Cali, the cowgirl painted stars on her happy bull McVey
Others tried not to stare; I could not look away
He looked adorable, approachable, cute almost.
Get any nearer, she told me, and you will be a ghost.
highland bull came to us on a lovely spring day
we could tell by his high kicks he was ready to play
a pink butterfly with plethora of dots futtered his way
He was not shy in giving her a “hey, hey, hey, hey!”
Wondered if he had wandered from the Meadows in Bray
Had no idea how to get him back there that day
A full schedule meant he would have to stay and play
We did give him feed, and a soft pace to lay
The pallet we made him was filled with the softest hay
Not his fault he is lost, said my cousin Lucie McKay
When we returned from work, he had meandered away
We were thrilled we had a Highland Bull for almost a day
I knew a bullfighter, he suffered from a severe case of "a-gore-a-phobia"
When They Said "BEST!"
They Meant The
Sneakiest Cheaters
Can Always WIN!!!
Well IIIIIIII'lllllllll B.
Now, Guess The Capital I
From The Lower Case L.
Good Luck, I Gave
You A Hint.
***
Wait, The Sneakiest Cheaters
Don't Get Caught.
Ah, HA!
-Gray Squirrel
09-04-2025
The brindled drop tine bull
Brings his herd along the fence
He steers the steers and leers at me
His look not quite intense
We ponder life, each his own strife, this old cow boy and me
He clears the gate with one old cow
They amble past the here and now
And take me back to the woods by the creek
And the hedgerow post pile by the birthday tree
And the chicken coop and my first chores
The mem’ries flood
To the water tank and the crawdads there
In Holstine’s pasture, way in the back
Not far from a line of walnut trees
Black and tall against the breeze
Each straight as a sentry at his post
Who walked this land
Bow, rifle, plow in hand
It connects me to the land my feet
Negotiate in the autumn heat
I’ve drifted south, as things seem to go
Yet somehow in my soul I know
I’m tied to the land in a way not seen
By those whose mem’ries aren’t so keen
For the ground they trod when their feet were bare
But my mem’ries warm… and it takes me there
The bun knee, end, the ham stir
r ee ting chock oh lit, end watch ching- 'Moo vees!
Kew dueling...
'Two...Geth er,
uh lone!
The bunny and the hamster,
are eating chocolate and watching- 'Movies!
'Cuddling...
"Together,
alone!
the two- ton Iowa steer gave me a ***** leer
over hear, dear, come be my ever-loving peer.
Smile sheer, he wore rings in his nose and right ear.
I resolved not to go near until I had consumed my beer.
Nothing to fear bellowed the steer. Over hear dear, over here!
fence’s formidable periphery
enclosed more than I could ever see
I walked it at eight, was still gone by three
the length of this fence has amazed Tim and me
Tim is a bull I discovered along the way
I wanted to ride him back, but he said “no way!”
Horn Bull Full of Wool Haiku
has been a big bull
who with Trump there is much pull
always will be full
How about that one?
Ben the bull was gentlemanly and debonair
He had a unique personality, he filled the air
The others in the barnyard got out of his way
He marched though the fences, big and gay
With his blue silk scarf from the farmer’s wife
And his fancy patchwork jacket, he had a good life
He wore a fashionable rip in one leg of his jeans
His diet was not like the others, he had fancy beans.
Why is he treated better than all of us? Asked a chick.
His rooster father tried to shush this observant hick.
No one talked about it but this is the USA
Where the biggest bullies now get ahead these days.
I usually sit down with my tea,
And Dora not so far from me,
Her slava drooling from her jaw,
On command she'll raise her paw,
On occasion food will drop,
Dora the hoover cleans up the slop,
She eats for fun she's never full,
One big stomach she's like a bull,
And one big drawback it isn't smart,
She let's one slip a smelly fart,
Such a stench she'll clear the room,
You dare to stay then that's your doom,
For such a size She has some strength,
Match a pitbull without its length,
A favourite pass time the great outdoors,
She'd plan her route her choice not yours,
Toilet done She wants her prize,
In your pocket and its bite size,
And when the day is at its end,
I cuddle up with my best Friend,
She keeps me warm all through the night,
Then let's one rip so unpolite,
Now that's all gone she's here no more,
A grieving pain in my inner core,
Again I look back to the past,
My future once more overcast,
I did what's right I know I did,
The cancer gone and we got rid,
Cost Dora's life it was the deal,
It will take months for me to heal.
the more you spread, the more people will pay to get rid of the smell
In my deepest fantasies Poetry Contest
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I'm at a bar drinking a beer
When all my inhibitions disappear
My eyes dance at all the men
So robust and vibrant, like bulls in a bin
I double down on my fantasy
And order a Hennessey
For it has a stronger kick and bite
And I begin spinning left to right
In my daze
The bulls take hold and amaze
For I'm like the lone cow on the swing
And I begin to sing
The farmer is smiling
And railing
The barn is filling with a Hawaiian sound
For the bulls are going to town
The bartender waves a hand
And my smile vanishes from fantasy land
Gees I say
I was beginning to like the hay
The guy on my left soon eyes me
And I feel his eyes under my dress and spree
I laugh at his plight
Saying I had enough for one night
The cock also sweat
Sweating beneath the undaunted hair
Though unseen, untethered
Unnoticed yet vulnerable.
The male lion also weep
Weeping gently and silently
With insignificant traces
Though galloping and parading
In confidence which left creatures
Marvelled and tender.
The virile also feels
They also go through pains
Pains seen and unseen
Though eye catching faces
And beautiful faces are worn over
Should the Bull go begging when in awe of death?
Should the mighty cry ?
Should the Cheetah crawl ?
Should the Tiger be afraid?
In street, the virile is left alone
Detached, chastened and stranded
Moving to and fro
But no place to call home.
Even when he wants to be known
And cherished, he is deprived.
Should humanity be switched?
Even when switched, will he be known ?
Will he be recognized?
Or will he be appreciated?
He is all alone
Longing to overcome
Though no hope of winning
But hanging on till the driver arrives
And all is left behind.
The Bull and the Matador
Stalwartly, the bull gaits around
the confines of the arena ring,
snorting and displaying
piercing horns and muscle-bulk build.
For this he was bred and raised;
to be a champion of beasts,
and no matter where placed,
will claim as his domain and ferociously
defend until death, if necessary.
Then into the ring swaggeringly treads the matador
(flamboyantly dressed, touting a cape),
saluting the crowd, though calmly noticing
the bull, whose eyes appear red
from the blood gorging in its head.
“Estás loco!” scream the patrons packing the place
(thoroughly enjoying every minute of this barbaric sport).
“¡Ole! ¡Ole!” They sing in unison in a horrific overture,
encouraging the matador to kill the bull or vice versa.
***
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