Sorry, didn't post anything poetic yesterday. Actually, I did, briefly, post a poem I had written in June called "Sipping Red Bull through a Straw," a voyeuristic subway piece, but I had second thoughts, both due to subject matter and ultimately (and more importantly), due to my happiness with the poem. I think it's too good to throw up before it has faced more revision.
That said, here's a consolation prize from my archives, a not very good poem, but one that may amuse:
Seemed an appropriate choice and yes, it's based on a true story.
I walked up the hill,
right up to them,
sitting, standing, looking away, eating.
"Okay," I began excitedly, "I bet
you guys haven't heard poetry before."
I extracted a battered notebook from my backpack
and skimmed through,
trying to find a sonnet or an ode, haiku
or something that cattle would enjoy.
I finally found something half-decent
and announced in a serious voice,
"This is the first time I've read
this particular piece before an audience,
so please, be gentle." Two dozen pairs
of somber eyes focused on me as I began.
I don't know if it was the poem,
or the sound of my voice, or simply,
the fact that they were just cows,
but halfway through I glanced up
and only three or four were still
paying attention. Everyone else had
gone back to grazing, cud-chewing,
and flicking tails at bothersome flies.
Disappointed, I half-heartedly
finished the recital and closed
my book. The sole remaining captive
listener shook her head, a red ear-tag
like exuberant applause.
Then she turned away
and let it fly. A beautiful cowshit
by bovine standards, I guess.
Turd after turd popped into view
and landed with a significant splat!
in the lush emerald grass. It was
humiliating, yet somewhat appropriate.
I turned and lumbered down the pasture.
A light rain began to fall
just as I reached the house
and I wandered inside to work
on some desperately-needed revisions.
Pihanakalani Ranch, Pa'auilo, Hawaii, November 1993
©1993, William Dickenson Cohen