“On This Day” Repost – A Poem about a Cow and a Wedding

You can find the original here, if you are so minded, or simply read on.

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 I milked the cow in the morning,
on the day that I was wed,
a daily chore I deemed worth doing,
which made me rise, extra early from my bed.

The comforting sound of chewing,
her flank so warm, and soft as silk,
rhythmic sounds of fluid streaming,
as the bucket filled with milk.

I leaned my head against my cow,
and gentle handed squeezed,
as in my head I said my vows,
repeated now with familiar ease.

I milked the cow in the morning,
of the day that I was wed,
and in contrast to her cream white milk,
I married in a suit of red.

© ceenoa

A Suit of Red

A Suit of Red

 

Reduced Fraction

***My brain just won’t let this one go, it nagged at me today, (don’t be so wordy, make it cleaner, simpler, distil it down) so I had to rewrite it again.  I promise, this is the last time, a variation of three is more than enough.

Somewhere,
out there,
you may be.
Walking around,
the unknown part,
of me.

© ceenoa

P.S. even as I typed it, the words changed again – this one is slippery!

Christmas in Tasmania

This poem was prompted by the poem Hugh wrote that I read this morning, got me thinking what signals Christmas to me.

Raspberries and Strawberries,
picked fresh from the bush,
the smell of fresh cut hay,
on a summers evening hush.

A thunderstorm with lightning,
flashing in the dark,
the mouth-watering aroma ,
wafting from bbq’s in the park.

All of this says Christmas,
in the place that I call home,
my island state of Oz land,
what means Christmas where you’re from?

© ceenoa

How Do You …?

How do you write a poem? they ask,
to answer that question is no easy task,
it starts with a word, and idea or a phrase,
nagging for hours, or sometimes whole days.

The words swirl in the blender that I call my brain,
and I scoop out the best, pour the gunk down the drain,
then the words I type out, with the best of intent,
but I frown when I see they are not what I meant!

So I chop it all up and switch it around,
but still I can’t shake the feel of my frown,
I keep mixing it up and I soon feel much better,
as with one final change it all comes together.

Have I answered your question? I really can’t say,
my whole methodology is really quite grey,
now I’ve written it out it sounds quite perverse,
basically, really, I just like writing in verse!

© ceenoa

A Friday Nonsense

I need to write a poem, about what, I do not know,
I just need to get the words down, to make the blah blah go.

I’m feeling kinda worn out, the work week has been long,
so if I have a little tipple, that wouldn’t be too wrong?

It’s just a little glass of schnapps, a nice butterscotch licquer,
I only have the one, or two, on the side of caution I will err.

I’m just typing gibberish, and squashing up the letters,
if I could get my brain to work I’d write you something better.

This poem is about nothing, it’s as nothing as can be,
but nothing is much better, than something else, you see?

I could write about my daughter, wearing “Tardis” beanie, “Dalek” gloves,
watching Dr Who on telly is something that she loves.

I could write about the cats, sitting yowling at the door,
they’ve already had their tea, but still they’re wanting more.

But it’s just a little verse, about nothing much at all,
’cause that’s the way I’m feeling – I’ve hit the versing wall!

© ceenoa 6/6/2014

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