Religulous in the Barnyard

[Kailashana]

"Religiosity" meowed the cat
rather languidly as cats
usually do
"is for the birds",
just then a cock crowed
with cock-lust after the plump chickens
in the hen house,
but the door was locked by the evil wolf
wearing his usual sheep's clothing,
casing the barnyard
ready to snatch anything that
clucked long enough to suit his fancy,
and the swans swimming in their pond,
stretched their necks to see what was
going on....
it was a three or four little brown mice, having a field day,
squeaking in by the kitchen door,
Bill, the cat, having pretended to be asleep,
pounced and just like that, a little mouse
tail dangled from his mouth, swished,
and then was out of sight.

See. the moral to this story is every thing is
a religion of one, as long as it is hungry enough to
survive.

Ambushed by the wind, the moon rises above it all
and dogs go about their dog-day afternoons. never
thinking about what the cat is up to.

End of.


~A

[Atehequa]

Great poem, it creates vivid images in my mind's eye.

Tell me, do you think all wolves to be evil ?

[Kailashana]

I don't think wolves are evil. Matter of fact I signed and forwarded petitions to stop the bounty on wolves several times. Love the pristine wilderness and its inhabitants.

Poetic license, barnyard lessons.

Thanks for the read & question.

~A

[Atehequa]

I guess an evil sheep in wolf's clothing would not of read all that well.

[Kailashana]

I've used that turnaround for other poems though I hadn't considered it for this one. The *usual* is the kicker her, A.

Thank you for the read and the evaluation. Only man would consider a sheep in wolf's clothing or visa versa. Animals live in the moment just doing their being...no guile or cunning beyond what is natural to their species.

~A

[Atehequa]

An observation put on canvas by American Artist George Catlin

[joel]

Only man would consider a sheep in wolf's clothing or visa versa. Animals live in the moment just doing their being...no guile or cunning beyond what is natural to their species.

The antfarm only works because we’re ants.
We see ourselves in industry. We know
ourselves within community. We go
about our business with instinctive can’ts
and cans while following the ordered rants
of monarchs we obey. We’re ants—and so
we realize our human nature, though
we dress it up to show who wears the pants.

Our anthill cities are as natural
as termite castle mounds. Their tiny wars
affect the world as much as do our guns.
We’re all the same—but still our thinking runs
away; we say we live on different floors
of blessing, evolution…but we’re all