Quotes about moose, page 2
Winter Fun In Newfoundland
Cross country skiing, spectcular views along the way
Ski-dooing across the country side
A fantastic ride
Ice fishing in the ponds, rivers and bays
An ending to a nice day
Winter camping is such fun
Rabbit stew for everyone
Playing cards with family and friends,
On a cold stormy winter day
Moose hunting in the winter cold
A daring adventure for any soul
Moose steaks frying in the pan
A glass of screech in your hand
I f your lucky, home made beer and moonshine too
Hiking through the park
Breathing in the air so fresh
Walking over the crispy snow
Hearing the crunch as you go
Enjoy a country dance
Where they play a jig two
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poem by Verna Ralph
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Show Me This!
Where does one go...
To 'not' take those risks,
That ultimately benefit?
Every aspect of what life truly is.
And where does one go to show...
A life can be lived,
Without daring to take chances?
As they sit and romance a life enhanced.
How many are completely satisfied,
To have lived a life AND survived...
With a quality of it achieved and done,
Without one obstacle...
They had to face and overcome.
Show me this!
And I'll find you a moose,
With thick big lips.
Whose only concern...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Telling The Truth
Telling of Truths
A brown horse galloped across a snowy field at the end
of the pasture a fence, it jumped over and continued its
crazy gallop into the woods only came to a shuddering
halt when it saw a moose. Steaming nostrils, the moose
charged, horse fled deeper into the woods. Where it met
a forest troll who took it into his cave and gave the horse
a bucket of hot chocolate to drink. Since the snow deep
and tiring to sink into when walking, the troll also fitted
the horse with snow shoes; also, the troll had no need of
a horse led it back to its field. When the farmer came to
fetch his horse and saw the snowshoes, he had a nervous
breakdown and sent away to an asylum, where doctors
tried to convince him it was all in his mind. But the farmer
would have none of it. So he is still there and they will not
release him until he agrees with them that a horse wears
iron shoes and not snowshoes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Alphabet A Was Once An Apple
A was once an apple pie, apple apply papply
B was once bouncy ball, bally bally bouncy ball
C was once a little cat, catty couty catty little cat
D was once little dog, doggy dagy doogy little dog
E was once soaring eagle, eagly giggly soaring eagle
F was once littlel fox, foxy faxy little fox
G was once little goat, goaty gooty little goat
H was once a litlle hen, heeny hanny little hen
I was once black ink, inky inniky black ink
J was once funny jester, jestary jesteery funny jester
K was once little kitten, kitty katty little kitten
L was once a little lama, aama leemy a little lama
M was once wild moose, moosy masa wild moose
N was once tiny nut, nutty natty tiny nut
O was once orange, rangy rongy little orange
P was once panda, panny pandy little panda
Q was once sweet queen, queeny neeny sweet queen
R was once a rabbit, rabbity battity little rabbit
S was once a snake naky naky sneaky snake
T was once a turtle, tuttly tattly little turtle
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poem by Sherif Monem
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I'd Rather Be Loose
I'd rather be loose,
Than to run
From one who's come undone...
Because their number one,
Finds them to be no fun!
I'd rather be a goose,
Than become
Abused and used by the one...
To be a fool played like some.
Losing their pride, speech and tongue.
I'm not going to be noosed,
Like a moose...
Afraid that someone will shoot,
If I stop jumping through hoops!
Like they'd choose me to do.
Oh no...
That's not my purpose or my destiny!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Solitary Woodsman
When the grey lake-water rushes
Past the dripping alder-bushes,
And the bodeful autumn wind
In the fir-tree weeps and hushes, --
When the air is sharply damp
Round the solitary camp,
And the moose-bush in the thicket
Glimmers like a scarlet lamp, --
When the birches twinkle yellow,
And the cornel bunches mellow,
And the owl across the twilight
Trumpets to his downy fellow, --
When the nut-fed chipmunks romp
Through the maples' crimson pomp,
And the slim viburnum flushes
In the darkness of the swamp, --
When the blueberries are dead,
When the rowan clusters red,
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poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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Around the World With Minerva
She would offer us crumpets.
Minerva Pinkston...
Once part of a jet set!
Holding up both hands to announce...
Her painted nails were wet!
She rambled on as if we were being tested,
To remember her travels to places...
And names of those of power she met!
When we first arrived at Minerva's front door!
Many thought she wore a mask...
Or her make up was done very poor!
Her long eyelashes
Made her top eyelids droop!
She had too much lipstick on her lips...
She could kiss lips consistently,
Of the bears who mooned her
Or a mesmerized passing moose.
With an instant wish to fly away...
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Squaw Man
The cow-moose comes to water, and the beaver's overbold,
The net is in the eddy of the stream;
The teepee stars the vivid sward with russet, red and gold,
And in the velvet gloom the fire's a-gleam.
The night is ripe with quiet, rich with incense of the pine;
From sanctuary lake I hear the loon;
The peaks are bright against the blue, and drenched with sunset wine,
And like a silver bubble is the moon.
Cloud-high I climbed but yesterday; a hundred miles around
I looked to see a rival fire a-gleam.
As in a crystal lens it lay, a land without a bound,
All lure, and virgin vastitude, and dream.
The great sky soared exultantly, the great earth bared its breast,
All river-veined and patterned with the pine;
The heedless hordes of caribou were streaming to the West,
A land of lustrous mystery -- and mine.
Yea, mine to frame my Odyssey: Oh, little do they know
My conquest and the kingdom that I keep!
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poem by Robert William Service
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The Nostomaniac
On the ragged edge of the world I'll roam,
And the home of the wolf shall be my home,
And a bunch of bones on the boundless snows
The end of my trail . . . who knows, who knows!
I'm dreaming to-night in the fire-glow, alone in my study tower,
My books battalioned around me, my Kipling flat on my knee;
But I'm not in the mood for reading, I haven't moved for an hour;
Body and brain I'm weary, weary the heart of me;
Weary of crushing a longing it's little I understand,
For I thought that my trail was ended, I thought I had earned my rest;
But oh, it's stronger than life is, the call of the hearthless land!
And I turn to the North in my trouble, as a child to the mother-breast.
Here in my den it's quiet; the sea-wind taps on the pane;
There's comfort and ease and plenty, the smile of the South is sweet.
All that a man might long for, fight for and seek in vain,
Pictures and books and music, pleasure my last retreat.
Peace! I thought I had gained it, I swore that my tale was told;
By my hair that is grey I swore it, by my eyes that are slow to see;
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poem by Robert William Service
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I played with Sam Lay, Jimmy Reed, Big Walter Horton, Big Moose Walker, and all those guys.
quote by Jimmy Smith
Added by Lucian Velea
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