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The Moose and the Goose

The mighty mad moose said to the gentle gliding goose,
“It’s not fair you fly in formation while I suffer much abuse.
Wind and breeze are there as you fly first class.
I’m down here on the ground fighting weeds and grass.”

The flock of geese had just landed for some food and rest,
And here is this mighty mad moose acting like a real pest.
But the head gliding goose had a gentle reply,
“Mighty mad moose you’re upset and I don’t know why.”

“Each year we chart the route for you mighty moose.
We’re the train’s engine, while you have freedom of a caboose.
Pay attention to our direction as we geese pass over;
Then you moose will know the way and have time for clover.”

Sir moose replied, “You fly south for winter and return in spring.
So all I have to do is remember that one important thing.
As I browse through trees and brush, I need to raise my eyes
To see you all as you map our way through the skies.”

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Ballad Of The Northern Lights

One of the Down and Out--that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare!
Stare and shrink--say! you wouldn't think that I was a millionaire.
Look at my face, it's crimped and gouged--one of them death-mask things;
Don't seem the sort of man, do I, as might be the pal of kings?
Slouching along in smelly rags, a bleary-eyed, no-good bum;
A knight of the hollow needle, pard, spewed from the sodden slum.
Look me all over from head to foot; how much would you think I was worth?
A dollar? a dime? a nickel? Why, I'm the wealthest man on earth.

No, don't you think that I'm off my base. You'll sing a different tune
If only you'll let me spin my yarn. Come over to this saloon;
Wet my throat--it's as dry as chalk, and seeing as how it's you,
I'll tell the tale of a Northern trail, and so help me God, it's true.
I'll tell of the howling wilderness and the haggard Arctic heights,
Of a reckless vow that I made, and how I staked the Northern Lights.

Remember the year of the Big Stampede and the trail of Ninety-eight,
When the eyes of the world were turned to the North, and the hearts of men elate;
Hearts of the old dare-devil breed thrilled at the wondrous strike,
And to every man who could hold a pan came the message, "Up and hike".

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poem by Robert William Service
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The Swan I Married Became a Moose

Crusted mustard breath,
I awakened to...
When I loved you.

String beans on your teeth,
I thought divine.
One time.

But when we got divorced,
I forced myself to really see...
How the Swan I married,
Became a Moose!

A big and wide behind,
I didn't mind to follow.

I thought it fantastic,
To climb on top.
When we made our version,
Of love.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Bull Moose

Down from the purple mist of trees on the mountain,
lurching through forests of white spruce and cedar,
stumbling through tamarack swamps,
came the bull moose
to be stopped at last by a pole-fenced pasture.

Too tired to turn or, perhaps, aware
there was no place left to go, he stood with the cattle.
They, scenting the musk of death, seeing his great head
like the ritual mask of a blood god, moved to the other end
of the field, and waited.

The neighbours heard of it, and by afternoon
cars lined the road. The children teased him
with alder switches and he gazed at them
like an old, tolerant collie. The woman asked
if he could have escaped from a Fair.

The oldest man in the parish remembered seeing
a gelded moose yoked with an ox for plowing.

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poem by Alden Nowlan
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When The Carousel Amimals Got Loose.....[LONG; Humor; Fantasy; Adventure]

In the park for peoples' amusement……
were some workers with an accusement.
T'was on the merry-go-round
where they were all found,
feeling their labor was abusement.

These workers who labored without wages,
were taken from storybook pages.
They were most of them mild...
though some were beasts 'wild'.
Some were loved, some were feared, through the ages.

Three were birds, though one never could fly;
two, that could, rarely took to the sky.
Six of them were mammals...
though none were humped-camels.
One was make-believe, from days-gone-by.

All, including Elephant and Goose,
Unicorn, and big-antlered Moose,

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poem by Bri Edwards
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Johnnie's First Moose

De cloud is hide de moon, but dere's plain-
tee light above,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
Move de paddle leetle quicker, an' de ole canoe
we'll shove
T'roo de water nice an' quiet
For de place we're goin' try it
Is beyon' de silver birch dere
You can see it lak a church dere
W'en we're passin' on de corner w'ere de lilly
flower grow.

Was n't dat correc' w'at I'm tolin' you jus
now?
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down
low,
Never min', I'll watch behin'- me - an' you
can watch de bow
An' you'll see a leetle clearer

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poem by William Henry Drummond
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Stalk Of Wheat

I went for a walk on a stalk, on a stalk of wheat
And it felt like a trillion feet
I was looking for a friend at the end, at the end of the line
And it took me till the end of time
I was all out of luck like a duck, like a duck that died
I was all out of juice like a moose, like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
And I was out of ideas, like I is, like I is,
Like I is, like I is, I was out of ideas...of ideas
I once had a dream of a gleam, of a gleam in my eye
And I'll have it till the day I die
I had a thought bubble of trouble, of trouble and strife
And I'll have it for the rest of my life
I was all out of luck like a duck, like a duck that died
I was all out of juice like a moose, like a moose denied
I was all out of money like a bunny that's broke
I was all out of work like a jerk who's a joke
And I was out of ideas like I is, like I is,
Like I is, like I is, I was out of ideas...of ideas...of ideas...of ideas

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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F A M E

Frank Halliwell
Jimboomba, Qld.Oz.

Around me spin the galaxies which I have helped to chart
When the first among the spacemoose, I became.
-Surrounded by these wonders now I stand with heavy heart
And ponder on the brevity of fame.

..The concrete moose that sat atop the rocket's blinding blaze
As it left earth on a pillar of white fire...
It was just a few short weeks ago that poets sang my praise,
and I felt that of my deeds they'd never tire..

It seems they've all forgotten Slack, the famous concrete moose..
..but I was once the hero of their tales..
Once famous, now a nobody, .. a virtual recluse-
Where food abounds but never snow prevails.

So beam me up, MacAntelope and set our course outbound-
To seek among the stars to find out where

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poem by Frank Halliwell
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The Moose

For Grace Bulmer Bowers

From narrow provinces
of fish and bread and tea,
home of the long tides
where the bay leaves the sea
twice a day and takes
the herrings long rides,

where if the river
enters or retreats
in a wall of brown foam
depends on if it meets
the bay coming in,
the bay not at home;

where, silted red,
sometimes the sun sets
facing a red sea,

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poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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No Sourdough

To be a bony feed Sourdough
You must, by Yukon Law,
Have killed a moose,
And robbed a sluice,
AND BUNKED UP WITH A SQUAW. . . .

Alas! Sourdough I'll never be.
Oh, sad is my excuse:
My shooting's so damn bad, you see . . .
I've never killed a moose.

poem by Robert William Service
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