Beware, as the cow flies,
keep watch, observe the skies,
carry an umbrella,
protect your eyes.
.
That’s not a barrage balloon,
it’s a aeronautical creature
aiming for the Moon.
.
Wearing a jumper
to keep out the cold,
a space-bound cow
is something to behold.
.
And if a cow
should jump over the Moon,
who would have the last laugh,
cat, boy, fiddle, dish, or spoon?
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Cows, #Dish, #Fiddle, #HeyDiddleDiddle, #NurseryRhymes, #poetry. #poem, #Spoon, cat
Where be the cows?
Where be they?
“In a field full of gulls,
with too much to say,
is there no room
for a grass-chewing herd?”
I ask the gulls,
“Nothing to do with us.” they say.
A quiet Sunday morning walk,
with just the sound of flittering birds,
as the dogs and I traverse the country lanes.
Further on, the cry of new-born lambs
from a field, a distance away,
that is dotted with many off-white clouds of fleece.
Other fields have grazing cows,
quieter in their ruminations,
while yet others are carpeted with growing crops of an unknown type.
Two horses freely digest their findings,
conversing sparingly with their neighbours, another herd of grazing cows.
I tip my hat to the morning,
and offer thanks
When counting sheep,
whilst attempting sleep,
do any go ‘beep!’?
.
And, if instead, you imagine cows,
do any sing arias, juggle,
take bows?
.
Horses, I find,
can leap-frog your mind,
and you have no choice to choose,
when all you want is a snooze.
.
And if you imagine these things,
leap-frogging horses,
juggling cows, beeping sheep,
then I’m not at all surprised
that you can’t get to sleep.
In the distance
I can see black and white cows
crossing the green and brown fields,
their destinations unknown to me.
.
In the sky
gulls and crows and various birds
are passing from one horizon to another
their destinations also unknown to me.
.
Close by
in the hedgerows
tiny feathered friends tweet their messages
of information unknown to me.
.
I stand here and all this circles around me.
(Please do try singing to your local cows, horses, goats, pigs, llamas, etceteras, etc.)
I sing to the cows,
they don’t mock me, and say,
“Have you ever tried rhyming,
or miming away’;
then they thank me for singing,
‘Please have a nice day,ay,ay.’
And I say,
‘How now, brown cow,
how are you today?
You munch on the grass,
time does pass,
and then you’ll move away.
How now, black and white cow,
how are things with you?
Is it a day
for sitting down,
there on the morning dew?
I sing to the cows,
they don’t mock me, and say,
“Have you ever tried rhyming,
or miming away’;
then they thank me for singing,
‘Please have a nice day,ay,ay.’
I was driving along
in my auto-mobile
when I did see
sheep on a hill.
And when I come back
in my auto-mobile,
having been to town,
if they haven’t gone
they will be there still.
Well, when I say full…
My life is in flux;
I’m wearing a tux
in a field full of ducks
that look like cows.
Over there, upon the hill,
are some cows;
if they cared to look over here,
they might see me;
but, cows are renowned for being short-sighted,
and never saving for the future.
Pictures by me – G:)
The cows on the Heath were mooing and lowing
Then they were quiet as mice as the grass they began mowing.
And here a few words of warning:
Please don’t try to feed a cow
Forestry Laws do not ‘that’ allow
And don’t stand behind a cow as it is chewing
Or you might be splashed by a cow who’s looing.
Posted in Cows, Heath, New Forest, poem, Poetry
Tagged #Cows, #hampshire, #newforest, Poem, Poetry
Graeme Sandford 