This week let’s write a lamb poem. Our species domesticated theirs about ten thousand years ago so we have plenty ancient symbols and metaphors to work with. If, like me, you’ve never really gotten to know a lamb, ram or ewe, here are a few fun facts to get you started.
Post your mutton in the comments below.
Living Poetry 
Mine’s only vaguely about lambs.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 3, 2021, 9:01 PMA lamb is cute and softly fleeced
the fleece is full and ready to shear
shearing leads to mountains of fluff
fluff leads to washing of stuffs
muscles are found with carding the wool
hands are soft, yet hardened with silt
work is found when carded and ready
working the wheel, the spin is a treasure
steady as you go, the turn into skeins
soon the needles will turn to their tasks
sit by the fire and tap out a vest
sheep grow more fur
as the flock gets a rest
this all seems symbiotic for sure
take note of what a sheep must endure
thank goodness for cattle
their true protectors
it all works together
as sheep must be shorn
as humans must sheer them
as sure as their born
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | September 3, 2021, 5:13 PMthey’re not their – sorry
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | September 3, 2021, 5:26 PMLove the “shearing leads to mountains of fluff / fluff leads to washing of stuffs” Nicely done!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 3, 2021, 9:00 PMThank you! I had to go back about 30 years to when I learned how to clean and spin wool and then weave it into a wall hanging. Spinning is so relaxing. I think I wrote a poem about that a long time ago.
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | September 5, 2021, 6:02 PMAm a little late but here it is
Mary’s little lamb
Was a stalker
How long did she last
Before she was turned into stew
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Posted by Catherine Penafiel | September 3, 2021, 11:57 AMHa! You’re never late here when you show up with a poem. Well done.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 3, 2021, 8:56 PMWhere are the pigeons that flew overhead
for hours at a time
a September harbinger of fall?
they are lost to past time
never to return
like big V-8s
four-barrels
rumbling with mixtures too rich
leaded and unburned
sweet poisonous fumes
scenting the altar
where the lamb
his pure white fur
mottled with inviolable carbon black
lays cut in two
viscous oil and green cash
flowing down from this temple to the east
a testament of our aptitude
in self deception
But like the birds
the V8s are gone as well
because now we know better
at least how to keep the mire out of sight
in the spectacle of the daily media cycle
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Posted by Chris Clarke | September 1, 2021, 11:32 PMExcellent work. I was wondering if sacrifice was going to play into any of the poems. Great use of metaphor there.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 2, 2021, 5:56 PMWhat’s going on?
Mutton honey. I’m out of mint sauce
Awwwww so cuuuuute!
Wham bam thank you lamb.
This is not a poem.
I am not a vegetarian.
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Posted by JeanMarie | September 1, 2021, 1:25 AMLove the Magritte ending!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 1, 2021, 7:19 PMCool. So glad you liked the poem. But … um … who is Magritte? I do not know this poetic reference.
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Posted by JeanMarie | September 2, 2021, 1:13 AMThis is not a poem reminded me of his painting called this is not a pipe (but in French) because he clearly painted a pipe. Love Magritte!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 2, 2021, 5:57 PMI had roast lamb for dinner tonight ….
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Posted by ivor20 | August 30, 2021, 7:17 AMMom yum
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Posted by JeanMarie | August 30, 2021, 12:30 PMThat’s why I posted the prompt, so you’d have tummy full of inspiration.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | August 30, 2021, 7:37 PM