 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 20:00:21 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 160739
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Ben
[time] => 2010-06-23 05:34:54
[hometext] => This is about a working collie dog I got to know many years ago.Is it a life or merely an exsistence?
[bodytext] => His day began in the hour of pre-dawn dark. Sweeping the cows in from the rich pasture Into the sterile environs of the milking parlour. And there he dodged the foul liquid dung That ecsaped from the back end of the cows, Was weary always Of the vicious stamping hind hooves. Then when the vast steel vat was full of white necture He swept the cows back out on to the rich pasture. Then with a cry of " come on Ben!"He followed his master. And because his middle name was subservient, He followed always three paces behind. Then back to the yard And the familiarity of northing, he ate a breakfast Of last night's leftovers, steak and kidney, treacle tart, All devoured from an old casserole tin With an appetite seldom appeased. Finished, he licked the tin clean and waited. And at the same time every morning the cat emerged, Black and dusty from the hay barn. And he would fix Ben with a nonchalant stare from his one good eye, Safe always in the knowledge That the dog's world was restricted by a rusty chain And limited dreams. And he went through the motions anyway, Barking untill hoarse, untill the farmer's wife, soft with good intentions, Hushed him quiet again. In the afternoon he slept fitfully. The hot stink of dung mingled with something sweeter, The smell of fresh mown hay on the breeze. And between dreams of limited ambition He watched the flies buzzing around the slurry pit, Then moved into the cool shade of the kennel When the sun fractured the sky with it's intensity. Then he was shaken awake from dreams By the calling of his name, "Ben! call out Ben!" and the rattle of his chain. He went with his master then, To the rich pasture where he swept the cows in And when the last drops had flowed Swept them back out again. Then it was back to his life at the end of a chain, Supper served, leftovers and a mutton bone Tossed slowly from the hand of the farmer's wife. "Good night Ben," she whispers softly and he retires to his kennel. The bone for comfort, he sleeps a sleep restricted by a rusty chain and limited dreams. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 118 [topic] => 21 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com