The Cows

Years of going to the farm

Years of taking the walk with your mother, guests and guards

From the warm house to the horses you mostly go down

For an hour with your mother, guests, and guards


Fenced by black wood and electric wire

The narrow path has hills on both sides

An indigo lake at the end of each end

Fresh water springs and bridges that cross


Today I made the descent in thirty-five

No talk, no guards

Fast past the pregnant cows that moan

Took a stick to repel the dirty dogs


But on the climb back to the house

A herd of cows was using my path

With my stick I bent electric wire

And sat in a pasture to wait for the cows


During my wait the grass moved in waves

And I watched white clouds drift by

But I knew it would sound dumb

If I wrote it down just like that


So I sat in a field to think of ways

To thank the walk and the cows for the wait

But when I got up to a path blackened by shit

I lost all hope for the scope of this poem



This very casual poem was recently published by Empty Mirror Books. Happy weekend to all!


  1. johnallenrichter

    Hahaha! How incredibly wonderful this is…. Beauty, love, the most wonderful things on Earth, and our ability to find them, admire them on such rare occasions, can indeed sometimes be flecked with shit! How true that is, and I would say most often…. I guess we must take the good with the bad and never give up hope…. Is English your second language?

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