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Oil pumps dot the fields for miles,
Like giant metal bison.
Rust for fur,
And shoulders of rotating turbines.
It strayed from the herd

Into the concrete jungle

Met living beings, the strangest kind

Why did it leave its mother’s side

Just to know, where the river stream ends

It ran and ran and followed the stream

Strayed away far, far, faraway from home

Met living beings of the strangest kind

Scared, it panicked and strayed in the alleys

Didn’t know where and what place it was in

Tired and hungry and scared it went berserk

Trying to find its home in every green place

Couldn’t find mama and papa nor her

brother anywhere

Instead it met living beings of strangest kind

It cried as it realised the concrete jungle

Wasn’t as green as its home

The  jungle

which has the most sparkling stream

Lost its way and now disturbed

Ran in every direction, couldn’t find home

Tired and hungry and scared

It didn’t know, where it was

The strange living beings equally scared of

it, got it tranquillised

Shocked and tired

Finally, it went into a tranquil sleep

Far far faraway from  home

Never ever to see her family, in this life

The she bison, all of four

Now, forever sleeps

In the concrete jungle
This happened today
barely a couple of kilometres from my home
don’t know yet, how she strayed into the city limits, came to know of this news from WhatsApp groups

Deeply saddened by the bison’s death

Douglas Balmain Dec 2020
I sunk my fingers down
into the loam of an ancient
buffalo wallow and the
land that had quietly
prepared for their species
untold millennia before me.

I held the buffalo’s
mourning in my heart,
and felt the Buffalo Nations’
cry rattle against my ribs.

I opened myself to the
Earth and it spoke
sorrowfully to me
of its broken home.
Safana Sep 2020
For you
to see me, ride on a
polar bison to cross,
the Arctic circle and
bring to me, a snow
peacock feather

Safana & Bamalli 2020
To archive greatly, we must passthrough different obstacles
A Simillacrum Sep 2019
Guile, come and get it.

Bison beef means
Bison bucks for everyone.

Bison's just:
Satan as he fell from Heaven


10/10 film
Mariah Cuch Jul 2017
Oh mighty brother of the plains
Where have you gone?

Has your life been taken with such ease as a whispering breath?

Oh mighty brother of the plains
Where have you gone?

Decaped of all pride, not just to die, but cry... Oh mighty Brother.
Written when I was 15, homage to Bison, the genocide of both Natives & Bison
Let me tell you about how I run
There are a couple of ways but none of them are fun.

There's a "move the **** out of my way" kind of run
Shot at by some man with a gun
Running over old ladies and children
To get the hell out and save my own skin
Kind of run...

And there's the "cliche blonde running through my head all day"
Where I don't get exercise, but she seems to sweat away
The pounds of brains until I'm dumbfoundedly dumb
And I find myself passed out on the couch with a bottle of ***
And a headache that makes me want to blow my brains out
Cause I can't get some Aspirin and a good woman to ******* out
Kind of run...

And there's the angsty little man that runs from home
Fighting his abusive dad and his best friend "hormone"
When he gets a kick in the nuts named reality
and a left hook to the face named puberty
by Mike Tyson riding a bison
Who leans over and whispers "you lost the fight son"
Kind of run...

Then there are the times when I run my fingers over the typewriter
Making more mistakes than a single stared wasted waiter
Running my imagination that nobody wants to hear on a page
A ******* that nobody will ever notice on stage
Lost in cut out hearts and origami cranes
and on washed out newspapers on old broken trains
kind of run...

However, there is a time when I actually get off my *** to run
But It hurts cause I'm a beached walrus with my *** in the sun
Flopping on land and trying to swim through concrete
Unable to see that I have 2 feet
cause there are 2 feet of fat that is constricting my view
Of who I am and what I'm really able to do
Kind of run...

And this is the part of the poem when I run away to Spain
Clearly, I can’t run that far so I guess I’ll take a plane
And I’ll bring the beautiful blonde with me in a first class spa
And I’ll walk into Spain saying “Su casa es mi Casa
But it will never be the other way around
Cause if I see you on my property you’ll be six feet underground
Kind of run...
a silly poem I wrote in high school I thought I would share
PrttyBrd Apr 2015
Buffalo abound
Providing all with one hunt
Sustaining the tribe

— The End —