Long Bison Poems
Long Bison Poems. Below are the most popular long Bison by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bison poems by poem length and keyword.
Leave some time for wandering,
wandering is fun,
leave some time for wandering,
the wander’s never done.
It’s okay to plan ahead,
and block out some fun,
but leave some time for wandering,
leave time for the random.
I once went on a hike
in the Catskill peaks,
but then driving home I thought
a new road I’d seek.
I found myself an elk farm,
didn’t know it was there,
passed a house with such a view
I had to stop and stare.
Then I found a waterfall,
plunging sixty feet,
how I’d never heard of it
just astonished me.
I once drove the Adirondacks
going back to school,
found an ancient blast furnace,
a ruined mass, but cool.
Then a cabin that was used
by Teddy Roosevelt,
found history wandering,
just going where I felt.
Nearby was a bison ranch,
a fitting spot I guess,
with meat at better prices
then all of the rest.
Leave some time for wandering,
wandering is fun,
leave some time for wandering,
the wander’s never done.
It’s okay to plan ahead,
and block out some fun,
but leave some time for wandering,
leave time for the random.
The food was indeed, Greek.
My first Greek Frappe!
A most divine, heavenly treat.
Gods must have created this.
So far beyond good!
In gigantic glasses,with ice chips.
It was as good as an Ouzo on the rocks!
The Festival on Saturday was terribly
overcrowded,
I wanted to leave,before it started.
Fashion in the USA,no kidding has truly
grown retarded!
I like seeing men as men, not dressed as
obese 13 year old boys, sporting baseball
caps.
And the beauty of women?
Tossed away like toys, now women
only dress as boys?
My years are catching up with me,
I must hearedtdly admit.
I wanted to run from an American
culture that is so far from fashion
phenomenally adrift!
Like buffalo we were overcome with
the most fashionably unfit.
I sat with my daughter drinking a
Frappe.
And my only thought was how soon
and how fast we could get away!
I lost my appetite to eat with American
bisons!
With god-ugly toes jutting out of
cheap, plastic flip-flops.
Fat leaping out of obnoxious holes on
jeans of 300 pound women?
Ah, kill me now and let me go to
heaven!
I lost my appetite to eat midst this
hellish plethora of dirty feet.
And hair from hell to top off this
ungodly, human feat.
Then came beautiful girls, their
arms skewed with tattoos so ugly.
My desire to escape hit me much
more than suddenly.
I did have a Pastitsio, that was
yummy!
Just had to keep my eyes off the
volcanic, bulging tummies.
Thank goodness there were not
many children there!
Their mothers, the size of German
tanks would have squashed them
into instant mummies!
I did buy an icon of Christos and
Panayiota holding her child
Both in a carved wooden case.
Now this brought a smile to my
face!
And a turquoise evil-eye bracelet
with crystals, to ward off any
future toe and bison disgrace!
Greek bread we brought to take
home.
I swore up and down to never
leave my home, to roam.
Greek cookies, Kourabiedes,
and Greek bread, seemed to
calm my confused head.
Perhaps, going on a Saturday
was the worst possible choice.
Maybe I can go blindfolded next
year and hush my voice?
Or not go at all?
Still have PTSD, after what I
always previously I experienced
as a yearly treat.
It once was like going to a ball!
September 10, 2029
The attendees were not Greeks.
Form:
Antipas was one of many heirs of Herod the Great
Morally and civilly, he had fallen from his state.
His kingdom, a collapsed castle, he couldn't reinstate.
Sinning with brother's wife, shamelessness had become his fate.
Like raindrops on a bison, did John's censures sadden him?
Like venom, the wrath of Herodias filled her to brim.
The extant of Baptist, she thought, like a twig she should trim
Didn't she, as a queen, have the right to amuse her whim?
By the fame of Jesus as though life-threat, Herod baffled.
His human and animal instincts between them battled.
Curiousness and qualm, like flatware, within him rattled
Has John resurrected? Physique and Psyche fell fear-grappled
Does the sun fear the darkness? Jesus fulfilled his mission.
To build his realm of love, did he need Herod's permission?
Sheila wants to go to Europe, her man, Lou is thinking Mexico.
Just go, said their teenage son, pack up and go! Go! Go!
You would have to come, they argued, but he has a job.
I’ll stay with him said Gram, who was fond of her grandson Rob.
Sheila and Lou hit the road, it was a smooth, happy start.
They traveled through the Midwest, each with a loving heart.
Formidable five-wheeler was packed with the supplies for a week.
They were like teenagers again, on bit of a honeymoon streak.
They went through Mississippi in the middle of the night
Traveled to Georgia, where they saw many an amazing sight
Wandered down to Florida and spied a large gator cross the road.
Oh, this gives me the creeps said Sheila, now in mama mode.
Let’s try Route 66 said Lou, so they turned that bus around.
Traveled through the Midwest, their eyes on boring ground.
When they hit Wyoming, they were cheering at bison who roam.
I cannot wait to get home, said Sheila, so I can write this in a poem.
You know the story, a beautiful woman, a jealous male friend, a guy interested in her. Here in The PWF, we have a story for you .
Beagal "The Mongul" Asurkki wanted a date he challenged
Muskin Caulter for half of his World tag title position, and his girlfreind. If he won he would get half of the world's tag titles and a date, the lady put in the stipulations. A back of a stake body truck.
The Mongol won and Caulters partner for fitted his share of the prize. PWF, president Dazz Delton Scott , made a falls count anywhere 5 guy match, the winner would be the Mongols tag partner and co holder of the tag team championship. The date would take place during the match. Four guys showed up, the referee started the bout. They journeyed near the truck and eventually made there way up on the back, karate chops sent men flying and fallg, the Mongul take action in defense of the woman.He pinned Skull Musky Bossinger at 18:55 and the design stood the Giant Mongul became world tag champion by himself. Dazz Scott took to the microphone and ordered The Mongul to pick a partner, he chose the World's champion, Yohann Bison. What a night for wrestling! Cool it off with a block of ice, believe me this one's hot!
Guilda Mossinger Reporting
Wrestling Pro-Chore Media!
Winter
Black cloud enshroud blue horizon while migrating birds tweet their last goodbye
Arctic winds weigh down bare naked branches watching blinding storms streak by
Above forsaken lodge tower sequoias like sentinels safeguarding an empty citadel
Hungry bison scrapes damp earth for green grass then uncovers a nourishing well
Immaculate summits shed kaleidoscopic colors pondering the splendor of next fall
Snowflake encrusted serpentine rivers inside the path of an imminent frigid squall
Taking agile steps shivering wolves defend lives at stake to outfox predacious gun
Aging leaves tumble toward battered ground envying the sky waiting for the sun
Penned:
01/10/2018
12:37 P.M.
West Palm Beach, Florida
Across the vast and sweeping plain,
Walks great tatánka* through the rain.
From quiet springs where waters flow,
A sacred gift to earth below.
To Lakota families, kin and near,
A feast of life, bringing comfort clear.
In story, song, and ancestral land,
The bison remains the heart of the strand.
The buffalo offered its flesh and breath,
To shield the people from winter’s death.
From heavy hides, warm tipis rose,
And sturdy shoes for the drifting snows.
No bone was wasted, no gift cast by:
Fine needles forged for the threads they’d tie,
Horns shaped to spoons as the young were fed,
And stomach bowls where the broth turned red.
In sacred circles, the skull holds a place,
A silent sign of enduring grace.
This total gift taught a way to live:
To open hands and to freely give,
To honor neighbors, to share the store,
A lasting wealth worth so much more.
Without this bond, no Sundance could start,
As White Buffalo Woman touches the heart.
As grazers, they nurtured both soil and seed,
Healing the plains for every need.
Though darker seasons brought loss and fear,
And roaming herds began to disappear,
The wild spirit refused to succumb,
Beating as strong as the skin on a drum.
Today, young herds run under the sun,
A long-promised healing has finally begun.
With tribes leading care across valley and hill,
The songs of the elders are echoing still—
A testament strength could never break,
The giver of life for the people’s sake.
* Tatanka is buffalo.
The paint recalls, layered and petulant, groans
mindless in its ground, it decomposes.
Granules of hematite, pale traceries of gypsum,
the crevasses of cave wall are soot soothed.
Layered and petulant the palm of man appears
charcoal dusted, amongst the antelope and bison.
Do you hear the drum’s call, the hollow
wail of bone flute, the slap of bare feet,
the drone of chant?
Red-lead or orange crystalline roars atop
the gummy white in Pharaoh’s tombs.
See the deathly desert and the blood of power
as it paves the way; ochre, gypsum,
copper blue, groan mindless in its ground.
Do you hear the drums call, the hollow
wail of wooden flutes, the rattle of the tambourine
the clink of bell, as bare feet dance entranced?
Decomposed, composed, each grain
calls to mind pale traceries of the ages left behind.
Soot-soothed, charred coal outlines the faces
of God and man upon the walls of time.
First Published by Mused 2013
The tree tottered
the soil loved the tree
the soil held the turmoil
like a poem holds the lines and stanzas
brimming with the extravaganza of the spirit
The grasses won't let it go
the whistle of the world called
the train was pulling out
the tree willing to join the green procession
There was the sticky honey
and the million bees biting
in the reckless abandon
room following room
Exhume and consume
Yearning for the perpetual doom
There was the effort
Earnest effort
to come out of the savage clasp
the pulverizing grasp
How can you shun the moons
still seeking to bloom inside the nooks of the gloom
We won't let you go
We will remove the hard snow
Look at the crimson arrow
ready to move and grow
till arrived the rainbow
Said the bees
The tall guy had taken away
most of the green leaves
The dwarf one quite a few branches
The dry wood bleeds in silence
A grey compliance
The dark girl had shared the bed
hugging the hibiscus stem and plucking the flowers
as she pleased
as the serpent hissed
the kisses burnt
The tree got aroused and learnt
Time stole the green
The children removed the silken sheen
I am abandoned
Let me go
Let others sow
Me no more
Haven't you noticed the little green folds
from the caring split
Ripples of Narcissus
from the blue unconscious
through the half light half dark passage
emerging on the shivering surface
A mild pain in the cups
A few clouds seeking release through the rains
the light green spike in the vein
The ship cannot be abandoned
till it sinks
The ship loves the blue poetry in the freedom
of wild abandon
The Mediterranean
As wild
as you may lead me into
the deep flowering vacuum
No need to stop the bison
Let’s resume
our sway into the total abandon
For this forest under moonlight I shall not pass again
June 16, 2018
Abandon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
I imagine the echo of the once thundering herds,
Before the Bison succumbed to the tallow vats.
I listen for symphonies of the missing songbirds,
That made the Osage foothills their habitat.
The land that was theirs is no longer pristine,
Now the hills are interspersed with pump-jacks.
Barbed wire fences make today's boundaries clean,
And pickup trucks are the source of most tracks.
In scrutinizing my thoughts I invariably ask why?
While realizing that time man can't rearrange.
Then God paints a sunset on the evening sky,
An awesome portrait that man can't change.