They tremble in their styes,
fear bubbling in their eyes,
as they await the butcher's knife.
Their porcine days are done,
no more rooting in the sun;
the smell of fear is rife.
They'll soon be pork and ham
when the stun-gun bullets slam;
Oh, what a swinish life!
Yes, those pigs are feeling blue--
after all...wouldn't you?
A contest entry
- The Blue Series....Contest One by Dalaney.
850 points, ended January 25, 2008, 14 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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pretty much...
great flow and rhyme, and i do feel
so sorry for these pigs
love, lane
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You raise some dark images, for sure, with this one, Bill. I would not do well at raising animals for slaughter. When hunting season comes, I can't wait for it to be over, but the guys seem to live for it. All those pastoral country scenes take on a different connotation in light of why those animals are out there grazing.... ironically, you've 14 lines...a sonnet? LOL The edge is a good one for Dalaney's contest.
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Without a shadow of a doubt
I would feel blue from inside-out
If I were porcine and awaiting
The butcher with the knife
I would ring the vegetarian society
Beseech them to think of the impropriety
And then trott into a run to save my life
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