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Francis Oct 2023
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
******* them down to the bone.

Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.

Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.

Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.

Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.

How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?

Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?

Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
We know what this poem really is about. Come on, guys.
a m a n d a May 2022
i can surely tell
you what it's like
out in these streets.
but i don't think
you're going to like it.
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.
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
Àŧùl Feb 2017
It is the feeling of having previously met,
Not necessarily as a professional vet,
Dairy animals mooing to attract.
My HP Poem #1426
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Feb 2017
We use ETBR in the laboratory,
Ethidium Bromide is a poisonous dye,
And it is to be used carefully,
RedSafe is an even deadlier alternative.

Give special attention to its use,
Low - very low amount will do,
Or it can cause health problems,
Victory over nature can be constructive,
Exposure to it can cause cancer,
Should our efforts help in medicine.

Also used is an alternative marker dye,
Lacuna not entertained in it either,
Wear gloves always in the laboratory,
Always in this field of proteomics,
Youth may be affected otherwise,
S**hall be always keeping myself protected.
Another one of my secondary acrostic poems - this time about my work.

My HP Poem #1417
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Feb 2017
Come on buffalo,
Open your mouth,
Of your oral cavity,
Let us collect some tissue,
And let us collect some saliva too,
And then we test for some trefoils,
Fingers crossed – let the expression be true.

It has got to be there,
We know it for humans,
But of buffaloes, we know not,
Let us perform a preliminary study,
There has not been much research,
There is just a foggy, hazy oversight,
Scientific charm – the expression is positive.

Molecular markers in the electrophoresis unit,
Mixed with a visualising dye – the ETBR,
Yes, they will dance positively as expressed,
Against 400 base pairs expressed are the TFFs,
Tough to master this technique moderately is,
We have to take numerous precautions,
Especially with the poisonous visualising dye.
A poem about my work plans.
We are aiming to isolate the TFFs from buffalo oral cavity this time.

My HP Poem #1416
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Jan 2017
You are buffalo!
Your underpants are yellow!
Coz you **** so yellow-yellow!
My HP Poem #1399
©Atul Kaushal
Leah Mar 2013
the wind is taking more drags off my cigarette than I am. that's buffalo;
I won't let you crawl into the gutters,
and die in the snow.
in the alleys of these long lost streets,
we keep trying to revive.

and I ask myself
if you'd let me fall asleep out in the cold,
six shots down & I don't want to know.
I'm still walking on my own,
against the cold, and keeping warm.

I'm taking good care of myself,
now that I know you won't do it for me.
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