"sheepdog" poems
“Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds,
The Beneficent, the Merciful.
Owner of the Day of Judgement,
Thee (alone) we worship;
Thee (alone) we ask for help.
Show us the straight path,
The path of those whom Thou hast favoured.
Not (the path) of those who earn Thine anger
Nor of those who go astray.”
This we said to you, oh Great One, in the Quran
So many years ago.
But Lord your flocks are fleeing from your fields.
We need your Sheepdog to round them up in their confusion.
They do not see you are a God of many names,
“God” being one of them.
Over the ages you have been Zeus, Jupiter, Odin, Mother Earth, Jehovah, God, Allah
And many others.
But always you were The One True One,
Beneficent and Loving.
All men (and women) are equal in your eyes.
All Life to be cherished and preserved.
Thou shalt not ****
Is what you said.
So Allah now’s the time
To correct your children:
Breathe into them
The essence of your thoughts.
Enter their minds as The Holy Ghost,
So many Scrooges there:
Enlighten them
To know what is really Good
And rediscover what it is
To Love.
Amen.
Paul Butters
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
A family of sheep live in harmony, all from different areas
Different ages and different ideas. They all came together
United in a friendship, strong enough to be called a family
But there are wolves out there…. Terrible creatures that
Want nothing more to attack the sheep. They once might
Of been sheep, but something dark and twisted shaped them
Into the creatures they are now. They stalk, coming closer to
The family, moving in to destroy the harmony they live in
But as they come close they feel a presence pushing at them
Something protecting the sheep, something dark as them, sending
Shivers down the wolves spines, something terrible enough
To scare the mighty wolves
A mighty bear, massive in size, vast bigger than the wolves
The bear has strong curved claws ready to attack any that
Approach. Its speed is also a deadly trait the bear possesses
Able to out run any evil coming at him. The bear also has a
A super amazing sense of smell, able to smell the stench from
Miles away.
The bear perks up, catching the smell of a creature that doesn’t
Belong…
The other creature is the sheepdog. Though not as big as the
Bear the sheepdog has a presence that scares the wolves.
The sheepdog has fangs as long as the wolves and attacks
Just as ferocious as the wolves. While the bear knows when
Violence can be avoided by scaring the wolves away, the
Sheepdog does not know this, he jumps at the violence
Instead, taking the impulse to attack and destroy, marking
Him close to the wolves.
The bear circles to the sheepdog and together they move to
The wolves, ready to protect the family behind them
The wolves leave, scattering to avoid them, facing away
From the ever presence
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
i like to watch the sheepdog rounding up the sheep
first a little run then a gentle creep
rounding up the herd as gentle as can be
drives them to a pen a clever dog his he
listens to his master to his whistle blow
so he understands which way he has to go
always very faithful by his masters side
just to watch the sheepdog fills my heart with pride.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I know my motives
and they're far from pure -
The lengths I will go to
for a pat on the head.
And then there's you -
you, with your pure indifference
and your thousand words for soil
Reminding me
that real art
is its own reward
And that I have created none.
But oh!
I am grateful for the lesson,
for the knowledge of the destination
and the chance
to be on my way.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
you don't like girls who sass back
you want a girl who'll follow you around like a sheepdog
cleaning up your scraps.
you don't like girls who talk a lot
or too loudly
you'd prefer meek with a dash of kitten sweater
and i don't have anything against kitten sweaters
they're ******* awesome
but i've got a huge problem
with meek
so you and me...
it's not gonna happen
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
there was a little sheep dog he was black and white
i watched him round the sheep up it was such delight
following close behind them so they wouldnt stray
for the little sheepdog this was his working day
he was very clever and knew just what to do
by the farmers whistle every time he blew
a charming little fellow as busy as can be
working with the sheep such a lovely site to see
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 7:24 AM UTC
Seven days spent lost in the rogue North
Octagonal windows framed a snowed in view.
In the kitchen, sun soaking in like honey,
The kids sat eating oranges.
Two cats humming and a sheepdog dozed
Under a thick maple table, flavoured as last nights fresh game
Lullabies deep as eyes were heavy
Fire stoked and a Mickey Mouse Christmas shining brightly,
playing cards, I laughed that it was just November.
Two sets of ice blue eyes, no blood in between.
And six sets, shades of green-blue-brown,
Each the nicest pair you'd ever seen.
I fell in love with the eight,
Always their eyes first I'll admit.
And now my heart lay in
A long house, teepee on the dock.
The purest cold blue I'd ever know
To crash upon iced rock.
All the trees you would ever need,
A conglomerate of green;
Until the day I die, the holiest place I've been
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
She readies the tomatoes & radishes
fresh lettuce leaves & green onion
then finishes with salad cream as a garnish
& puts the evening’s fish pie in the oven
The salad sings sweetly to her
of the bygone days of childhood summers
fast cars on winding country lanes,
the way her grandfather would say
something to his sheepdog
& watch it rush away again
in the sunlight’s warm
grasp, before the rain
wandering fields & farms
or out by Thor’s cave
always with a pair of binoculars
for counting birds & bats
& how he’d sleep in his armchair
in a red brick stack of a house
& how the dazed garden air
always smelt of tea roses
many years have gone past
& she keeps all the old photographs
under lock & key in Europe
& old birthday cards in their envelopes
Every Christmas the phone rings
out above a coal-filled fireplace
& the call goes to the answer machine
all that love gone to waste
* Thor's Cave is a cave in Manifold Valley in the county of Staffordshire in the UK
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
The sheep are swimming in the Nile; they must be living in denial!
Denial is our best friend, the constitution we must amend!
Guns are our mortal enemies; their only use is to commit felonies
To stop these tragedies, we must impose harsher penalties!
There is no wolf, we will not die; there’s no need to put your life on the line
Sheepdogs are for the paranoid, those who live in a void
Remove the sheepdog and the enemy goes away, to happiness this is the true way
Ban the wolf with a no trespassing sign, surely we’ll be fine
Respect and common courtesy, the wolf will live in harmony
Close our eyes and he goes away, all we have to do is pray
Our herd used to be bigger; we don’t ask questions as long as our denial can deliver
Until our children are in the fire, then the sheepdog we require
But the sheepdog is out of practice, we fired him for “malpractice.”
Ruined by us, he looks no better than us – but he’s not like us
The sheepdog is weak; his sheep made him an antique
But his mind is strong and he’s eager to **** the evil and wrong
Wolves are predators, feeding on the weak; it’s denial they seek
The sheep will never fight, but pray the sheepdog is able to take up their plight
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
I hear your voice echo on the walls of the Tiffany box—
hello hello
hello
hello
—with that southern-belle cadence
you spoke with always, like when you
told us we never had to knock, just
come in through the garage
on my graduation day I opened it for the first time
little silver teardrop on a little silver chain
delicate, like all of you, except your fingers
delicate, like the line you’re walking now
your robin’s-egg antique pickup gathering dust as I am miles away
sheepdog going deaf, legs shaky when she stands
I only allotted for that one loss this year.
on new year’s morning when we all
stomached the black eyed peas for tennessee good will
hung over and sweet-heavy with cinnamon rolls
and decadent, permanent, big hardy love
I spent my wish on the usual
and hey, maybe a couple more years for the dog.
hello hello
hello
hello
hello?
your lilting voice echoes every time I put on that necklace
and feel you, savor you around my neck for every
wine-drunk dinner and every nantucket porch photograph—
god if I would have known to wish on that
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
Memories of my beautiful Summer
walks down Blendennis lane with
my Mother Brug, Aunts Kate and Maggie
and my beloved sheepdog Shep.
The smell of the new mown hay
cornfields reaching maturity,
the whiff of wildflowers and heather everywhere,
breathtaking on a late summers evening.
Never to be experienced, anywhere in the World
Those were the bygone days, past the bog of bulrushes,
the cattle chewing their cuds in the fields beyond.
I wish my Shep could race and meet me now
like he did on my way home from school
when I appeared at the white spot in the Lane.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
LOST IN FRANCE
In the distance
a dog throws its voice
so it seems
the trees are barking.
Sun and shadow
playing tag
between rows and rows
of trees.
France is made of
landscape and light.
I feel as if I am
walking in a painting
that is wet yet.
I nothing but
a mobile little smudge.
I drink in the light
as if my soul thirsted for it.
Now a yellow dog
leaves its post
to chase me half way
down its road.
Now a Yorkie
guards the crossroads.
Here a sheepdog
silently trails me
until it has successfully
seen me off its turf.
I smile sheepishly.
I, lost and found
all at the one time.
Finally the road turns and
the village runs out to meet me.
I, now only lost
in wonder.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
I am the creature that creeps in the night.
I am beastly.
I am a foul and vile creature.
Cast into the darkness
Out of hate by those who catch a glimpse of me.
Dark and jaded from being beaten I refuse to be seen.
You are the light that shines through the darkness.
You are beautiful.
You are a kind and loving person.
A beacon of hope to those with none.
Cherished by all those around you.
Selflessly you hold others up at their worst.
I fight evil more feared than I.
I protect those that beat me and cast me into the shadows.
For the guardians of heaven live closest to the gates of hell and I, the sheepdog, am often mistaken for the wolf.
You see the truth. The creatures more evil than I. Those that stalk from the shadows and attack the weak.
You see the need for my beastly.
You see the need for the fear of me.
I have saved them and the ones they love many a thankless times. Despite my actions their perceptions become reality. They see only the beast they hate. They see only the creature they ****
You see a hero. You see past the beast and into the person. You see good where there is little. You give grace where none is deserved. You shed tears where they are mocked.
For I am beastly.
But to you...I am beauty.
You love me so; without fear.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
Because of my upbringing and education, I'm a man who has substance and class.
But nobody will believe that if they learn that I have a hairy ***
I have hair sticking out of my **** crack and hair on my **** cheeks.
I'm afraid that this information will be discovered and posted on Wikileaks.
People must never discover my secret, nobody can know.
And if they discover my terrible secret, they will have to go.
Yes you heard me right, when it comes to preserving my secret, I'm prepared to ****
When it comes to my secret being discovered, I must make certain that it never will.
My sheepdog has less hair on his entire body than I have on and sticking out of my ****
Don't you dare reveal mt secret to people or I'll come to your house and you will get cut.
I have an awesome job that pays over a million dollars each year.
But if people learn about my hairy *** I can say goodbye to my career.
My wife has agreed to keep my secret but she complains and we bicker.
I shaved my *** a couple of times but when it grew back, it was even thicker.
My *** is hairy and my wife looks and smells like Jabba the Hutt.
Nobody can ever know that I have an extremely hairy ****
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 9:58 AM UTC
My grandson Alex said something very profound and intriguing after his graduation ceremony.
I was complaining about how thin my hair had become and blamed it all on growing old. Alex looked at me with quizzical eyes partially covered by a mop of black sheepdog hair and declared,
"Well, Grandma you are an old lady."
I gave him a piercing look and said,
"True, but, remember this: The Soul is Eternal."
In that moment, my 14 year old grandson said that I reminded him of an old lady living in an off-the-beaten road shack. As I listened to him and the evocative images he spun I took the liberty of embellishing his description:
"Hidden by a dense patch of wild crafted herbs, a hint of mint, diamond needles darning their way around the bucolic scenery, a peculiar little hut comes into view.
The round oculus amethyst windows appear as portholed eyes to another world. If you pause and listen keenly you can distinctly hear the hum of otherworldly chants echoing from its eaves. Indeed, everything about this strange occult cottage exudes magical charm, you'd think it was inhabited by a priestess or something of that nature.
Slowly, I open the creaking door, puffs of rose moss incense and pooja camphor burn in small brass pots. Countless multi colored bottles, all different shapes and sizes, antique knick knacks, curiosities crowd the musty shelves. And a soft, rainbow mist floats through the room. This enigmatic Shack oozes wisdom......My Granny, her hair thinning, bits of silver creating a halo of stars, welcomes me. She gazes at me with a wise, weathered elderly smile while applying a red *** *** dot on my third eye and says:
"You know Alex the Soul is Ageless."
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 7:44 PM UTC
When did solitude become a weakness?
Are people so similar to wolves that a pack is mandatory to be appreciated?
I'm not a lone wolf. I'm a lone sheep. Noticed by the herd and attempted to be wrangled in but always straying regardless. You can send your sheepdog at me to nip at my heels until I come running back but I will always
drift
away
again.
Jul 20, 2023
Jul 20, 2023 at 1:22 AM UTC
LOST IN FRANCE
In the distance
a dog throws its voice
so it seems
the trees are barking.
Sun and shadow
playing tag
between rows and rows
of trees.
France is made of
landscape and light.
I feel as if I am
walking in a painting
that is wet yet.
I nothing but
a mobile little smudge.
I drink in the light
as if my soul thirsted for it.
Now a yellow day
leaves its post
to chase me half way
down its road.
Now a Yorkie
guards the crossroads.
Here a sheepdog
silently trails me
until it has successfully
seen me off its turf.
I smile sheepishly.
I, lost and found
all at the one time.
Finally the road turns and
the village runs out to meet me.
I, now only lost
in wonder.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
Picture a meadow:
Sheep graze peacefully,
Happily bleating
At one another and
Moving together,
Obliviously, to and fro in a sort of
Natural harmony.
Yet none stray too near
The treeline
At the edge,
For within the dense foliage,
The dark shadow,
Awaits sharp yellow teeth
And a swift end to peace.
A lone sheepdog watches
Over this flock,
Carefully, suspiciously,
Scrutinizing each member,
Searching vigorously, endlessly
For a hint of gray fur
Somewhere in all the wool.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
I am now the old dog under tree
I will sit back and watch as the the wolves devour the sheep
Wolves will be wolves
And sheep will be sheep
Just don’t come under my tree
And all will be fine
With me
Jun 28, 2021
Jun 28, 2021 at 8:13 PM UTC
I find it difficult to breathe these days
with your absurd ideas and beliefs
your secular and capitalist culture
it bothers me, still you refuse to listen
you refuse to pay attention to others
because you’re stuck in this illusion
where you are the main character
your life is more important than others
and your way is the only way to live
it’s as simple as an ax cutting skill
wood chopping to board cutting
yet, you don’t respect others
your savior complex
tribal mindset
you must
fancy
your-
self
still, you leave us with no option
because you think you’re Galileo
the father of science, the savior
of his descendant of geniuses
it must be really hard to see
your wrongs about life
stuck with those
who are
less
when I look to the left
when I look to the right
they all seem the same
one a wolf
one a fox
with the same intent to ****
no Sheepdog
and only sheep
waiting to be killed
Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 10:24 PM UTC
No grave could contain him.
He will always be young
in the classroom
waving an answer
like a greeting.
Buried alive -
alive he is
by the river
skimming stones down
the path of the sun.
When the tumor on the hillside
burst and the black blood
of coal drowned him,
he ran forever
with his sheepdog leaping
for sticks, tumbling together
in windblown abandon.
I gulp back tears
because of a notion of manliness.
After the October rain
the slag-heap sagged
its greedy coalowner's belly.
He drew a picture of a wren,
his favourite bird for frailty
and determination. His eyes gleamed
as gorse-flowers do now
above the village.
His scream was stopped mid-flight.
Black and blemished
with the hill's sickness
he must have been,
like a child collier
dragged out of one of Bute's mines-
a limp statistic.
There he is, climbing a tree,
mimicking an ape, calling out names
at classmates. Laughs springing
down the slope. My wife hears them
her ears attuned as a ewe's in lambing,
and I try to foster the inscription
away from it's stubborn stone.
Aug 17, 2022
Aug 17, 2022 at 5:11 AM UTC
I won't be shamed
For the things I've done
The lives I've taken
I do what I do
For a reason.
My family and I
My brothers and sisters
We fight for your right
To call us killers
And spit in our direction
I once said I was a wolf
But I was wrong
For I've faced the wolf
And his savagery knows
No bounds
So we vowed to protect you
The innocent
The sheep
For the herd has us
To defend
And avenge it
The Sheepdogs
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
You do not cut the heads off a hydra, lest they should split, and two strike in place of one, no, learn from Hercules.
You burn the body and salt the bones and tar the earth where it fell.
You hunt the monster as a hatchling, route it out with dogs like a boar from the thicket before it can mature.
And if those who are the evil, hiding behind less monstrous faces, have hidden the torches and salt, slain the bloodhounds?
If heroes have been outlawed, the knowledge of how to **** the monsters written out of history, truth become legend and legend lost?
A new generation of heroes will rise, from the most humble seeds, germinating under Promethean fire, and rediscover the old ways.
A maid will take her hair and braid it, cut if off and make it tinder for a torch, gather from her tears their salt, offer the strength of her arms.
An armorer, crippled, will limp on, and craft spears to heckle the beast, and a shepherd will make of the sheepdog a war hound to protect the flock.
Do you hear the earth pushing up, the shears and the lamentations, the blacksmith anvil ring, the baying on the moors?
You will.
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 2:09 AM UTC
i like to watch the sheepdog rounding up the sheep
as he crouches down. around them he will creep
keeps them all together keeps them in a pack
fully in control so they cant run back
using all his skill he guides them to a pen
then back into the field to do it all again
i just love to watch him it gives me such a thrill
a very clever dog born with so much skill
Mar 5, 2020
Mar 5, 2020 at 7:45 AM UTC