Christmas highland cow should have been called a bull
For he had horns, and was a male, and not so dull
Why do they call us cows? It seems crazy to me.
No problem said his folks, you are featured on TV.
The tv kept calling him cow which mad him sad.
He knew bullies at school would be making him mad.
I am a bull, he told the tv, see the horns you fool?
The next day he did not want to go to school.
highland bull does the pumpkin dance
with candy corn that knows how to prance
the rest of the animals roll their eyes
they do not understand bull’s happy cries
they are too old to remember
the excitement generated toward December
when pumpkins and gourds fall off their vines
but highland bull does, he is dancing down their lines
Highland bull arrived on our doorstep in time for Halloween
His hair was all curly, his eyes had an all-knowing sheen
He asked to speak to the witch’s autumn queen
We knew he meant Miss Minnie, she is not at all mean.
Minnie came by and did some talking with Highland bull.
They rode around on the farm and instigated a taffy pull
We had a lovely bonfire, when the party began to lull
The festivities were marvelous. It was never dull.
highland bull was happiest surrounded by his orange produce
Scotland autumn helped him to raise them, some could deduce
pumpkins, gourds and watermelon were all raised by this bull.
his garden made him happy, his life felt comfortable and full.
Halloween was his go-to-place, it made his heart feel terrific.
What about it gave him enthusiasm? I wish I could be specific.
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 couldn't give a toss for the caber
cromach bagpipes sporran or kilt
(a fling's the thing)
and you can stick your dirk in your haggis
up to its bog-wood hilt
yet I'd like to hike through the heather
on happy Sassenach holidays
see the scenery admire the view
along Scottish hilly highways and byways
to pick a pink-purple thistle or two
and should I come upon a hairy Highland cow
on the hoof in a friendly farmer's flink fold
(for protection from the cold)
in no uncertain terms I would declare
"I say to you, hoo noo broon coo?"
och aye no sooner said than done
than perchance from the Caledonian bovine one
the reply too true in a Scots burr would come...
'Moo!'
When I return to this earth to graze
After this latest life, in a new phase
Please let me be a Scottish Highland Bull
Grazing all over the greenery, getting full.
People will pet me and say I am cute.
I can eat my fill and walk around and toot.
I will not have to pay taxes, insurance or a bill.
I can just walk around farting and eating my fill.
Written: November 06, 2023
___________________________________________
A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
Hello dear Jan how are you doing
Are you still dancing the highland fling
Once tried it in vain
Difficult with a cane
This oldie has a broken his mainspring
for Jan Allison
In the vast expanse of a mountainous highland,
A pretty damsel joyfully waltzed around,
A carefree lass, in the laps of bountiful nature,
Until A Prince trotted by, and magically found.
The Prince wandered for hundreds and hundreds of miles,
searching for the maiden he saw in his dream,
Stunned and astounded was he - was she truly real,
The ethereal girl he searched for, was in front of him!
From his favourite royal horse, promptly he alighted,
didn’t hesitate a moment to reach his decision !
This was his enchanting beauty - body and soul,
How could he miss the angelic fragrance, and the vision.
Besotted with her charm, the Prince came closer,
Kneeled in front of her, she speechless with emotions,
“There is the Rose inside my heart” he declared- “red
and trembling,” “I found you to offer my devotion”!
March 24, 2023
Inspired by "Rose Inside My Heart" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Checked by HMS.com and Rhymezone.com
What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?
Is it Fruit of the Loom?
Is it nuthin'?
When it's cold does he cover himself with a quilt?
How much good Gaelic blood has been spilt
'cause he buried his Wee Willie up to the hilt
In a fair colleen's warm married muffin?
Author's note: Dear reader, after reading Linda Alice Fowler's delightful limerick "Kilt Atilt", I felt inspired to go into my archives and dig up this old chestnut.
Highland whispers, echoes of innocence
Noble virtues of man, bereft of insolence
Highland whispers... life's pristine existence.
Glimpse the state of a nation
~ at its Independence Day Parades
over the Hudson River, its heights
my nemesis. I longed to drive
and stay alive. Highland
on the other side. Mid-Hudson
thrill ride for a permitted driver.
my heart would pound
just looking at the gothic steel
and the watergrave - my haunt.
a teenager’s imagination swims
in an encounter with the dead.
i had a friend whose dad dizzily
fell into the dangerous depths.
trepidation removes its guardrails,
tires sliding into the Poughkeepsie abyss.
bridging the gap - my courage.
i live to tell the tale…palpitations stalled.
8/19/2021
Fear came in numbers,
bravery stood alone
The battle intrepid
—glory atoned
(Scottish Moors: September, 1978)
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