There's a new bull in the pasture,
he has good form, and a fine voice
when he bellows. A flock of small birds
flies in, the wind whisking their feathers,
they are in a great rush to get here,
and they will leave in a rush,
but for now they are content
to pick and hop and squawk.
The water hole dried up months ago,
every night there's a storm
with high wind, lightening and snow,
and a fine voice when he bellows.
The scrub pine is in a permanent lean
with the wind, the new bull uses them
to scratch his neck, a long slow scratch
up behind the ears.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Long Slow Scratch
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6 comments:
a marvelous word picture!
Good one, Mike. I can see why you used that one line twice, it's a good one as well. I like how you use it for the bull and the storm, or is it the bull again - that lack of specificity makes for an interesting touch.
This is fantastic...the symbolism is so rich. Great read!
Vivid...
I love the last stanza. We have many wind-bent evergreens out here. I love how the bull sees their form as a plus.
I really love all the images in this poem. . . the birds in a rush to arrive that will be in a rush to leave. . . the dried up water hole and the scrub pine in a permanent lean. . . and the long slow scratch. . . The picture you've painted is such a lonesome melody. The bull, for now, seemingly made content by that long slow scratch.
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