The Rain Bull

A poem inspired by a true story as told by Dog


My dad Dog used to tell me ‘The Rain Bull Story’
So called for one who in his day outstood,
“No way to move a bull that dudn’t want to go,”
Dog’d go on and say so I’d see it plain:
A bull-headed sun-of-a-gone
Good stubborn spirit hooves-planted in the mud
While the clouds climbed closer over pasture,
“Standoff’s what e’s after,
Make or break because you cain’t outwait
A bull who dudn’t want to move.”
Whence the name, ole bull stayed
All my life later and still I can picture those
Obstinate cow knees, crystal torrents for horns
Dripping tail swishing surety and sense
Steady, center-placed inside the fence
Might as well and kind as thunder
Stern-gazed, chin raised, just watching
Drop by drop till the Rain Bull
Was good’n ready to be on his own way.


@bykaileyann

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“Handpicked Heirlooms” ~ Revised ~

I really liked this poem, so I took one more swing at it today and like it ever better! What do you think?


I take keepsakes
Retouch and arrange tarnished
Precious memorabilia
A little silver bell
Turned brown well before I learned
A sterling finish doesn’t stay if it sits
Unused
A Goodacre Dollar
‘Presentation’ piece
Sakakawea and Jean Baptiste
Reverse, obverse dated
Wash-worn faces faded like varnished brass
Engraved in gold
A fleuron shining on
A broach
Saved for teatime all June’s life
A thimble which fits my pinky finger
Collected tokens tucked in the sky
Blue-velvet drawstring bag
Now steeping in the bright
Black-spotted kettle
I’ll never use to pour or brew
On account of how the metal smells
Still of Marlboro Reds
Even filled to the brim with white
Sage potpourri ~


@bykaileyann

“Hand-picked Heirlooms”

A poem about some precious metal items I kept from my grandmothers’ things ~


I take keepsakes

Collect tokens

Retouch and arrange tarnished metal things

A little silver bell

Brown since well before I knew

A sterling finish doesn’t stay

If it sits unused

A Goodacre Dollar

Obverse face dated

An experimental wash

Wears the surface like varnished brass

Engraved in gold

A fleuron shining on

A broach

Save for teatime

All June’s life

All inside a drawstring pouch

Baby-blue velvet tucked in

A bright black-spotted kettle

I’ll never use to pour or brew

On account of how the metal smells

Still of Marlboro Reds

Even filled to the brin with White

Sage potpourri ~

Composed 4.14.21 @bykaileyann