bikini
Just make like R2,
Say you love me too
And I won’t have to force choke my darling
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
My Bipolar Disorder is a stout-bodied mammal with horns and cloven hooves.
There are two types of My Bipolar Disorder:
Domestic, and Mountain.
My Bipolar disorder typically spends its days grazing on grasses
My Bipolar Disorder will dig depressions in the ground to sleep, rest, and bathe in.
My Bipolar disorder is super social during the winter, and tends to go solo during the summer.
My Bipolar Disorders tail usually points up! (Unless it is frightened or sick)
My Bipolar Disorder is extremely Curious and Intelligent.
Once My bipolar disorder has discovered a weakness in its fence, it will exploit it repeatedly.
There are over 300 distinct breeds of My Bipolar Disorder.
Within' minutes of being born, my Bipolar Disorder is up and walking around.
My bipolar disorder used to live in the white house with Abraham Lincoln.
One day an ethiopian Herder walked in on My Bipolar Disorder liteally bouncing off of cliff walls because it just Discovered Coffee.
My Bipolar Disorder has four stomachs
The horns of My Bipolar Disorder are typically removed to reduce injury to humans.
My Bipolar disorder will explore anything new or unfamiliar in its surroundings, mainly with its mouth and tongue.
My bipolar disorder readily reverts to the wild if given the opportunity.
My Bipolar Disorder is more susceptible to Parasites and other infectious diseases when it is mismanaged.
My bipolar disorder has had a lingering connection with Satanism and pagan religions
My Bipolar Disorder is considered a "clean" animal by jewish dietary laws.
According to Zeus
As long as you leave it's bones whole,
My Bipolar disorder will keep coming back to life.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
burdened with the weight of it all,
the camel stops and lies
in the middle of the desert
the man driving the herd--
the herd that's laden
with tired, overworked
camels, walks toward the downtrodden
offender with his arm outstretched
and in his palm, sat a pistol--
then, he hesitates--
as he stares into the eyes of
the camel--
deeply--
intrigued--
but beyond that,
he felt a sense of calm, which
soon turned sour--
everything turns sour
he gazed into the dark abyss
of the pistol
turned it toward his temple
and pulled the trigger
all the camels scattered--
except the one lying down
he placed his head in the sand,
then slept
in memory of
the
fallen
herder
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
Southern shells – or longitude
it’s rude to discuss such a rough location – but I’m a *****
to such provocation.
destiny’s Vacation
in a nation
with ****** – nonchalantly run a muck.
total *** or ******** visible I don’t believe the natives can purchase *****
a loss of bucks is inherent to those who want.
bring your paranoia to a paranormal place where
paintings haunt
or move around after your heat signature.
can he make this
make meaning?
i am the dignitor.
a broken side of a square to settle the score
if you weren't sure.
stressed to proceed with thee program.
the waves can crash on shape and
make ham
sandwiches
which is beautiful.
in the eye of the beholder, hold on I’ve smoldered
all of my calls.
put a hold on the fourth wall – I can
and swam into the shallow.
tribune myself to the tropical Loch Ness
fall fourth to the shadow.
let us Dive further.
amphibious herder of the deep
stay afloat on a personal boat
to return to sleep.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
A mountain
A shark fin
A hang-man
A seven
Candelabra
Insects
Test tubes
Disease
Full moon
Candelabra
Umbrella
Whipping cane
Crook
Herder
Candelabra
Alpha
Elves
Pretty Alps
Hollow
Candelabra
Light bulb
Reptile
Annulus
Coil
Candelabra
A skirt
A birth
A girth
A first
Candelabra
Sunspots
Patterns
Blinded
Heaven
Candelabra
Spider
Structure
Front door
Glass fracture
Candelabra
Animals
Aliens
Threatening
Harmless
Candelabra
Money
Dead leaves
Decay
Potpourri
Candelabra
Peace
Horns
Antennas
***********
Candelabra
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 7:02 PM UTC
Dissonance is when you are met with a contradiction.
You go through life with no qualms,
eating everyday the preservatives you love,
forgetting the places where we just dropped bombs,
dropped upon children; as if gods from above.
Men and women are murdered every day,
but we have the power to keep that at bay,
with our expertise in the art of ******
your country is our flock and we are the herder.
But every few days or so,
a report will come up on T.V.,
how the problem will grow,
but not to worry, it will never effect me.
So I live my life with my T.V. shows,
going to parties and drinking too much,
not thinking of the children who made my clothes,
and how my comfort is due to their touch.
Until one day a new report is up,
how the war has not worked and people are dying,
the reporter doesn't bat an eye during his close up,
when they show the children crying.
Dissonance appears in my heart,
my head, my body and my soul.
"How can I be so happy and free?
with someone living so below me.
I should help, I should fight,
show those heathens what is right.
Let the world know that this is wrong,
maybe I'll even write a song."
Then my brain recognizes its bounds,
settles down and grabs a coke,
I'll just do a few more rounds,
of sitting and telling a joke.
That makes it easier for me,
to laugh instead of aid,
for I know they are not free,
but soon their voices will fade,
and I can comfortably forget their plea.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Her tender skin sprouts
green shoots
a wreath,
at the foot of tree
she was buried.
On the trunk
her face appeared, a
morphed stump.
The bark, her coffin
split, where demons clawed.
A number, worms out
indelible scars, 452.
Frozen chambers of mortuary
await the next,
a child, a girl, a dalit, a musalman.
A cattle herder.
Or, the silent you, you and you.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:43 AM UTC
sloshing through
the pipes, rats riding
a winding wave notwithstanding
the pull of the riptide untied and tried
typically clear blue true without you
unrhymed but confined and unheard
born broken unnurtured and blind
further outside of my mind you lined
the blinds with ******
but I heard her outside the lines
a herder, she shined in my eyes
reflecting signs of sobbing sighs
releasing white withering pines
bare blown apart mines
bland broken times
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
Mismatched rambling lines
All going with the times
The random erratic flow
The constant stop and go
All signs point outward
From a single point we are moving backward and forward
Too long have we been condensed
Like sheep herded fed and fenced
It is time to run,time to fly
Knock down the fence or die
And spread out into the open field
Though no one knows what it will yield
The sheep will over come the herder
They will not get away with ******
Wake up from your sleep
Though it is lovely and deep
Awaken and see that the world is burning
And the herder doesn't find it concerning.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 8:57 PM UTC
I have a man with a pointy hat
Lives under my desktop lid,
He came for muffins and jam, and that,
I call the Wizard of Did,
His beard got caught when the lid came down
So I had to trim it back,
But he says it’s comfy and warm in there
So he’s turned it into a flat.
I thought at first I would charge him rent
But he wasn’t too keen on that,
So I suggested a garden tent
And he said he’d pass the hat.
I’d try to type in the early hours
But he’d bang up under the lid,
‘How can I get my beauty sleep,’
He said, the Wizard of Did.
‘You’re going to have to pay your way,’
I said, ‘It’s not for free,
‘You’d better come up with something good
That’s of some use to me.’
‘You say you struggle for plots,’ he said,
‘Well I can help with those,
‘I’m full of people I want to be,
I just need different clothes.’
The Wizard was as good as his word
He’d pop up now and then,
Whenever I’d sit and scratch my head
He’d mention Holy men,
Then march along the top of the desk
With mitre, staff and cross,
And make me kiss the pontiff’s ring
On the eve of Pentecost.
He’d play the role of a murderer,
He’d play the role of a clown,
He’d play an old sheep herder-er
With a crook in a shepherd’s gown,
He’d pop up with a pirate’s patch
And ****** pieces of eight,
Or keep me longing for Molly Brown
When my ship came in too late.
Whenever I sat there at a loss
For a line, a rhyme, a verse,
He’d throw a bag on the table top
And say, ‘Now pick a curse!’
He’d turn mine into a haunted house
And he’d stalk me in the gloom,
And have me making a pact with Faust
In a dark and lonely tomb.
And now when I think my muse has gone
That my stories have been spent,
I tap-tap-tap on the table top
And he says, ‘You must repent!
I’m not a bottomless pit, you know,’
Climbs in, and closes the lid,
I say, ‘You promised a constant flow,’
And he groans, ‘I know… I Did!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
Life follows you
No matter how far
You go
Life will tip toe
Behind you
If you venture to the
Deepest ocean or
A mountain painted with clouds
Life has no limits
Life has no fear or doubt
Life is life and life only
Life will travel in your
Most secret diary notes
Your darkest secrets
Your highest joys
Life sleeps beside you
As you cry in bed
With a loneliness that
Gnaws at your guts
Making your teeth chatter
Life is not bound by
Rusted iron shackles
Life has no death sentence
Life is free and
Enslaved and always wanting
More and more like
We are
Life follows you
No matter how fast
You may run from it
Life watches with two
Yellow beating eyes
Watches from inside your
Bedroom closet filled with
***** underwear
From underneath the bed
Life watches with a smile and
A hollow frown
We view our one life as
Life watches
All
Of
Ours
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
Sohni’s heart pines
for Mahinwal
for she loves
him beyond all things earthly
By day she paints flowers
on the pots her father makes
O Sohni’s heart is always filled with love
And by night
she swims across
with a *** to help her float
and she goes each night thus
to meet her forbidden love
O Mahinwal’s heart
that herder of cattle
his heart too is filled with love
and he has given up his name
and his land
for he is no longer Izzat Baig of Buhkara
but he is simple Mahinwal –
Sohni’s Mahinwal
O so full of love is he
day and night
for the beautiful Sohni
and how will this end?
O river that nurtures us – tell us…
O how will this forbidden love end? –
O fish and cattle and deer
and creatures of the river bank –
tell us, how this love will end…
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 4:22 AM UTC
She’s Luz-Vi-Minda
Priestess of Asia
When incubus harms
She takes out her charms…
Behold! Jose Rizal
Our hero national
Poet, doctor, researcher
Farmer, herder, school-builder
Fought Spaniards with paper and pen
Luzon’s charm – noblest of our men!
Behold! Lapu-Lapu!
Defender of Cebu
First terror of invaders
Famed Magellan’s death renders
Rammed Spaniards with native bolo
Visayas’ charm – quaintest hero!
Behold! Purmassuri!
Awesome Muslim lady
Wise heroine of Sulu
Foreigners cannot subdue
Disturbed Spaniards so tribesmen won
Mindanao’s charm – enemies thrown!
-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC
I wish that I was braver – a little less shy. But genies are a thing of make believe, so this wish remains inside
Of my mind
It is false like the sheep herder who calls,
Out about a ferocious beast who feeds on his sheep,
Even if there was no ferocious beast at all.
But at least he cried wolf, at least he cried out.
While I sit here in silence with the worst case of cotton mouth.
I've been struck by a drought, Words dry up faster than my ability to speak.
My tongue has been barren for days, no sound, genies are a thing of make believe.
I fear what might happen, meaning I embrace deciding not to take action. But when it comes to hoping, all of my thinking is wishful.
So if a genie were to be reading this, may he grant my three wishes in the form of spoken word delivered from my lips to her ears:
You're really Cute.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
*oh **** i know, it happened in your bedroom... and thak **** it didn't happen anywhere apart from that! except in advert, and at a Trump rally.*
i can't be really Polish,
and i certainly can't be English,
so what's left? partly Scottish?
åka ɲørdé - aaka(h) niu-rd(eh) -
to go forth, with Shelley,
and seek my goat-herder
there among the icecaps
in frozen Victorian land,
among grey and among
Orca slaughter - to feast,
while those who seek more than
grape seek dactyl - under the palm -
may in eternity our paths
never cross as they did by mortality
and the shaken hands... ever, never!
like a nursery rhyme, should
Fredrick fall asleep during a
lightning / thunder-storm and
be branded a thief to your own supposed Eden
prophecy and account balance
unshaken - while the Pharaoh the first-born
drowns with Herod plagiarising the fabled
lure of David's lyre and sang psalms;
keep away from here, unless
in your heaven the Dachau of lost unheard
un-worded breaths;
take your god no further than Byzantium or
Venice will attack.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
A young desert child is parched. A sheep herder hands him a coke. The boy sips it, swallows, and lets out a sigh of refreshment. A feeling not found oft in the hot sahara sun. The boy roams the desert for years, always thirsty, never again experiencing a sip of coke.
One day, he sees a can in the distance. he chases it. yet, it is always out of reach.
The boy, now a man, meets a girl. She offers him her body. Once complete, the man lets out a sigh of refreshment. A feeling not found since the sip of coke as a child.
The man continues to wander the sandy abyss, never again experiencing the sigh of relief.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
I am a sheep herder
Everything I say is as feed to a dead horse.
I whisper sweet lullabies with a deep guttural sound
That frightens, yet knows the solemnity of the sky.
I cry to a field of pale auspicious clouds
Then feel the tingling fall and accelerating answer.
Much have I seen in the break of days,
Growth always came after cultivation,
And fields were full of nothing.
How all things stay in similarity and change into variety.
But I am a sheep herder,
And I have no sheep.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC
I live a life of full stress and pain
I live a life with nothing to gain.
From poverty I feed
From diseases I bleed.
This is the life I live.
as an African boy.
I'm a African boy
I’m a goat herder,
I’m a farmer
I plant seeds and watch the grow,
And in the fall, I reap what I sow.
Feeding the animals every day
And giving the cows plenty of hay,
Ensure the hens get plenty of seeds.
And others get what they need.
I’m an African boy.
Life in African can be little rough
But I survive from being tough.
Rewards may not seem great,
But the Lord provides if I wait.
Over the years never seem to lack,
Nourishment or clothes on my back;
I appreciate all I get
But God is the one that bless.
I’m an African boy.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
Milky constellations studied for centuries by astronomers
Form a floating river separating two lovers
Every night they ponder
At which moment they could have started over
But not once does the daughter of the heavens
Repent on her escapade onto Earth
Nor the ox-herder regret his walk along the river
For never would their souls have stayed entwined for lifetimes otherwise
Was this eternal story of love always destined to end like this
But is this the end or merely a beginning
For if birds adorned in feathers of the night’s colors
Can be moved by their fathomless love
To craft a cosmic bridge on the seventh day of the seventh cycle of the moon
For a reunion that brings tears to clouds and smiles to the stars
Who is to say
That there won’t be a day
When that bridge will stay
Forever in the skies
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 6:06 AM UTC
Low-lit along the coast
young boys play bones upon the stone, and the elders,
waiting for the sea, conceal their interest.
The waves are far enough to ignore
but the salt mist has lingered:
blurs the tracks about the strand made by creatures whose names you once knew;
lost now amongst the streaming lists and orchestral sounds that drown the young before bedtime.
for some time prophesy or tradition,
the journeys tracing symbols down to
the sepulchral cities that rust under water –
Sometimes bring droughts,
reveal spires and penthouses, weathervanes and aerials.
lose a notebook and die elderly gardening temples.
fear life in sustenance.
fear primordial words
that chime like glass honey traps
dull and shallow.
fear
the panoramic shots of cattle
, a great still herd shivering breakers of light,
the temporary herder, you weren’t permitted to see, chasing away baboons with long-ish strides behind you.
poetry is always chasing
and each step will always chase better,
transcribing the soughs of the meadow (or other inhuman acts)
to speak with running subtitles:
in the translation of a voice
to be some natural thing singing
like the humpback corrupting the grace of the older song
whilst tootling along the coast
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
*A gloveless welder will one day suffer a burn
A carpenter in the rain awaits his turn for a blackened nail
The careless goat herder will soon receive the wrath of the buck
The citizen too busy to vote garners the scorn of an elected schmuck* ...
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
or priceless, last night
when the couple at the table
next to us at this little pizzeria
unexpectedly paid for our dinner
after I was fairly sure we had been
disrupting them, being well, six -
talkie, wiggly, silly, droppy...
we thanked them and then he said
you have a really well-behaved kid
which was, like, a really big deal
as most days I feel like
an inept kitten herder
except my herd is one
or two, if you count feistypaws
think they both don’t know
I’m the legit pack leader
and are vying for alpha
against one another, but
maybe I’m not doing
so bad
after all
after that
we made penny wishes
in the fountain outside
which is something I
never do alone, because generally
way jaded re: assigning my lofties to
depreciating currency deposits
in chlorinated public fountains
his: for me to get a thousand dollars
(to share with him)
mine: for him and me to have
all the love in the world
and for everyone everywhere
to be happy, free and get what they need
decided to toss in another penny
in case that sounded greedy
to the public plumbing fairy
and still my
insecurity is processing
whether they really thought
he was well-behaved and
enjoyed watching us or just
felt sorry for me
two-top charity...
I should prolly
take out my bad brain
that made me think that thing
and put in my good brain
as my kid likes to say
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
A voice whispers dig a little deeper
No time to be a sleeper
You are a secret keeper
**** the sheep herder
Or the mad hoarder
There is something to be found
Deeper, deeper, down, down
And the ground opens up
And the sound throws up
And the liars show up to shut up
And the thoughts runs on
To places where they don’t belong
And I ever the fool follow them
Drowning in my own idealism
Forgetting and recalling realism
Knowing that cynicism
Is usually closer to the truth
I follow that dark river
Cause that is what I am driven to do
Past the fake fair and balanced news
Past the Preachers and politicians
Past the cops, judges, and lawyers
Back to science and philosophy
Through literature and history
Till the discord in me finds some peace
And I fold my cold self
Into blankets of new and old truths
Even then my inner friend
Says digger a little deeper
So I try to
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Could you have the thoughts of a mad man?
Sometimes I feel like I was blessed by gods hand
Other times I feel like the devils failed plan
At the end of the day I chose the holy stand
I can't stop the flow of thoughts and the way I think
No wonder why. I feel like I'm always on the brink
How can you sit on the edge of life and never blink
Full of ambition but a hole in which you sink
Death is your bestfriend and life Is your mother
Which pushes you more so you can move further?
Who would of thought you were the type to commit ******
not physically but mentally like your counting sheep in your sleep but I'm the herder
Sometimes I can't feel the pain
Could you look into my eyes and see the shame?
Most people see a lost soul that went insane
but if you look into my brain you'll see the thoughts of a person that's sane
Many nights I always talk to myself
Always wondering the condition of my health
While most people get sick over chasing the wealth
I guess that's the difference between having the mind of a goblin and an elf
Ppl with a certain mindset tend to cause a distraction for the people of the struggle who came a long way to enjoy a little relaxation and satisfaction of giving back to the community in a generous fashion
Who else could think about stuff like this except that of a mad man with a specially designed plan to spread a message with closed eyes and a open hand
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
Mandala ******
Bird brain herder
Pack of wild wolves
Owls without.
Grit teeth say please.
Sea of folks different strokes
Non of genious
And certaintly not I
Mind is feeling weak
Strap boots to feet
Got em brand new,
Brunswick stew
Over Converse☆ conversation.
Grossly mass produced.
I hate you.
Thats my good pen.
Bought not found.
I like the way it writes
Hate the way I do.
**** me, love you.
Grossly
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC