Cleaning Out My Inbox: May Edition

Well, after a month of poetry posts, I am looking at a handful of interesting things, languishing away in my inbox, collecting cyberdust. Let's take a look, shall we?

Last Wednesday, due to an unfortunate series of events, my childcare options fell through, and I had to miss an amazing concert by Crowded House. My dear friend Janet was offering me a ticket, and I couldn't make it. Needless to say, Janet was understandably miffed, and she sent me this link, which shows what I missed, the P.S. 22 Chorus performing with the band at the Fillmore NY, Irving Plaza. Point taken. Still Sorry, Janet.

Cristina, an old friend from Los Angeles sends me sad news here.
Crown City Brewery is going out of business at the end of the month. Sure, it's been ten years, probably, since I ate there (the commute from Brooklyn is killer), but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for the place where I drank numerous rare and hard-to-find beers (Tusker! Watney's Cream Stout!) and ate countless awesome Smoked Chicken Lahvosh pizzas. Such news makes me sad.

Ben sent me a link to a site that has this picture in the Erotica section. To figure out why...

click here. Hint: Nice Teats!

Since we're talking about farm animals, my Aunt Lee sent me this YouTube video of the 2006 WEG Freestyle Dressage Competition:



Moving on, but staying in the animal kingdom, my mother-in-law sent this evidence of ursine defecation:


Probably best to end on that. Heh.

Poetry Wednesday Thursday

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:

BOVINE OVATION

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

flapping vigorously,

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

Seemed an appropriate choice and yes, it's based on a true story.