Poetry day


It’s Montana poetry day.

What’s your favourite poem and why?

That question is too hard for me to answer – I have a long list of favourites starting with the one I learned at kindy:

Miss Polly had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick/ She called for the doctor to come quci/quick/ He picked up his bag and he picked up his hat/ and knocked on the door with a rat a tat a tat.

He looked at the dolly and he shook his head/ and said Miss Polly put her straight to bed/ I’ll write a prescription for a pill, pill, pill and be back in the mornign with my bill/ bill/ bill.

The list does develop from doggeral like this and show a little more maturity but picking a favourite from those favourites depends on lots of variables including  mood, occasion and purpose.

Milking before Dawn



Our heifers are calving and the cows are due to start any day now.

 The tanker began collecting milk a couple of weeks ago, though it’s only coming every couple of days.

 Apropos of that and in the wake of Montana Poetry Day which was celebrated last week, I offer this view of milking which is generally considered a fairly prosaic business.


Milking Before Dawn



In the drifting rain the cows in the yard are as black

And wet and shiny as rocks in an ebbing tide:

But they smell of the soil, as leaves lying under trees

Smell of the soil, damp and steaming, warm,

The shed is an island of light and warmth, the night

Was water-cold and starless out in the paddock.


Crouched on the stool, hearing only the beat

The monotonous beat and hiss of the smooth machines,

The choking gasp of the cups and rattle of hooves,

How easy to fall asleep again, to think

Of the man in the city asleep; he does not feel

The night encircles him. The grasp of mud.


But now the hills in the east return, are soft

And grey with mist, the night recedes, and the rain.

The earth as it turns towards the sun is young

Again, renewed, its history wiped away

Like the tears of a  child. Can the earth be young again

And not the heart? Let the man in the city sleep.


– Ruth Dallas –  

Poetry Day


It’s Montana Poetry Day.

I’ll post a few of my many favourite poems throughout the day. In the meantime ponder this:


this a

poem and


it is

why is it





it’s not why


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