"bullfight" poems
i went to sunny spain for a holidayi went to see a bullfight while along the waythere were lots of people standing in a crowdthen suddenly a roar went up and it was very loudfollowed by a matador it gave me such thrill as a bull run from a gate one he had to killthe matador he stood waving out his capeteasing at the bull as he began to gapethe bull he made a charge towards the matador.he pulled out his sword and the bull went to the floorthe poor bull was bleeding and his eyes began to closethen came his last breath snorting from his noseit was very sad as i watched him on the floornever will i see a bullfight never anymore
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 6:12 AM UTC
there was a little bull a lovely little thing
he had a thought of one day fighting in a ring
he travelled of to spain to watch the bullfight show
then he got prepared so he could have a go
through the gates he charged towards the matador
who stood there waiting in the middle of the floor
the bull began to charge and chase the cloth of red
tossing it away with horns upon his head
the crowds they loved the bull and they began roar
threw hats up in air the and shouted out for more
the little bull was happy he put on quite a show
he had made the people happy and gave there hearts a glow.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
there was a little bull a lovely little thing
he had a thought of one day fighting in a ring
he travelled of to spain to watch the bullfight show
then he got prepared so he could have a go.
through the gates he charged towards the matador
who was stood there waiting. in the middle of the floor
the bull began to charge and chase the cloth of red
tossing it away with horns upon his head
the crowds they loved the bull and they began roar
threw hats up in air the and shouted out for more.
the little bull was happy he put on quite a show
he made the people happy and gave there hearts a glow.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
there was a little bull his color it was white
he was very clever and very very bright
he took a trip to Spain to a bullfight show
hoping when he got there he could have ago
there were lots of matadors in fancy hats and suits
with a big red cape and wearing fancy boots
bull he couldnt wait till they called his name
and be the bravest bull in the hall of fame
they called for him to fight in the bullfight ring
ready for his charge the bravest little thing
running round and round chasing at the cape
the crowds they were amazed and they began to gape
bull he was the bravest that they ever saw
everybody clapped and called out for more
when the fight was over they called out his name
now the little bull is in the hall of fame
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
Tango on a tightrope
Argentine Cross vibrating the line
like the strings of a Latin guitar
playing our song
only a spider’s web for a net
if we fall
Waltz on a wall top thirty stories high
our story tops them all
traffic below doesn’t even see
top hat and tails, silk gown
cocktails in our hands
Fred and Ginger sit it out to watch
Rumba on a rope bridge
hips sway in time
with the windblown span
gliding past missing boards
waterfall below shouts up to us
can’t make out what it says
Paso Doble on a plane
faux bullfight on a wing
Matador and his scarlet cape
pose and sweep
turbulence tilts the dance floor
ten thousand feet to the ground
Quickstep in the quicksand
feet so light in rapid step
no time to sink
flow across the surface
to syncopated beats
shoes left stuck to the floor
steps we mastered long ago
now we glissade and sweep
only to the rhythm of us
most challenging of all dances
and most natural of movements
always in step
dancing on the edge of our hearts
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC
My love is focused stares across a crowded room, extended fingertips, longing.
My love is inopportune places at inopportune times.
My love is counting down the minutes until work is over.
My love is picturing his clothes in a ball on my bedroom floor,
my love is his clothes on me.
My love is wanting to open Christmas presents early, but worth waiting for.
My love is drunken nights sobbing on the bathroom floor, men are allowed to rely on their women.
Sometimes my love is a pumpkin spice latte, seasonal.
My love is jumping off a plane and opening a parachute, jumping off a bridge and feeling the bungee chord; thrilling, seemingly dangerous but I'm always protected.
My love is falling down seven times, standing up eight.
My love is my steadfast faith in what I can't see.
My love is renovating a burnt down city. Finding beauty in ashy remains.
My love is 4 AM night terrors, soft whispers, fingers through my hair.
My love is lust wrapped in a pretty package.
My love is fire, whether it keeps me warm or destroys everything in its wake depends on the day.
My love is **** that guy baby, he doesn't matter, you're not alone, I love you, you're beautiful." My love judges people he doesn't know so my wrists stay porcelain, not Crimson.
My love hates my music but listens anyway, hates my glasses but looks at me anyway, hates my singing but sings with me anyway.
My love is a bullfight on eggshells. We know nothing of subtlety.
My love is a diamond in the rough, he's the diamond, I'm the rough.
My love is ******** up everyday and wearing his patience thin.
My love is holding the same hand, kissing the same lips, seeing the same eyes every day and never getting bored.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
They say “life happens”
and it turns out, death waits.
I am like a bull
charging into his flourish
The matador, opposite of my emotion
I am lucky, for he is patient
It takes two to tango but
it’s just you in this
this dance with death
and as you slip away, into it
charging becomes
running
becomes running to
becomes running from
and in the end, it’s all just
running
This bullfight is anything but
a dichotomy
escapades are laced with
fear and aggression
impulses are masked by
roars of the crowd.
To them you’re not you, just who they think
they wouldn’t know emotions you don’t even know yourself
It is a fear.
Calves are trained to hate humans
conditioned and cultivated in fear
fight becomes flight
it is a game.
Run free in this coliseum
chase what is the end and what defines the beginning
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
An uncompassionate crowd of 20,000
are tensely sitting in a stadium
bloodthirstily waiting for a cruel spectacle
they call a ‘bulllfight’
which is actually a ‘bull-harass-and-kill’.
This brutal bloodsport
is celebrated as a national artform
in Spain
so the matadors (bullfighters) strut around proudly
in their suits of golden thread
to loud cheers and excited applause.
The bull, frightened suffering,
is harassed and killed in three stages:
The first stage is called ‘tercio de varas’
‘the lancing third’
when armoured-horse mounted lancers
use a long sharp lance
to spear the bull behind his shoulder muscles
to weaken the bull’s neck muscles
and begin the bull’s loss of blood;
The second stage is called ‘tercio de banderillas’
‘the third of banderillas’
when the matador attacks the bleeding-weakening bull
with banderillas (sharp barbed sticks)
stabbing the banderillas above the shoulder blades of the bull
to anger and agitate
the frightened bull fighting for his life.
The third stage is called ‘tercio de muerte’
‘the third of death’
when the matador baits the bull
with a red cape
then stabs the bull with a steel sword
aiming for his heart
but often missing
leaving the bull suffering multiple stab-wounds
bleeding, slowly miserably dying.
I wonder
when will this barbaric bull-harass-and-kill
be banned in all nations?
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 5:49 AM UTC
The dark dance calls softly,
like Night Shade or Oleander.
Just a little taste...
Just one more slow waltz...
I can smell her
wet orchid while I sleep.
She moves languidly through
my dreams, possesses me at dawn
with lambent steps.
The love is violent, like a bullfight.
It's sweet and treacherous, ferocious.
Fatal for one of us;
and she's been gored.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 7:31 PM UTC
I mean
fudge 'tis
our fight
to desire
this delight
in my
house it
sit tight
there as
a bullfight
that contrite
a beast
so light
that lament
may die
this bugler's
call kent
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 4:28 AM UTC
Tread lightly ?
Sorry I don’t think I know that phrase
But I can corrupt a situation silently
Carbon monoxide type of style, if I may.
Or switching a MAC-10 for that Ka-Bar type of light?
Quiet and violently vivid
Swooping in with that Bullfight Night
Stunning sight of baneful crimson
She --who has earned the respect-- can walk
Can dance, sing, and stomp
as loud as she likes
Because it’s long past that time she
Had no choice besides
learning how to tread right
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
Your eyes keep outlining the shape of your desires
Transposed on to my body
Watching you watching me
No secret, im left exposed
Vulnerabilities exploited
with a mere flicker of the eye
Primed eyes locked
Its the moment
Flight or fight
Zeroed in on my waist,
a triangulation of anticipated pleasures
Eyes drawn up,
the signal fire is lit
a flourish of your jacket like a bullfight
Swaggering towards me
arm raised in another flicker
the resounding crack of a slap breaking
broke the air
Fear panic and dread.
frozen.
And yet, the kiss left
was soft warm and gentle
Weaving the shape of a homely warmth
that as soon you broke away
left a chasm so cold
i was driven to clamour for it
Only for a second though,
You know what a stubborn ***** i am.
Admitting it was never an option.
Even with my breath in your mouth.
Still when asked what i felt
You know my reply.
First draft
Your eyes keep outlining the shape of your desires
Transposed on to my body
Watching you watching me
No secret, im left expised
Vulnerabilities exploites with a mere flicker of the eye
Primed eyes locked
Its the moment
Flight or fight
Zeroed in on my waist a triangulation of anticipated pleasures
Eyes drawn up the signal fire is lit a flourish of your jacket like bullfight
Swaggering towards me arm raised in flicker the resounding crack of a slap breaking broke the air
Fear panic and dread frozen
And yet the kiss left was soft warm and gentle
Weaving the shape of a homely warmth that as soon you broke left a chasm so cold i was driven to clamour or your warmth
Only for a second though,
You know what a stubborn ***** i am.
Admitting it was never an option.
Even with my breath in your mouth.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
you hear their anger, like a bullfight and your ribcage is the ring
your heart is the rodeo clown,
his job is to take the hits
if you’re not fast enough
you’re not good enough
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 1:17 AM UTC
/funny... the thing about the minotaur in a maze... the minotaur never faces the torero... a labyrinth does not allow for a charging bull impetus... how would a typical bullfight look like between a bull and a torero in a labyrinth? probably less... fame-arriving of the torero... with the spectacle in claustrophobia... the dead bull in both instances... but less... the concern for "heroism" on part of man... unless the lost man seeking answer, exit, end of the labyrinth... and the head of a bull atop a body of man... able to charge, zig-zagging!
no offense, but none taken,
but i sometimes prefer rye
to a french brioche, sometimes...
not always...
but i sometimes do...
who was that m.d. who wrote
a book about *** differences,
having reread the lord of the flies,
revealing the "male" reading
"habits" of: bypassing the narrative
elements in order to get to
the dialogue? ****** didn't
cheat and read only
Aeschylus?
*bounds decreed eternally;
else would heart outstripping
tongue
cast misgiving to the winds.
now in darkness deep it groans,
brooding in sickly despair,
and no longer it hopes to resolve
in an orderly web these
mazes of a fevered mind*
(prior to clytemnestra)...
straight to the dialogue!
so much for the male
concern to mind the narrative
and bypass dialogues...
or a: focus for a need to
make it: pivoting.
bothersome attention to mind...
who knows what is
dialogue and what isn't
narrative, and how many people
sometimes are permitted
to appear, disguised as narrator...
no wonder then,
the taught scenario of solipsistic
narration, shying away from
the guillotine...
but if a doctor,
skips past the descripite bits of
lords of the flies chasing dialogues...
you sure he should be trusted
with a human anatomy?!
no, i'm pretty sure i never
ever not finished a book...
however tedious...
last time i checked it too me
2 months to finish a book...
but i did... not that it was boring
or anything,
but it was, to me...
the corner stone of the subsequent
2 months... meaning?
within the 2 months i had other bricks
or lay down,
the book itself?
a corner i orientated my
two months against...
as a way to digest time...
enongate it when necessary,
and shortening it when concerning
a "necessary" pivot...
**** a doctor rereading
the lord of the flies disclosing he:
passes the descriptive narrative
segments to get to the narrative?!
could have been a Shakespearean hafiz!
this is not even peacocking...
it's only making available what's
made ready...
what is...
closer than the sun,
to cradle a mind and revel in disclosing
it, to: another.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC
there was a little bull a lovely little thing
he had a thought of one day fighting in a ring
he travelled of to spain to watch the bullfight show
then he got prepared so he could have a go.
through the gates he charged towards the matador
who was stood there waiting. in the middle of the floor
the bull began to charge and chase the cloth of red
tossing it away with horns upon his head
the crowds they loved the bull and they began roar
threw hats up in air the and shouted out for more.
the little bull was happy put on quite a show
he made the people happy and gave there hearts a glow.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 6:14 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
He’s just a clown
In the bullfight
Who rarely gets
Things right
His statements are shared
To give us insight
But are subject to change
Almost overnight
He’s often billed
As the President’s lawyer
Or as the buffoon
Who’s an alibi destroyer
He’s often corrected
By his employer
Who lies as much
As a Tom Sawyer
Clearly the man is
A spotlight *****
Or better put
The President’s flunky
Who frequently gets
Like an ***** grinder’s monkey
A tad too cute
And a little bit spunky
He’s just a clown
In the bullfight
Or a convenient
Distraction
Who likes the arena
As well as the action
But as painful
As a tooth abstraction
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019. All rights reserved.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 7:53 PM UTC
there was a little bull a lovely little thing
he had a thought of one day fighting in a ring
he travelled of to spain to watch the bullfight show
then he got prepared so he could have a go.
through the gates he charged towards the matador
who was stood there waiting. in the middle of the floor
the bull began to charge and chase the cloth of red
tossing it away with horns upon his head
the crowds they loved the bull and they began roar
threw hats up in air the and shouted out for more.
the little bull was happy he put on quite a show
he made the people happy and gave there hearts a glow.
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 6:48 AM UTC
Sometimes we just need to say to ourselves that things will turn out all right.
The fact is, life now is never going to stop being a constant bullfight.
Mental struggles everyday are with us it seems on the hour.
How will we persist, from where will we get the power?
Since things adverse will always find their way deep into our skin.
No sense in our infinitely looking back at the negatives of where we’ve been.
Going forward from where we are is the correct key.
It opens the only door to our positive sanity.
Hence on, when that next dilemma comes along what can we immediately say?
Very simply,
It’ll be okay
It’ll be okay
I know that you are thinking, is this really going to do anything, and in you perhaps is much doubt?
But just think for a moment of all your past problems, and how you thought there was no possible way out.
Was God not always there to make you firm and stout?
The resolution came along did it not?
You certainly didn’t continue in the same confounding spot.
So once again I give you in just three words that with which to combat life’s endless situations of uncertain grey.
It’ll be okay
It’ll be okay
An additional piece of most important and wise advice that will solidify our recovery in all of life’s quandaries.
Remembering always with wisdom from God, all solutions to our deepest problems have no boundaries.
He’ll give us the way out when we don’t know how?
Leave us to crumble when we are in a difficult predicament, he simply will not allow.
If we ask from a heart of sincerity for help, he will always be there.
Please remember, our Heavenly Fathers love for us, is beyond all compare!
As a father most compassionate, when faced with trials, can you hear the reassuring words he to us will tenderly say?
It’ll be okay...
It’ll be okay...
J.I.F.
Matthew 6:34
34 So never be anxious about the next day, for the next day will have its own anxieties. Each day has enough of its own troubles.
James 1:5
5 So if any one of you is lacking in wisdom, let him keep asking God, for he gives generously to all and without reproaching, and it will be given him.
John 3:16
16 For God loved the world so much that he gave his only-begotten Son, so that everyone exercising faith in him might not be destroyed but have everlasting life.
1 Peter 5:6,7
6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time, 7 while you throw all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 9:21 AM UTC
Yet,...this baby boomer surrenders
since many an elapsed yesternight
to inevitable (albeit gradual)
cosmic fusion with universal spright
notched calendrical anniversary, mine
nondescript birth doth invite
quiet acknowledgement between
January twelfth and fourteenth 2019
lengthening shadows of twilight
years ordain nothing more slight,
than mine chronological meter,
which will tabulate LX orbitz
completed round the sun, a sight
hardly worth promulgating,
cuz I haint nothin but right
smack dab in the average
range as applies to quite,
a vast (perhaps a bajillion)
fellow Earthlings, somewhat polite
chap minding requisite p's
and q's (i.e. prime quality),
nonetheless being cordial, insight
full, how all knowing Universal
studios theatrical playwright
offers no exemption against
facing rigor mortis plight,
and if necessary
shines blinding searchlight,
hence the ultimate countdown
deliverance into eternal night,
or perchance afterlife might...
awash with marshmallow
clouds plus tangerine
skies, amidst kaleidoscopic flying kite
inescapable, yet...I oft wonder
if one can prepare
being hermetically sealed airtight
or if cremation chosen option
retain even a minuscule slight
speck, asper any conscious recall
kept alive by family and friends,
who sorrowfully bite
lower lip reminiscing
close curtain calls ****** fight,
sans that brawling night
in Casablanca, or nearly
(Al) most (Gore)d at bullfight.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 11:00 PM UTC