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Dave Moon Poem
It was hot and dry in the desert, they say.
The young pups were tired, wearied from play.
The ranch house lay peaceful, spare time rejoiced.
Thunder’s sure quite a hired hand voiced.
The boss’s young daughter small, innocent and kind.
Had strayed to close toward Thunder.
Not knowing the bull, nor his mind.
Old Bob looked up and foreseeing the future
quietly rose to his feet.
He slipped under the fence rail, now standing beside her.
They, the bull, and the heat.
Bob silently stood, measuring thunder,
awaiting his master’s command.
While at the same time Thunder squared off,
now digging his hooves in the sand.
Bob looked to the boss to know his direction
and in a split second came his master's reply.
Take him Bob. Said without question,
said without asking why.
The decision‘s been made, Bob made his turn,
now lying close to the ground.
With ears laid back and ivory flashing
he turned the big bull full round.
Bob’s position was clear as he explained to the bull that,
This is where I stand my ground.
On another day, at another time, Bob’s heart is as big as they come.
He’d easily forgive and forget, yet not fully understood by some.
But as for this moment, He’d hold the big bull right there, where he stood.
While the master shouldered his daughter and patting Bob’s head
Speaking softly said, good boy… good.
Dave Moon
Ca 2007
Copyright © Dave Moon | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Dave Moon Poem
All in
Deserted beaches. Beautiful. Quiet. Tides stood. Faded by their allotted rounds. History has an appointment to keep. Gold. Utah. Juno. Omaha. Sword. Normandy, France. Overlord. To keep not hold.
Forward, lethal, deadly pitch. Channel arrears irrelevant. All in, no return,
the damned on top.
All in. Quiet, Beautiful. None to dispute or disturb. Not so. Dawn.
1944 day of reckoning. Smoke and noise. Noise and smoke.
All in. At Normandy.
Arising here. End of evil. Drawn in, those who wished and them whom not.
They were there, men of honor. Valiant, sworn by sacred oaths, less known today the price they paid. With life’s blood and sweat. Their callings, Advanced at Normandy.
Normandy Beaches once quiet. Sixty miles agreed by five. knowing full well their sacrifice. Fated, this age of men and boys, fought for the all. Damned or not. Once gulls floated as they do again. Man’s best being done. Spirits
soar. Overlord.
The dead are reposed, now assured we make, the taking of life and land.
By force, where necessary, backed by must, the living, with sacred obligation. Stand poised. Ready, to be called again. Stand and deliver. Bargained again with blood’s swift sword.
Copyright © Dave Moon | Year Posted 2016
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