"buffaloes" poems
THE BUFFALOES are gone.
And those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
Those who saw the buffaloes by thousands and how they pawed the prairie sod into dust with their hoofs, their great heads down pawing on in a great pageant of dusk,
Those who saw the buffaloes are gone.
And the buffaloes are gone.
7.7k
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
THE BOY Alexander understands his father to be a famous lawyer.
The leather law books of Alexander's father fill a room like hay in a barn.
Alexander has asked his father to let him build a house like bricklayers build, a house with walls and roofs made of big leather law books.
The rain beats on the windows
And the raindrops run down the window glass
And the raindrops slide off the green blinds down the siding.
The boy Alexander dreams of Napoleon in John C. Abbott's history, Napoleon the grand and lonely man wronged, Napoleon in his life wronged and in his memory wronged.
The boy Alexander dreams of the cat Alice saw, the cat fading off into the dark and leaving the teeth of its Cheshire smile lighting the gloom.
Buffaloes, blizzards, way down in Texas, in the panhandle of Texas snuggling close to New Mexico,
These creep into Alexander's dreaming by the window when his father talks with strange men about land down in Deaf Smith County.
Alexander's father tells the strange men: Five years ago we ran a Ford out on the prairie and chased antelopes.
Only once or twice in a long while has Alexander heard his father say "my first wife" so-and-so and such-and-such.
A few times softly the father has told Alexander, "Your mother ... was a beautiful woman ... but we won't talk about her."
Always Alexander listens with a keen listen when he hears his father mention "my first wife" or "Alexander's mother."
Alexander's father smokes a cigar and the Episcopal rector smokes a cigar and the words come often: mystery of life, mystery of life.
These two come into Alexander's head blurry and gray while the rain beats on the windows and the raindrops run down the window glass and the raindrops slide off the green blinds and down the siding.
These and: There is a God, there must be a God, how can there be rain or sun unless there is a God?
So from the wrongs of Napoleon and the Cheshire cat smile on to the buffaloes and blizzards of Texas and on to his mother and to God, so the blurry gray rain dreams of Alexander have gone on five minutes, maybe ten, keeping slow easy time to the raindrops on the window glass and the raindrops sliding off the green blinds and down the siding.
3.9k
A River
In Madurai,
city of temples and poets,
who sang of cities and temples,
every summer
a river dries to a trickle
in the sand,
baring the sand ribs,
straw and women’s hair
clogging the watergates
at the rusty bars
under the bridges with patches
of repair all over them
the wet stones glistening like sleepy
crocodiles, the dry ones
shaven water-buffaloes lounging in the sun
The poets only sang of the floods.
He was there for a day
when they had the floods.
People everywhere talked
of the inches rising,
of the precise number of cobbled steps
run over by the water, rising
on the bathing places,
and the way it carried off three village houses,
one pregnant woman
and a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda as usual.
The new poets still quoted
the old poets, but no one spoke
in verse
of the pregnant woman
drowned, with perhaps twins in her,
kicking at blank walls
even before birth.
He said:
the river has water enough
to be poetic
about only once a year
and then
it carries away
in the first half-hour
three village houses,
a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda
and one pregnant woman
expecting identical twins
with no moles on their bodies,
with different coloured diapers
to tell them apart.
~A.K.Ramanujan
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Banked up against a terraced mountainside
photogenic pristine rows
of blasting green
rows of manicured waterways
with two buffaloes treading ballet-like
between squelching mud and green shoots
the paddy fields stayed buoyant
all season through.
Come harvesting time
and thrashing the sunburied ripe
tendrils of husk and seed
along threshing traffic wheels
the husk sought divorce from
the long tongued long grained
wives -and parted ways.
Soon the pudding spent its silky smooth sexiness
on a plate of punchy aromatic costumes
that invaded the senses and palate
in sensual smoothness. Oh my!
Ricebowl pudding
of the worlds staple.
Author Notes
Gluttony beckons just now!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
Alexander k Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
The most misused natural resource is animal emotion
Animal jelousy, animal love, animal happiness, animal libido,
Animal compassion, animal grief, animal ogle, animal ***
Animal ego, animal fear or stampede, but animal anger utmost
It is a resource of value and virtue if used in prudence
Least vicious off all lest ghoulish natural disposition
Whose exemplification follows below in juxtaposition;
Out of anger a human animal kills
Revenges in full feat of anger
Causing accidents and damages
In employment of anger to uphold ego
A snake will not bite until ignited to anger
But in its calm state it’s an agent of ecological peace
Lioness is herbivorous in their truce but irascibly carnivorous
Buffaloes only crash if catapulted by anger
But romantically crazy in the emotional bliss
Man is fountain of peaceful jealousy
Man is cradle of venerative bigotry
Man is a well of murderous love
Humanity engendered is matchless ocean
Of cantankerous infatuation crushing for doable
And non-doables, deservation of pity,
All these natural ornamentations
That echo vicious virtues of man
Are protégés of perfected anger.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
▪♢▪
I hover above as
you write and ponder.
Visit your buffaloes
and assorted natural wonders.
Array of rocks 'n shells
Feathers, Eagle, Hawk.
Turkey and Peacock.
Your collection of critters,
they all welcome me.
Savion is busy and so, not
bothered in the least by my presence,
though it would be such a lovely
moment to meet her...
My memories gleefully
take a hitch on the back of yours.
I playfully wonder if I shall be noticed..
as you are yet unaware of my decision,
upon invitation, to join you.
I love to travel...any way I can.
Today, this is the trip for me!
Memory at will. To visit with a
color, a scent, a touch, a hurt, a joy.
To explore a
memory yet unopened.
Woodlands, Wetlands and Deserts
Descending deep into the
Canyons, down to the river.
While here, venture the rapids.
Then, on to the Dead Sea and the Rose
colored Himalayan Salt Caves.
Dolphins to visit and sing
in chorus, beneath the ocean waters.
Oh, how I have missed them.
As is the luxury of Memory travel,
We are weightless and soundless.
Have no odor, can swim and fly.
We are able at will, to tap into
Ancient Knowledge. The memories
that have come before us,
our gift as a shared consciousness.
We visit our happiest of times.
A delight to have and to hold.
Often, we become immersed in the
our most troubled experiances.
Reliving them over and over.
We are able to reroute a memory
at will,for our pleasure or to
indulge in pain, or a blame.
Our minds are a rich labyrinth of
hopes, dreams and remembrances.
Join in the fun. You can at will.
Thanks for taking this
little trip with me.
▪♢▪
Posting of 'Memory' by W L Winter.
It is posted below "Hitchin' a Ride"
Or find with link
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1310736/memory/
Or just take a visit on over to
W.L.Winter's site
and luxuriate in the
Bountiful Beauty of his Poetry.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
O body, the little fish you swallowed yesterday
Yes, those
There are no other reasons
For this cat to roam around
For the third time
Fish swallowed yesterday, do not flail about
The globular eyes of that cat
O stomach, at least
Till it goes away,
Do not upset
With the slight movements of your waves
Body, body
Cautiously by the seaside
If all the fish that got inside
Bounced on seeing the place of origin
And if their friends tried knocking on each cell
If body, your body washed up all over a shore
Kissed by fishes
Body,
If all that you looked at greedily,
All that you ate ravenously,
All that you relished slowly
Appeared before you sometime
If it appeared
Body, body,
While seeing the kids,
If breast milk from thirty years ago spread out
If cake and fried liver
start out searching for little mouths
If all alcohol imbibed
Spurted out while meeting friends
Screamed out at midnight
Recited a ***** poem while no one was listening
Body,
On a noon, in favorite city
If two areolae appeared
And again spread brilliance
If you spilled out
Inhaling that redolence
Seeing something,
If saliva, sweat or wetness
Jump out
Body, body
If seeing greenery,
The cows and buffaloes and rabbits
Come out to graze,
Frogs start croaking
Seeing rain clouds
If seeing the sky,
The crow and crane inside
Start flying
If the **** comes out into the yard on seeing the hen,
Body, body,
If the fish, beasts and birds inside
Come out simultaneously,
Body, body,
Body’s soul…
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
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.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:37 PM UTC
I never knew your exquisite features
could **** me in such a beautiful way.
The way your eyes
stabbed my heart and broke it into shards of glass
reminded me of the specks of blue in your eyes,
so I apologized for the terrible mess I must have caused
and the scratches I must have inflicted on your
dreamy gaze, the one I wanted to bottle up and keep
on rainy days.
The way your skin
electrified my soul after a simple touch
and disrupted the chemical flow between my sensitive nerves
made me feel so special,
so I let you
destroy me in the most lovely way imaginable.
The way your smile
caused an explosion in the pits of my stomach
and caused a herd of buffaloes to
slowly rise in the lump in my throat, made me think of
the one time they tried to explain the Manhattan Project,
so I figured the destruction you caused was only
a history lesson.
-MB
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
she is the whispering wind
billowing buffaloes of cotton candy
fiery red reflections
horizon's home to Venus and Jupiter
her evening eyes twinkle
in gradient shades of midnight
whether clear cerulean
or dark and stormy
her mood reassures, connects
she takes all under her wing
as her firmament holds us
sunshine's conduit
the epitome of blue skies
she keeps us happy
to take away even just a part of her
is a blotting of the mind
straight from the horses blinders
a piece of heart and happiness hidden
an erasure of nature
a blindfold to beauty
a shadow on my eyes
a silhouette of stucco
built too close to home and hearth
prisons have such walls as this
erected to confine and punish
our only crime is a love of peace and quiet
and neighborhood values
Del Maximo
© September 14, 2009
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
Dream Self
You
have robbed me
of sleep
awake I count
the quickening seconds…
leaping like white buffaloes
touching the clouds
through the partially
drawn chiffon curtains
Your azure face
floats time lapsed
across the
night sky
exquisite arias
from Your kokopelli flute
caress my ears
Krishna divine charioteer
Your sweet chariot
swings low
the breath grows faint
and my pulse is
absent
I am no more.....
dream self
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
In the Hot Summer
The sun mounts high
It blazes down on the floors
The children scurry by
Everyone has to be indoors
All the plants are adust
Temperature rises by degrees
Mulch thobs by gust
Wind is sighing in the trees
The men carpet mats
Lying in shodow they doze
Pests are the buzzing gnats
They deprive them of repose
Buffaloes let out gasp
Sheep squabble over water
On brims birds clasp
And each other they slaughter
A hot wind inflicts harms
Dust is carried by whirlwinds
Boys rush into farms
Eat up melons and leave rinds
Water begins to boil
Every drop ends up in smoke
It is the sons of soil
Who burn in heat and go broke
This is no less drought
Months ahead is the rain
Yet Karanj stands out
Blossomed in thirsty terrene.
S. Bharat
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 12:00 AM UTC
How can you worry while sitting on a porch. Maybe its the green mountains over in the distance. Or perhaps the painting of a sky right above them. I sit and wonder is there a more relaxing sun than this.
How can you worry while sitting on a porch. Maybe its the silent sea of rice fields or the feasting giant buffaloes seeking some mud and some peace. No, it must be the rivers. Must be the deafening violence of a sound emitted by the steel motors of wooden boats. Shattering a window of bliss but never touching me.
Sitting on this porch I wonder why can't I see the same back home.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
i suppose i can wield my words.
i can use them to make someone fall in love
with themselves.
as i compare their laughter to a ****** of fairy bells
and the way their breath fogs up the air on a chilly winter morning.
i can use my words to make someone fall in love
with the world.
as i show them how beautiful trees are,
how blue can be seen in so many ways, by so many people.
but for some reason,
i can't use my words to make someone fall in love
with me.
i can't seem to mold them the way i want to,
to express my emotions in a way they want to hear.
i cannot explain to them how i get buffaloes and rhinoceroses
rumbling in my stomach,
every time they smile at me.
i cannot explain why i wish i could fall through the cosmos
with them.
hand in hand,
figures tumbling,
up and down and sideways and wayside.
i wish i could show not tell how
pathetically,
depressingly,
desperately,
madly,
in love i am with them.
i can wield my words
but i cannot use them to caress
the face of someone
i love.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
the mighty buffaloes still roam these plains
not in a natural way, but one controlled by man
whatever is offensive, we just change the names
whenever it's necessary, we change the genetic plan
life is so perfect on these hallowed grounds
not in a lasting way, but in the way we choose
whatever sounds inconvenient, we change the way it sounds
whenever we're dead and gone, our children pay our dues
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Perhaps when it all comes out in the open,
All the white lies, the little lies, the epic lies,
Of how we responded to the crying planet,
All will be said in a courtroom of compassion.
The lawyers remove their heavy wigs
And plead my case of guiltiness-
“Your honor, the defendant was no more
Able to change the tide than a red ant
Among billions on a jungle floor.
He took his few tons from the planet-
He took what he needed but no more;
He attended all conservation events.
He voted to save bees and elephants,
He abstained from swordfish to save the oceans,
Avoided pesticides and toxic lotions;
He fervently supported free abortions.
And bicycled to save the ozone
(When it was sunny and not too cold).
He purchased ripe fruits from Whole Foods.
He recycled books, old boots and shoes.
He forbade polyester to touch his skin.
He kept his flushes to a minimum.
His got 28 miles per gallon in town.
He never was seen throwing garbage around. "
"Your honor, the murderers of the buffaloes
Have been pardoned by the courts long ago-
It is true, he killed a rooster and a kangaroo,
But evidence shows they were clearly confused
With no reason to be loitering on the roads.
This man is unjustly accused, and if I must say,
Writes poems about the birdsong in May.
From where I sit, the court must acquit!”
The trial continues daily, like reality TV,
But nothing seems to alter prophecies.
What good if I set myself ablaze
Like the Buddhist in the center of Broadway-
I am haunted by a future I cannot explain
Trying to live out my life without blame.
The next generations are unknowable beings-
They will find their beaches in the rising tides
Made of plastic corals and robotic fish;
They will play in virtual forests with android slaves;
With perfect teeth and perfect pitch
The genetically enhanced go off to the galaxies,
In search of planets to greedily consume,
To spread the seeds of the earth and start anew.
What can a simple man as I know of such things?
The jury gives verdicts dispassionately-
For now I’m out on bail, I’m free to go,
No more guilty than my brethren of old
Who slayed the mammoth and fantastical dodo.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
Just read my favorite Novel,
To a buffalo.
She seemed to listen
With those weary eyes, meeting mine
Every now and then.
Her ears wide open,
Fluttering,
To foil the efforts of distractors.
And in between she responded with a sigh,
While casually,
Yet elegantly masticating her lush green lunch.
And at times, she flashed her whites,
Those natural pearl whites, that acquired their sheen out of nowhere!
Then I watch her turn away from me,
Oh! Lightening flash! Before my eyes,
A whip! Across my face!
Her snake-like rear!
What a clear indicator of her fondness for my Novel!
And finally she flopped down into her space,
Rested like never before.
I've never seen a creature more exhausted.
An enlightenment I felt, after that whip,
A realization of the zero net effect
On the poor creature,
Compelling me to recollect,
Those beautiful Novels, I've tried reading to other such buffaloes,
Sheer repentance,
Yet a lesson in disguise.
And as I walk back with my Novel,
I meet another such buffalo,
All excited to listen to my Novel,
With those weary eyes.
But this time I crossed her,
In search of a **** sapien sapien,
And the search goes on and on...
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
They have provoked her
The giant of Africa
When you stir the bees nest
You must be ready to dance
On the Cobra's tail they stepped
Does actions not beget re-actions?
In a sane society
Where human lives are treasured
Shall we continue like this?
Whose score is it to settle?
Do you want us to count scores?
This is not a battle you can win
Who cursed Africa?
Is this the Africa our fore-fathers fought for?
What really is xenophobia
Brother killing Brothers
But they forgot in a hurry
Are these the people we redeemed?
When a pride of lions are led by a Sheep
This is what you get in return
Disregard for human lives
Until their family is victimised
They enjoy in affluence
While we all suffer in abject penury
I have seen Tigers escape from Buffaloes
They stood as one indivisible entity
To defend their territory
Because enough is enough
We are a people of patience
But don't test the power of Naija
Take the battle to your leaders
Not to fellow Africans
Ask them about their electoral promises
Go to school and get a life
Acquire skills and stay empowered
You've got one more shot at peace
Go back to your history books
Read of our exploits during the world war
Google our feats in Liberia
Have you heard about the spirit of Biafra?
That spirit still lives
The one that makes us stronger as one
Sheathe your swords of xenophobia
"Naija no dey carry last"
I hear the drums of war already
But until the beagle sounds
You have one last chance at peace
Take it, before it's off the table
To our leaders and politicians
Shame on you all
Our blood means nothing to you
Our brothers are sent to Valhala
The house of the Odin God
Our sisters ***** and maimed
Shame on you and your generation
And to you the ignorant fool
You **** your fellow Africans
Forgetting we are all flesh and blood
We share the same ancestors and lineage
This is not the Africa Madiba fought for
Shame on you all!
My fellow Nigerians
I come to you in peace
Let us explore diplomacy
They want to turn us against ourselves
Will we allow them?
"Biko, were Ndidi..."
My hands quiver as I write
My pen drips blood
I fear for my generation yet unborn
I see a revolution brewing
But let us go back to HIM
HE is the God of instant judgmen
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 7:09 PM UTC
i agree, women shouldn't drink, when they drink, they get overly melodramatic... when men drink, they laugh, esp. when they are excused from participating in war, and showing off nerves calmed, by not having to extrapolate courage... women shouldn't drink... they get overly melodramatic... which is why women give birth to alcoholics they can "cure" with a stampede of buffaloes, even if they tried... i've never seen a drunk woman laugh, then again, i hadn't had the chance to see a lot of women become drunk on champagne, so i might be in the wrong: observation palace.
i swear...
i swear i can play the trombone
when i burp,
after downing 3 buddies;
ha ha ha ha!
burps always made more
sense than farts...
which is why they are
socially acceptable in germany:
in english?
farts are a fetish in crowded
places...
then again both people are
fetish orientated...
the english? farting in crowded
places (extending the claustrophobia
range, and proving solipsism:
each to his own, self-evident preference
of "perfume) and homosexuality
and talking idle ******** talk
during ***
the germans? burping...
and golden showers during ***
i was really convinced that
the niqab was bad...
for a minute...
before i spotted the joke...
you sure you want to look
at this **** wouldn't you prefer a pair
of sunglasses while you're at it:
pretending to be a shopping ninja?
stealth... yeah...
you get a discount in harrod's:
boo yah! bitch's a gangsta!
come on! throw throw those discount
coupons into the air!
after all, your arab b.f. owns a maserati!
hey, giggles come,
& giggles go... but in between
there's this building of the six-pack
via the clenching of the abdomen
from the giggle.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
Recently lock down began
You may say
This is not the time to write a poem
When darkness falls drop by drop
From the sky.
In this cursed timorous moment
Breathe is confined,
Infected by incorporeal virus
Present in the silent outline of the city.
This is not at all a time for parasitic dream dalliance.
I myself too is a socially isolated person of pessimistic attitude,
Whose, vanity is a part of genetically accumulated negativity.
When people speak of moonlight and starry nights
I am frightened in apprehension of darkness.
When people speak of blooming of flowers
I wait wakefully in apprehension of a storm.
In every morning, I dream idle dreams of the evening.
My friends know quite well
That I am a foolish ancient mirror of psych lateral inversion.
.
Yet I wish to dedicate few moments of this tragic conjuncture
In the name of poetry
In this scary time of screams and uproars
Once again I want to start
The protesting parade of indomitable words
With the crime of antisocial psyche.
O' gloomy time of locked down city
Can the defeat be admitted so easily?
Where is that moment that can resist
The inevitable course of impending sunrise?
Can the clamour of birds become silent
Out of fear of horns of buffaloes?
Can the poison droplets fatigue the seeking thirst of enlightment
Of the descendants of light?
Will the deep paddy of green fields
Admit defeat so easily
Out of fear of unruly flood of Ahar ?
In fact, the words are not so simple
In fact, the words are not so simple
In this ominous darkness of ENDHAUBAALI
Once again,
skillful shadow war.
Every person of the locked down city knows
Patience matters, only patience.
The enemy will perish without a trace
Lockdown, Lockdown, lockdown comrades,
Lockdown the city;
Under silent raid; like a new Stalingrad.
The world conquered enemy
laughs horrible laughter at the
extended banks of the Luit.
But for that the heart is not trembled.
We want triumph and only triumph without the fear of death.
The country men are ready
Prepared with well-skilled, proficient and disciplined array
Will go forward with sword of thunder
Built in the workshops of science and technology
When clarion call comes.
New Saraighat is calling us.
Every citizen of the locked down city knows what is needed.
A little patience and some sacrifice.
In this cursed darkness of Endharubali
Once again well-skilled shadow war
The experienced wisdom of locked down city knows
Patience is a must, only patience
The enemy will die of drying
without tracing the host
The enemy will die of hunger
without finding out any trace.
Locked down for two fortnights
New Stalingrad, new Stalingrad.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 7:01 AM UTC