Peter Rees Poet Rhyme

Bravo Toro

Snorting and bloodied in the mid-day sun,
He paws the ground. His angry eye is fixed.
He charges and the matador is spun
Off balance. Tangled in his cape, he trips.
His suit of lights impaled and tossed aloft,
Transfixed, a crumpled rag doll, motionless,
The crowd is silenced. Yet again he's tossed.
A deep groan from the crowd. The bull, possessed,
Exultant in his own in-bred finesse,
Senses the blood of generations past
Course through his fighting frame until, at last,
Distracted and victorious he makes way.
This bull will live to fight another day.

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Patricia Cresswell August 15, 2017 at 4:17 PM All around sad the. Yet I was there through your words. Patricia Cresswell August 15, 2017 at 4:19 PM tale not the. My vision plays tricks.

Darren White August 4, 2017 at 5:14 AM Great poem, your rhyme is smooth. Imagery is great too, I can see the bull charge, and those horrible men in their capes. Peter Rees August 4, 2017 at 5:48 AM Thanks Darren. I believe we're of the same mind. Art they call it. Culture they call it. I really appreciate your sentiments and your kind words.

Maureen McGreavy Pigeon Tart August 3, 2017 at 11:00 AM Awesome. I'm always kinda rooting for the bull :) Peter Rees August 3, 2017 at 11:04 AM Thanks Maureen. Me too !