"udder" poems
Sundays on the ranch are somethin',
Just after morning chores are done,
I head up to the house on a dead run,
I've called the herd and put the buckets out,
Fed the chickens, called the horse, "Old Son,"
Heard the rooster yammering at the rising sun;
Old dog is baying loud to add some fun....
Meanwhile, at the house,
The wife has rattled up the kids and lined em out,
When I come in, they clear the bathroom out,
So I can get a shave and morning shower,
And off we'll head to church in half an hour.
Or so we think....
It's then the neighbor calls to say our milk cow's swinging by,
Bell clanking off-step time to her butter-churning udder,
"She's headed north toward town!" he chortles mirth,
"Maybe she wants to hear old Pastor Perth!" I mutter.
All jokes aside, I hang the phone and grab my cap,
We pile in the truck to try and get her back....
We have a chance if we can turn her 'round above the hill....
Why is it Sundays sweet Dolly becomes such a pill?
A simple rule of nature I wish I could avoid,
Is if a plan is put in place, as sure as Lloyd,
Our Guernsey chooses then to go out on a spree,
And Pastor Perth in town prays extra hard for me.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
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.
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten.
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.
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You mumblers and raspers
Of resp'rat'ry rattle:
Open your throats!
Forsake ye! the gaspers,
You quoters of cattle
And prattle of goats!
Or lay ye with horses
Whose tongue ne'er divorces
Those ivory choppers,
Those sibilant stoppers;
You lispers: beware,
Whether stallion or mare,
While you nibble your oats!
Stop your speech-stumbling!
Go suckle an udder
You dizzy, damp calfs!
Restrain your talk-tumbling,
And swallow your stutter
Nor utter foul laughs!
You outspoken nags
Mimic bolt-broken stags
As you bleed allegations
Down paths of my patience
And clatter your antlers;
What heavy-hoofed ranters
For no one's behalf!
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
There are many gifts in God’s great creation
All part of His great economy of the order of things
The gift of breath
The gift of song and of music
The gift of life, of image, of love
The gift of all things
The gift of even --dare I say it-- death
He gifted all things that are
All is gifted unto us
All is given by the Triune God
In all gifted, there was still incompleteness
There was nothing to respond to God
So constructed into the image of God
Comes a gift better than any gift before given
With the breath of God flowing to our lungs
Wearing a crown of the honor and glory of God
This gift, these people- Us
He says to explore
He says to see the world that we have been gifted
To unwrap the gifts given
To gift our gifts to the world that we are exploring
But there was this problem, a tree
It was not a gift, in fact it was forbidden
Yet still, we unwrapped it, we took that which was not ours to take
We were overcome by death
Overcome by udder sadness
Overcome by sickness, and hurt
By this torturous, terrible thing
This terrible stolen anti-gift
And for it we paid a hefty price
We lost all we were
We lost all we were meant to be
No longer did we fulfill our meaning
Where we were to be gift givers
Where we were to be life to the world
Where we were to bless all things
We took that which was not offered
We broke our relationship with God
Not only did we suffer
But all creation suffered with and due to
Then came a new gift
A gift to restore
A gift to be freely taken
Yet a gift of great responsibility
This gift would set free
But also bind
This was a gift of all gifts
This was a gift to end all gifts
God Himself became man
Offering Himself unto death
So that all things could be made new
So all that was sad would become untrue
Now, as we were once to be
We could, ourselves, be gifts to the world
Blessing the world
Giving life to a lifeless
Our gifts were joined with Christ
With this gift, we would become like the gift we were
More like it than ever before
For Christ makes us more human than we've ever been
Where we would offer the world to The Father
And for the life of all things
Our priesthood would be restored
All things would be restored
All things would be made new
All sad things would come untrue
The world would be restored
Prepare the way!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
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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His awful skin
stretched out by some tradesman
is like my skin, here between my fingers,
a kind of webbing, a kind of frog.
Surely when first born my face was this tiny
and before I was born surely I could fly.
Not well, mind you, only a veil of skin
from my arms to my waist.
I flew at night, too. Not to be seen
for if I were I'd be taken down.
In August perhaps as the trees rose to the stars
I have flown from leaf to leaf in the thick dark.
If you had caught me with your flashlight
you would have seen a pink corpse with wings,
out, out, from her mother's belly, all furry
and hoarse skimming over the houses, the armies.
That's why the dogs of your house sniff me.
They know I'm something to be caught
somewhere in the cemetery hanging upside down
like a misshapen udder.
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Pretzel Logic
always counter intuitive
with a twisted sense of fate
explicitly constructed
how much longer will you wait
the axiom of choice
the scenario of doubt
with random intervention
how can you bring about
a clear and precise result
with no deviance in action
probability of predictions
spinning wheels with no traction
the answers so concise
in udder chaos results you find
without collaboration
such an eery creepy mind
a scavenger of darkness
deep down thoughts somewhat toxic
no wavering in directions
manipulative pretzel logic
Gomer Lepoet...
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
*yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve*
1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here
pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' bitch-mouth
here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
ain't no party here for fools no more
2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in
*ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue*
yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)
S T, 21 augury 2013
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
In my dream
I milked a cow,
the terrible udder
like a great rubber lily
sweated in my fingers
and as I yanked,
waiting for the moon juice,
waiting for the white mother,
blood spurted from it
and covered me with shame.
Then God spoke to me and said:
People say only good things about Christmas.
If they want to say something bad,
they whisper.
So I went to the well and drew a baby
out of the hollow water.
Then God spoke to me and said:
Here. Take this gingerbread lady
and put her in your oven.
When the cow gives blood
and the Christ is born
we must all eat sacrifices.
We must all eat beautiful women.
1.7k
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 cow wore this skin better than I,
A little baggy round the udder, maybe
But with a tail to keep off the flies.
I paid three hundred quid for a jacket;
With a smell that really attracts flies,
A little baggy round the shoulders, definitely
The cow wore this skin better than I.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC
The monster takes me under,
once again.
He tears away at my logic,
turning me an awful shade of green.
The monster takes me under,
to play with all my thoughts.
Injecting me with poison,
to make me lose control.
The monster takes me under,
makes me see things that aren't there.
The monster takes me under,
into a state of udder despair.
The monster knows how to control me,
to make me his lovely puppet.
He knows what makes me happy,
He knows what makes me sad.
But most of all the Monster knows,
What makes me jealous and oh so mad.
The monster has the power,
to turn me against my friends.
The monster knows what he wants,
and won't stop until the end.
The monster knows my pains,
and how I will react.
The monster also knows,
just when he should attack.
The monster takes me under,
he makes me turn away
from all the love I'll leave behind,
When I really want to stay.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
is that what grass is? i said in awe,
a child once again, wide-eyed with desire--
to explore, to roll and tumble over vastness
crest and trough of hillsides breathing in the sun,
then nap among the cows, pet their broadness
blinking there in ease above the buzzing vale.
am i a child still? i cooed into the wind,
watched it stroke and flicker bright the woven green
atop the next, and felt it in my breast.
am i akin to you? i squinted closer still
at gaze of bovine wakefulness to my refrain--
uncurling there against the matted fresh
with yawning tongues and udder slosh,
bounce of calf, frolic laps, then bullish
mimic make in sport away from watchful eye
.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
motherless
this must be just another test
utter less
stuck on the ****** to **** on the other breast
silken milk of the real deal and i feel like an udder mess
motherless
cover this
mist is sick with twisted, i discover less
it's colorless
put with the other gases to suffer and to smother this
motherless
Mar 13, 2022
Mar 13, 2022 at 7:03 PM UTC
The sheep in the nearby pasture
Heard what the cows had done
In the building of their rocket ship
And they too wanted one
A few of them shaved for pocket change
Black market wool brings a hefty price
While some went out to Las Vegas
To try their luck at the roll of the dice
First thing they did with the money
Was to spring for Sherman's release
The only one in the family to go to Harvard
Though it was for experiments on his mind which apparently they fleeced
Right away they noticed something odd about Sherman
Something that just wasn't quite right
But passed it off as genius quirkiness
And let that idea slide by
They told Sherman what it was they wanted
Said he had a mad...um...master plan
All the sheep turned and Baaa'd together
What was that, that he just said?
For weeks all they heard was banging and clanging
From inside their farmers shed
The only activity they saw outside
The massive delivery of Dominos crazy bread
One day the shed doors flew wide open
There stood Sherman as mad as acid rain
No doubt among the sheep in the pasture
He was Bonkers, Loony, Loopy...okay Sherman's insane
As he drug his creation into the open
Not a one in the crowd uttered a word
Till little Bobby Black Sheep spoke up and said
Is that a cows udder?...is that what they think that they just herd?!
Sherman took that moment of bewilderment
To swing onto udder #4
Strapping himself inside of his contraption
And shooting off for the stars
Sherman is still up there circling the planet
Did you hear about the phenomenon in Spain?
Just the other day something amazing there happened
There was the pouring of milk instead of rain...
But we know how that miracle happened
And that it came from the udders galore
Cause when your traveling through space like Sherman
What else would udders be for
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
When dh'a reaper come a
knockin on ma’h door
tell him a'h gone to bogator,
if he want ma’h ***
he'll have to wait,
a'h goda liddle more life
to satiate,
A’h sold ma’h soul
to be-el-zebub
for a cute liddle ***
an' a tummy rub,
So a'h guess ah’ll be
a headin d udder way
an' widda old nicks ******
ah'ma gonna play,
Now be-el-zebub said to me dat time
" sign dis boy your *** be mine, !!"
a’h know dis now, a’hn a’h knew dat den,
he purloined ma’h soul whidda fountain pen,
so lawd oh lawd please hear m'ah plea
take pity m'ah lawd on poor auld me,
deliver m'ah soul to da' place above
n tell be-el-zebub dat' he can shove !!
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
I shan't let myself type, write, or udder
the word that the oh, so shallow misuse.
The term that hopeful, gutter ****** mutter;
but empty (should it, a hallow abuse).
Confused is the callow boy full of thirst,
due to courtesans words, so misleading.
The harlots fight over who will be first
to devour his heart, warm and bleeding.
Fleeting is usually how I define
ones faux and improper use of the word.
If down pours the rain, and water is wine,
then wet lushes slur convictions: absurd.
You'll never know what you've got til its dawn,
and out comes the word, all consciousness gone.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food
Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized
Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow
Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying
Taser rowdy whites
On uncontrollable blacks
A gun is handy
Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:05 AM UTC
I waz hip-hop since I b in mi mamas womb
Spittin’ sum rhyme, will give u dat tune
Yo, he spit da raw
No need 2 prove anymore
I’m scratchin’ ‘bout, I’m bummy in a downtown shelter
No use complaining ‘bout wat life I’ve been dealt, nah
Hit em hard, every generation gotta do wat ya do
Cuttin’ up fresh is da word, new kid on da block, could b u
It’s how u survive in da hood
No layin’ ‘bout, stand up like a real man should
Don’t want 2 sleep on no choo choo train, no more
Then get off ya RRRs, do sum thing like neva b4
From da Juice Crew 2 Mr Magic, down in Boogie Down Bronx Queensbridge is da place 2 b near, it all interlocks
More MCs drank da water drippin’ down from around here
Than any udder crib, in da hole ******* world, ya hear
So trekkin’ from youth, 2 B.ing @ 1520 Sedgwick Avenue
I’m now livin’ in fcukin’ Wonderland, if only Alice really knew
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 10:55 PM UTC
I do not understand why my shell is stronger than my soul
every single subconscious want is stuck in an eternal state of escape
slowly clawing away at my energy field
even the conscious thoughts I udder now are a work of my frontal lobe
a combination of fat and water that will one day be just that
what will it take for this exponentially real self of mine to erupt
too long I have sat in a puddle of this realization, this discomfort,
waiting
I am living as a shell of a person
stuck in a continuum of who I am and who I want to be
in this other reality, everything is an unexplored field
I am on a new level each time I turn the corner
no longer are there restraints
no longer do I feel this pain
my mind is not stuck in this body because I am my mind
I am my experience and that of which is experiencing me is my soul
soon drifting I become every electrical impulse,
and all of which is uncharged at the same time
no longer am I woman or even human
I am what is, what is not, and what always has been
now infinite, I escape
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
Look upon this sullen box
Peaceful and quiet
Not a word udder
Not a breath taking
Another angel on earth
Lay cold and still
So beautiful
I can almost hear you
Speak those words
You've said a million times
But the silence over powers
The day dream, while
The preacher starts to speak
"Too young"... "Too young"
Those words echo in my head
We were too young
Not a care in the world
Now no chance to make
It all right again.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Modern Haiku
Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food
Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized
Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow
Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying
Taser rowdy whites
On incontrollable blacks
A gun is handy
Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:04 AM UTC
I am a mystery
A complete and udder mess that takes time away from getting "perfect"
I am pure of heart
if I can find it
I am the dead of night that makes you appreciate the daylight
I am fright
I strike fear into the people who think normal is a good thing
And if one day lighting decides to strike me
I am the art that it leaves in the grass
I am a match that will never burn out
And some may say
That I'm crazy
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC