Cows are plotting to end the world

When the world ended the atmosphere blazed,
From horizon to horizon in a blue methane haze.

Homo sapiens died, their extinction complete,
No longer lesser creatures with forks would they eat.

The conspiracy planned since the dawn of time,
When the first rumen, humans killed to dine.

People had ignored the United Nations report
Instead laughing and saying: “It’s a crude joke of sort!”

There in words, as plain as day, it could be read,
“Cattle eliminations caused global warming,” it said.

But the truth was hidden by burps, belches and farts,
As the world’s cattle diligently performed their parts.

Each had a job to eat as much food as they could,
Ruminating gas production by thoroughly chewing their cud.

All this, while humans fought over oil prices, religion, tax,
Miley Cyrus CD’s, political parties, plastic boobies and sex.

Cows lay in fields placid, non threatening and benign,
Methodically eating, chewing, flatulating, biding their time.

The earth grew warmer as their efforts rose in the air,
While scientist begged humans to eat less meat, in despair.

Cow pies covered the fields as the green grass grew abundant,
Environmentalists argued over positions inane and redundant.

Then an upheaval so massive it’s hard to understand,
Cows the world over organized to make the last gaseous stand.

With an earth shuddering roar cows let loose a trombone blast,
Humans held their noses, grimacing, gagged with a gasp.

The skies were finally saturated to the fullest extent,
There was no other contribution, not a single cow could vent.

All bovines moved as if a perceived signal had been given,
To rivers and lakes and hidden valleys they were driven.

One volunteer cow stood on a Rocky Mountain height,
Its suicide mission, the methane atmosphere to light.

It struck a match, a beacon that flared a bright red,
And thrust it into the green layer just above its horned head.

The rest is history, there is nothing more one can say,
Only cows populate the earth no humans lived past that day.

Note: Several years past a Wall Street Journal article proposed “Cow Tax” in an effort to underscores the Greenhouse-Gas Divide. I thought; “Could there really be a grain of truth here?” The poem is a response to ‘what if’!
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©2014, Donald Harbour

Dali got it right

Last night I happily dreamed,
Our world’s ship turned upside down,
Giant oaks hung suspended in the air,
While birds flew on the ground.

Air was not polluted for breath,
All water pure for drinking too,
The earth’s creatures took photographs,
Of caged humans in their public zoo.

It was a world of imaginations,
Where peace reigned supreme,
Where guns were licorice sticks,
And oil was frothy whipped cream.

Blue skies were always overhead,
Rivers and lakes placidly flowed,
Fish were scaled in sparkling diamonds,
Multicolored butterflies paved each road.

Cows were made for milk and mooing,
Chickens cheerfully clucked a chicken song,
Lions laid beside fluffy white lambs,
No one ever heard the words: “This is wrong!”

There were no gods or seraph,
No torture or misguided religious grief,
No war mongers, government or politicians,
Pontificating their bellicose belief.

Pink peddle-pushers road horseback,
Through fields of limeade green,
Not found were homeless without homes,
Unbranded tennis shoes were only seen.

Dali was captain of this wondrous ship,
Sailing over the sea of cosmic space,
The passengers of his whimsical bark,
Different hues of the same human race.

Dawn pulled me from the dream,
It whispered a new beginning had begun,
Startled I realized in a jolt of epiphany,
All of us, could make this year, the one.

©2014, Donald Harbour

A birds nest tale

In the backyard, with indifferent abandon,
a holly bush leans against the fence.
An invitation that will be taken.

Within the protective dense thorny green foliage,
mom and dad Cardinal make a twig home.
Soon peeps announce a new families hatch.

Foraging with industry the male and female
endlessly fly to the yard garden grocery store.
The tomato horned worms do not survive.

It is an organic garden relying on benevolent help
from these talon red feathered creatures and good bugs.
Ravenous chicks doom the plant destroying worms.

A peek in the nest reveals two fluffy hungry babes
their open yellow rimmed beaks pointed skyward.
They are ravenous to any rustle of the branches.

Flashing dazzling colors, song birds dart about,
one of the benefits of planting a harvest of veggies.
Everyone benefits the bounty; birds and neighbors.

The family dogs seem to sense their unspoken duty
protectively lying in the shade beneath the nest branch.
Coming inside at nightfall they give up their guard watch.

Night darkness can become the indiscriminate evil hour for life,
when dark hides the skulking casual destroyers of homes.
The time of burglars, murders, the devils spawn, feral cats.

One of the neighbors daily feeds these treacherous felines,
in sympathy for their dispassionate wild primitive existence.
The cats have no morals, only a taste for baby birds.

©2013 Donald Harbour

Magpies

Ahh, what grace.  A Taiwan Blue Magpie.

Blue birds fly
through azure skies,
but, I prefer,
Taiwan Blue Magpies.

©2012, Donald Harbour

My dogs won’t be guiet

There are times
when I am most interested
by the conversation of,
my old dogs barking.

Trekking through the woods
or plowing a field
they are always talking,
my old dogs barking.

When we take a stroll
down cement and asphalt
they are insistent critters,
my old dogs barking.

Remove the leather leash
lay them down on the porch
there is silent reproach from,
my old dogs barking.

Grab some soap and water
wash away their days dirt
yet still they whine,
my old dogs barking.

We have traveled many miles
seen sights seen by few
they were there,companions,
my old dogs barking.

When I am placed in the grave
when my burden is laid low
it will be the only rest I get from,
my old dogs barking.

©2012, Donald Harbour

A gift from a passing

a grey shadow has passed this house,
silent as the dawns first whispering,
the dogs lifted their heads, but
they did not speak, just observed,
as if in observing they could absorb,
what, I do not know, maybe its knowledge,
or maybe the essence of its tranquility,
can a shadow hold such benefits,
was wisdom carried in its passage,
ancient and secretive it is a part of me,
just as it a part of all mankind,
and I too know it with respect and wonder,
I cannot help but love its pace of movement,
a burnished streak without a furtive glance,
I feel somehow it took a particle from me,
a wonder of this life transiting nexus,
tomorrow I will stand in the still darkness,
hoping, wishing that it will return,
halt in its work and look in my direction,
eyes connecting to its piercing golden orbs,
there must be magic in its slightest gaze,
will I become a better child of nature for it,
is strength gained from its untamed soul,
it has touched a buried primitive part of me,
feeling a spiritual bond with this brother,
does it desire the same or abhor my smell,
repulsed by the savagery of my ancestors,
so then, it has every right to distrust me,
I watch yearning for a moment’s pause,
a gift of purpose in recognition, from
this enigmatic solitary wandering coyote.

©2011, Donald Harbour

A Dog’s Life

Our family dogs are very special members of the pack. Ever waiting, ever giving, they are a joy of life. This poem is for them. Their website is at: http://siraengus.wordpress.com

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Aengus and Baxter take time to smell the roses!

I have waited all day,
Patiently, in the house.
The sounds outside interesting,
Though some of them strange.
I have lifted my head
Listening to sidewalk footsteps.
I thought it might be you,
They were not.
Twice I wandered to the yard,
Feeling the grass tickling,
Smelling the flowers and dew.
All the loose things lying about,
I picked them up and
Move them, several times.
I ate or drank when I wanted,
Though I did not have a hunger.
The phone rang four times,
I did not answer it.
My only interest is you,
You complete my day,
For you I live and long.
The neighbor cat visited.
It walked the window ledge,
Peering in at me,
But it has no motivation,
It’s just a stupid cat.
The radio has been on,
At least there are voices.
The clock inside me is ringing,
I know that you will be here,
Soon.
The thought of you makes me quiver,
Then I hear the key in the door,
I hear the rustle of your clothes,
Your scent fills my lungs.
And there you are.
I am so happy I could burst.
You reach for me,
Take my face in your hands,
Saying, “Hey boy, how was your day.”
It is good now,
You are home.

©2011, Donald Harbour